Guest post by Meghan Newton Reddick
It is my first time at Princess Margaret Hospital for a consult with my new radiation oncologist, about my upcoming radiation treatment and everything feels new.
My husband and I drove in, trying to figure out best place to park for the value? We eventually found a spot, but it would have cost us a lot. So… yep, this could get pricey if I’m here daily for radiation.
AskEllyn says: Some of us also have to go through chemotherapy cancer treatment in addition to radiation treatment. Here’s what that first day is like.
Hi, we’re new here.
We ask the info desk where to go for radiation. We were told 2B – any elevator. We arrive at the first bank of elevators—but find only signs that say 3B and up. Huh? Backtrack to the info desk where the kind woman smiles and says, “Ah yes, 2B is the level above 3B—it’s the basement system.” Makes sense… once someone explains it. Everyone was lovely and helpful, but it’s clear we’re new here.
The elevator doors were adorned with promotion materials for Princess Margaret’s Carry the Fire fundraising campaign. As a marketer, I admire their branding efforts and their out-of-home marketing tactics.
We make it to the right check-in and are asked to wait in the waiting room. Everyone appears to be masked, so I put mine on and pull out my phone to catch up on a few work emails. I’m mid-sentence in a work reply when—
GONG!
The room breaks into applause. I look up and see a woman being hugged by her whole family—partner, teenagers, and aunties. She looks relieved, emotional, and proud. It’s the first time we’ve heard the end of treatment “gong” in person. I’ve seen it online, but in real life, it hits different.
AskEllyn says: Where did the gong get its origin? The tradition began at MD Anderson.
How will it feel when your cancer treatment is done? Will you bang the gong?
Her treatment was done. And I thought: how will that feel when it’s me?
Because right now, I’m not even near the finish line. I’m in the messy middle—figuring things out, waiting, navigating, anticipating.
I realize now that my eyes are filled with tears. I look over at my husband, and of course, his eyes are also glassy. We smile at each other through the tears. We both felt those emotions brim up.
But hearing that gong… that was a moment of light. It gave me a glimpse of what might be on the other side. It reminded me how important it is to mark life’s transitions—not just the big victories, but the quiet ones, too. We need these kinds of rituals. We need moments that say, “This mattered. You made it through something.”
I hoped that banging that gong brought relief and a smile for that woman and her family today. Because in that moment, her ending gave shape to my middle. It gave me hope.
Meghan Reddick is a communications and marketing leader who has helped transform some of Canada’s most recognized national charities into purpose-driven brands with powerful public voices.
She was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and is sharing her experience — including the physical, emotional and very real details — with honesty, curiosity and a healthy dose of humour.
Meghan is also a committed volunteer in the health space, currently serving on the marketing committee of the Michael Garron Hospital Foundation and the Advisory Board of the Canadian Health and Fitness Institute.
She finds calm in nature and joy in movement, often walking the Trans Canada Trail in Toronto, with her family and her golden retriever, Louie.
