Andrea Jones leaned back in her chair last week at the Simmons Cancer Institute at SIU and watched the chemotherapy drug drip into her body.
“It’s my last treatment, I’m so looking forward for this to be over,” she said as she glanced at John, her husband of 27 years.
It has been a tough slog for the pair as Andrea has gone through three months of chemotherapy and experienced many of the usual side effects: hair loss, fatigue, numbness in her hands and feet and a loss of appetite.  
For John, it meant stepping into the unfamiliar role as a caregiver.
Andrea says she is lucky that she hasn’t suffered from severe nausea, which often haunts those on chemo.
Cancer had spread to her skin, ovaries and lymph nodes  
“When you are told you have cancer, it’s like a punch in the gut,” she said, “The first thing I thought was who is going to take care of my husband and grandkids?”
Andrea has three adult children and 10 grandchildren.
“I just said, ‘I’m going to fight this. I’m going to live to see my grandkids graduate.”
But first she had a graduation ceremony of her own.

At Simmons Cancer Institute in Springfield and many other medical facilities across the nation, it has become a tradition for patients finishing chemotherapy to recite a poem and ring a bell to commemorate the milestone.
The tradition began in 1996 in a Texas hospital, where a retired Navy admiral was undergoing treatments. He donated a nautical bell to the facility and authored this poem:
Ring this bell
Three times well
Its toll to clearly say,
My treatment’s done
This course is run
And I am on my way!
“I’m going to miss seeing you guys,” Andrea said as she glanced at her nurse, who slipped her IV line from her port.
“It’s done. No more chemo!” It’s such a good feeling. I feel like I’ve been through the tunnel and seen the light at the end. And I’m not giving up,” said the 56-year-old bank teller from Petersburg.
Andrea’s battle struck home with this writer. Having watched my mother and father fight personal battles with cancer, I know how tough chemotherapy can be.
I remember in 2004 taking my Dad in for his final radiation treatment at another medical facility. When he left the treatment room, he had a smile on his face and a nurse told him “congratulations.”
But nothing else was done to mark the event.
Ceremonies have purpose. They mark milestones, recognize accomplishments and sacrifice. And more importantly they provide closure.
And closure was something Andrea sought.
As she walked from the chemotherapy station, her gait was slow but purposeful.
Nurses and staff gathered nearby. Fellow patients looked her way.
She read the admiral’s poem aloud and rang the bell three times to a roar of applause.
She turned, smiled and said, “This feels so good and I am so excited. I’m on my way”

Scott Reeder is a veteran statehouse journalist. He works as a freelance reporter in the Springfield area and produces the podcast Suspect Convictions. He can be reached at ScottReeder1965@gmail.com.