The Bell Wasn't the End of Cancer

When I rang the bell after my CAR-T treatment in January 2025, I thought I had reached the finish line.

My mantle cell lymphoma had returned for the third time. I had first faced it in 2015 and again in 2019. CAR-T therapy was my latest battle, and when the scan showed no evidence of lymphoma, the relief was overwhelming.

I had rung the bell before.

This was not my first victory over cancer. Yet standing there after CAR-T therapy, hearing that my mantle cell lymphoma was gone once again, I felt the same gratitude I had felt every other time. I was grateful for the doctors, the nurses, the treatments, and the opportunity to keep living my life.

As I rang the bell, I found myself thinking about the patients who had not yet reached that moment. I hoped they would one day experience the same feeling. Anyone who has fought cancer knows there are few sounds more meaningful than that bell.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that cancer was finally behind me.

Then my tongue began to hurt.

At first, I thought the pain was coming from a tooth. My dentist examined me and found nothing wrong. To be safe, I visited my ENT physician. He took one look, examined my tongue, and referred me immediately to a specialist.

The biopsy confirmed what I never expected to hear again.

The squamous cell carcinoma of my tongue had returned.

Nine years earlier, in 2017, I had undergone ninety days of proton therapy to eliminate that cancer. I thought that chapter of my life had closed.

Instead, another chapter was beginning.

By then, cancer was unfortunately not a stranger. In addition to mantle cell lymphoma in 2015, 2019, and 2025, I had also faced bladder cancer in 2022 and again in 2024. The return of tongue cancer in 2026 represented the seventh time cancer had entered my life.

People often ask cancer survivors what they learned from their experience.

I never know which experience they mean.

When the biopsy confirmed that my tongue cancer had returned after nine years, I was disappointed but not shocked. By then, I had seen a pattern emerge in my life. Mantle cell lymphoma had returned twice. Bladder cancer had returned. Now squamous cell carcinoma had returned as well.

My wife and I received the news together.

Her first response was simple and honest.

"Oh shit."

Then, almost immediately, she shifted into action.

"We'll take care of this."

That has been her approach through every diagnosis, every treatment, every recurrence, and every recovery. She allows herself a moment to absorb the news, and then she moves forward. For more than a decade she has been my caregiver, advocate, and source of strength. Cancer may have happened to me, but she has walked every step of the journey beside me.

The other source of strength has been my faith.

Faith has kept my life intact.

Faith has given me hope when hope was difficult to find.

Faith has helped me avoid the depression and despair that can accompany repeated cancer diagnoses.

I do not believe faith guarantees outcomes. I do believe it changes how we face adversity. It has allowed me to see purpose when circumstances seemed overwhelming and gratitude when it would have been easier to focus on fear.

Looking back over seven encounters with cancer, I believe faith has been the difference between enduring treatment and surrendering emotionally to it. Faith was the difference then. It is the difference now. And I believe it will continue to be the difference in whatever comes next.

When I rang the bell after CAR-T treatment, I thought it signified the end of my cancer story.

I now understand that the bell meant something different.

It marked a victory, but not a conclusion.

Cancer has appeared in my life more times than I ever imagined possible. Yet each time it has appeared, I have discovered once again the strength of faith, the devotion of my wife, and the importance of hope.

Those are the things that continue to sustain me.

And for that reason, every day remains a gift worth celebrating.

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