An Archway of Hope

Written for https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/category/what-do-you-see/

An archway of patients led Allesandra to the end of her chemotherapy. When the doctor gave her the good news, she didn’t quite believe him.  This faith was real. She couldn’t have survived her treatment without them.

Their fingers intertwined, every one of them were considered friends for life.

The day she was told her chances of having children were slim to minimal, she didn’t expect to cry. She never thought about being a mum – her age was already a barrier. When Charlotte, her niece was born, she felt a small pang of regret, but

To have the ability to share their ordeal with someone who understood, gave her the power to move forward. Dark humour amongst the pain When her hair fell out in clumps, they banded together to buy her a rainbow coloured wig.

When she first saw her hair growing, her mum said it was a sign from God that she was finally healing.

That her dad was protecting her from heaven.

Proud at the end of the corridor, she clapped with the rest of the patients. Allesandra rubbed her wrist, as if the needle still scratched her skin. She held the rope, gripped it tight and smiled.

‘When I first had my treatment, my life felt like it had turned upside down. On my first day I met Sheila … We were chair neighbours, that’s what she called it. There was nothing else we could do but share stories. I will never forget the laughter, and the courage she showed, especially at the end.’ Allesandra breathed in, determined to remember the joy, not the fear. ‘You all helped me. The friendship of this ward cannot be beat. Remember when you are feeling at your lowest, you will be in excellent company. They will share your jokes, hold your hand when you’re in pain. Believe in you. I hope that one day all of you will ring this bell, and your friends will be right by your side when you do. I see more courage in this room, than on any battlefield. Sheila, I will honour each extra hour, I promise. I am lucky, so lucky, to be yet another person to ring this bell.’

She glanced at the sign on the wall; it held a promise for all the patients in this ward. A reminder, that it was possible to survive, both the treatment and the disease.

Ring this bell,

three times well,

its toll to say

my treatments done,

I’m on my way!

This is a battle I have won!

The last line, one her mum told her to think in her head. It was a privilege to live; healed, or losing their fight, every person in the long corridor, shared her pride of beating Cancer. The rope rough against her palm, she pulled, and hope echoed across the walls.