05/06/2026
🔔 Ringing the Bell
As I get closer to the end of sharing my treatment journey, I just want to say thank you for all the lovely comments and support you've shown me along the way. It honestly means more than you'll ever know.
So, carrying on from my last post... I was plodding on with chemo. As I've said before, this was by far the hardest part of treatment mentally and emotionally, but the finish line was finally in sight.
Every time I walked into the chemo unit, I would spot the bell. A big golden bell with a thick rope hanging from it, just waiting to be rung.
I'd always planned to ring that bell. For me and my family, it represented closure. It was the goal. Once chemo was finished, I could get back to normal life... right?
When the day finally arrived in July 2023, I'd arranged for my family to come into the unit and celebrate with me.
It was such a symbolic moment. I'd reached the end of treatment and I'd officially kicked cancer's arse. The nurses clapped, there were a few tears, and for a moment it felt like we'd won.
But as the months passed, I found myself thinking about that bell a lot.
Part of me felt guilty for celebrating when some people never get the chance to ring it. Cancer isn’t fair, and I know there are people who would have given anything to stand where I was that day.
The bell is a wonderful symbol of finishing treatment, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. Not everyone gets to ring it, and my heart goes out to those who don’t. I never take for granted how lucky I am to have had that moment.
What I’ve also learned is that ringing the bell doesn’t mean you’re suddenly “better”. It marks the end of treatment, but not necessarily the end of cancer’s impact on your life.
I think before cancer I imagined I’d ring the bell, walk out of the hospital and get straight back to normal life. The reality was very different.
The fear doesn’t disappear when you pull that rope.
For many of us, the fear of recurrence stays with us. It pops up before scans, appointments, aches, pains and random symptoms that are probably nothing but somehow convince you you’re about to write your will.
I rang the bell that day, and I’m incredibly grateful that I did. But I soon realised it wasn’t the end of my cancer journey. It was the beginning of learning how to live after cancer.
Part of me felt guilty for celebrating when some people never get the chance to ring it.
And although ringing the bell meant I was finished with chemo, it didn't mean I was finished with cancer. The fear of recurrence didn't magically disappear the moment I pulled that rope.
I also thought ringing the bell would somehow help me return to "normal". The problem was... what even was normal now?
Cancer had changed me in ways I never expected. I didn't feel like the person I was before my diagnosis. Something had shifted, and I couldn't quite explain it.
I spent a long time trying to get back to the old Kim.
The truth is, she doesn't exist anymore.
That's something people don't talk about enough. You don't just recover physically; you have to figure out who you are afterwards. I felt like I'd lost my identity, my confidence, my purpose, and all the little things that make you you.
I mourned the old Kim. The one who could go to work without forgetting what she was talking about halfway through a sentence. The one who could go to the gym without her joints screaming at her. The one with hair!
My confidence and mental health hit rock bottom at times.
I knew I had to find the new me, but honestly, I had no idea where to start.
Cancer changed me in a lot of ways, both good and bad.
I still worry about recurrence more than I'd like to admit, but I try very hard not to let it consume me. I live with long-term side effects from treatment, including neuropathy and what can only be described as a memory like a goldfish's. My calendar is basically my personal assistant these days.
Sometimes I'll be in the middle of a conversation and my brain just goes completely blank. No thoughts. No words. Nothing. I genuinely don't think I could tell you my own name when it happens! And the fatigue? I could probably fall asleep hanging off a washing line.
But there have been positives too.
My priorities have changed massively.
It's not about having the best wardrobe, the nicest car or the fanciest holiday. Those things come and go and can all be replaced.
For me, it's about people.
I treasure time with the people I love. I appreciate nature more. I enjoy being outside. Material things don't really bother me anymore.
I'd much rather someone say, "Kim helped me through a difficult time," than, "Kim had a nice car."
Cancer has changed me, but honestly, I think it's changed me for the better.
I know how incredibly lucky I am that my cancer was caught early. I have the most amazing family and friends around me, and I have my health. For that, I will always be grateful.
Whenever I find myself having a moan, I remind myself that life is short and none of us are promised tomorrow.
We're all busy. Kids, work, endless to-do lists and everything else life throws at us.
But if I could leave you with one piece of advice, it would be this:
Make time for the people you love.
One day you'll think, "I'll do it tomorrow," and tomorrow might never come.
Life is precious. Don't wait to tell people they matter.
Below is a short video of me ringing the bell with the fantastic nurses and my family on our Phoenix unit at Sunderland Royal 💪🔔❤️
Thank you for all you’re support and taking the time to read this post ❤️
