Funeral Information and Livestream Link

Heidi’s funeral is Tuesday, October 8, 2024 at 4:00 pm at Bethlehem Lutheran Church Twin Cities, Minneapolis Campus (4100 Lyndale Ave S). There is no visitation. Please join us for a reception after the service.

The service will be livestreamed at this link: https://www.youtube.com/live/BBem6OdQlvg

The video will also be available after the service.

Obituary

Following is Heidi’s full obituary. Thank you to Heidi’s sister Kate for taking the lead on this wonderful remembrance.

Heidi Rae Steffen Mogush, 46, of Minneapolis, Minnesota, was born on November 3, 1977, in Spencer, Iowa, the second daughter of Terry Donald and Marcia Rae (Albers) Steffen. She was welcomed home to the Happy Hog Haven, their farm north of Linn Grove, by a proud Katie, her two-year-old sister. Nine years later, Heidi was delighted to add a brother to the family when Jessob was born.

Heidi was baptized and confirmed at Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Royal, Iowa. She attended Sioux  Valley elementary school in Peterson, Iowa, and Sioux Central Community schools in Linn Grove and Sioux Rapids, Iowa. Kate, Heidi, and Yannick Perrin, their Swiss exchange heart-sister, had quite a few adventures in the Plymouth Volare - who thought giving three teenage girls a rear-wheel drive 8-cylinder car was not a recipe for frequent trips into the ditch? Five times in one winter!

Heidi’s love of music led her to Luther College in Decorah, Iowa for her post-secondary studies in vocal music education. She loved life at Luther and in Decorah, where the weather was always beautiful, even during snowstorms. Heidi and Paul met at Luther, and became close while studying for music history exams. It wasn’t long before calls to the farm included references to the dreamy young man who had captured Heidi’s heart.

Heidi’s earliest jobs were babysitting and working as a nanny for kids that became extended family for her. A musician to her core, Heidi combined her love of music and children when working as an elementary school music teacher, piano and vocal teacher, and children’s choir director.

The most important children in Heidi’s life are her boys - Benjamin, Gilbert, and Jackson. Heidi’s years of thoughtful parenting and efforts as a homeschool mom are bearing fruit in the well-rounded and healthy young men they are becoming.

Self-described as a farm girl living in the city, Heidi was perhaps most famous in her neighborhood as a grower of gardens - she often said, “I’m trying to feed my family here!” She was so happy when the large ash tree in the backyard had to be removed due to disease because life-giving sunshine replaced the shade that stunted her biggest garden’s growth.

Heidi started her blog, How to be Heidi to write about her garden, cancer, health, and life; her unique writer’s voice captured her thoughts beautifully and touched her readers regardless of the post topic. It is a wonderful time capsule of her world over the past four years.

Heidi believed with all her heart that the care she received at the Hennepin County Medical Center was the best available; she even served on a patient advisory board and was a model for HCMC’s patient testimonial posters. Her family extends a sincere thank you to the staff there for their care and concern for Heidi throughout her time as a patient.

Heidi died at home on September 22, 2024. Both her heavenly Father and her earthly one were there to welcome her to heaven, and that is a comfort to the family and friends cherishing memories of her for the rest of their lives.

Those who love Heidi will gather for her funeral on Tuesday, October 8, 2024 at 4:00 pm at Bethlehem Lutheran Church Twin Cities, Minneapolis Campus (4100 Lyndale Ave S). We will reflect on the contributions she made to all of our lives and the ways she impacted the world during her too-brief life on earth.

Please do not send flowers. If you would like to commemorate Heidi with a memorial gift, consider the following:

• Seed Savers Exchange (https://seedsavers.org/give/)

• MacPhail Center for Music (https://www.macphail.org/giving/)

• Arts on Grand (https://www.artsongrand.org/donate.php)

• Contribute to the Mogush/Steffen boys’ educational and enrichment experiences (travel, mountain biking, etc)

• Anything else that would honor Heidi’s legacy

Gill Brothers Southwest Minneapolis Funeral Home is handling arrangements.

Heidi lived her Devastatingly Beautiful life all-out. She was a bright light even on the darkest of days, and her last words to so many were an expression of love. 

This is devastating. It is crushing, but it is more than that. My new perspective brings agony but it also brings joy. There is nothing like deep sadness to help me see what I already have in front of me and what I have is a beautiful life. I have a life so beautiful, so full of love, so wonderful that I don't want to leave it. Devastating news, yes, but only because I have such a devastatingly beautiful life. Could anyone ask for more? – Heidi Mogush, 10/30/23

Peace for Heidi

Heidi died Sunday evening at home.

Thank you to everyone who has provided food and comfort for our family during Heidi’s time in hospice care. This has been truly helpful, and we are grateful. We have the support we need at this moment, and we will need some space to process and plan for what’s next.

In a couple of weeks we will get together to talk about Heidi and reflect on the contribution she has made to all of our lives. The funeral will be on Tuesday, October 8 at 4:00 PM at Bethlehem Lutheran Church Twin Cities, Minneapolis Campus (4100 Lyndale Ave S). I’ll post the full obituary with more information soon.

In the meantime, I encourage you to look back at this blog that Heidi was so generous to share with us. For Heidi, this space was an important connection to our community as she lived the last few years of her life with cancer. She opened herself up in such a vulnerable and meaningful and beautiful way, with the hope that it could improve other people’s lives. I know for sure that she was successful.

Paul

Update from Paul

This is Paul posting for Heidi.

Heidi last posted on May 28, writing about how much better she had been feeling, the delayed emotional reaction of her prognosis from last fall, and her intent to keep connecting with people who love her. She has been able to spend time with many of you, here in Minneapolis and in Iowa, Texas, Florida, Utah, and France. We’re grateful for these opportunities and wish that there could have been more time with more of you.

Earlier this week Heidi made the decision to stop treatment and begin hospice care at home. If you would like to reach out to Heidi directly, please use the private message page on her blog (https://www.heidimogush.com/contact-me). She may not be able to reply, but she will appreciate the messages. If you’re looking to help, food delivery is genuinely helpful, whether directly from local south Minneapolis restaurants or via Doordash and the like. Gift cards are best so we can use them when needed. Please direct those to me (paul@mogush.net or 612-920-3614).

If you saw this via a social media post, I probably won’t do that again. Future updates will be on this blog. You can sign up for notifications here: https://www.heidimogush.com/join-my-mailing-list

Heidi just read this before I posted it and she says she hopes to be writing on the blog again soon.

Here to Stay

5.28.2024

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It’s been a while. My peonies are blooming, seeds are sprouting like crazy and weeds are growing the fastest of all! The lushness of spring is here and I believe we can be certain it’s here to stay!

I’ve been struggling. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when all things point to good news. My balance has continued to improve so much that my wheelchair and walker no longer ride in the car at the ready. They’re stored in the garage. My cane still sits by the back door but it doesn’t get any action. I’m walking on my own again! I can only walk short distances but it is a huge improvement that points to healing. If the cancer was having a big party in my brain I wouldn’t regain such balance. In addition, I’m a bit less tired (at least on non-chemo weeks) and I’m gardening. Gardening is not as easy as I’d like it to be but I’m doing it. Not long ago it would have been impossible. 

All of it is good and yet deep, crushing sadness and a little panic settle in on my heart daily. It would have made sense to feel this way when I first learned of the great cancer expansion in October. It would have made sense to feel this way in winter when I could barely balance to get through the house and cried with each step up the stairs at night. It all would have made sense then. Somehow my improvement has made space for feelings, and I’m having them! I find myself very much wanting to be in good company so I’m spending a lot of time with those that love me most. It is special time and fun on the days I’m not crying so much. I’m taking deep breaths and asking for lots of hugs. I’m blessed that my kids and Paul are willing to comply with my requests. Bless them. 

Much like I don’t believe the cancer is going to kill me, (if I give in to that thinking I’ll surely die quickly) I don’t believe these feelings will stay. I think it is a phase that will pass but it’s surely not passing fast enough for my taste! I have always been naturally positive and happy. I miss that feeling because it feels like me. I miss waking up happy with no worries. I miss the strong feelings of joy when I look at the beautiful world around me and my beautiful life. I miss the blissful certainty that like spring, I’m here to stay.

Grow

3.8.2024

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I’ve always admired the earliest perennial plants of spring. They creep out or sometimes burst forth enthusiastically when the weather is still chilly. Their internal clock tells them something is coming that is greater than the cold. Something is coming that will nurture them. They’ll have everything they need to grow.

The last time I wrote I became able to take a few steps on my own. Things have continued to improve in small increments with walking but I have also learned how to use my canes, walker and humbled myself enough to enjoy the wheelchair when it is needed. 

I have further reason to believe that the medicine is working. In addition to my improved balance, the nodules on my neck are shrinking. There is one that is visible and it is definitely smaller!

Despite all this joyful news, I am often overcome with grief. I cry nearly every day. Even on my laughingest days I still lose some tears. I guess even for a fairly positive person this cancer stuff isn’t a joyride. I wish it were. I just have to feel my feelings, though, and trust that this time will pass. I trust that, like my rhubarb, chives and parsley, something is coming that will nurture me. I have everything I need to grow.

Walking on Sunshine

2.10.2024

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Is the weather getting you down? It’s hard to know what to make of this largely dark, cloudy, unseasonably warm weather. Many people seem worried about it but I have to admit, I’m taking it as a gift to me personally this year. With mobility as a challenge, I’ve been grateful to navigate less snow and ice but I sure do miss the sun!

The past few weeks have been rough. The things I was capable of doing a few weeks ago quickly dissolved into the blur of activities no longer possible for me. Mobility became a huge issue. Physically and emotionally, I have been giving more than 100% and it has been chipping away at my sense of wellbeing. 

I began my new medication last Saturday. It is an old chemotherapy drug that is taken orally. After a week of treatment I get a break to recover. Luckily, there’s not much to recover from so far. This medicine carries with it many of the usual chemotherapy side effects you might think of - nausea, mouth sores, skin issues, compromising the immune system, etc. - but I’m doing pretty well so far. If all continues to go well we may increase the dose. (Yikes!) Still, I’ll do just about anything. I want it to work! 

Maybe it is working…you’ll never believe what happened this morning. I walked across the kitchen. I did not crawl hand over hand around the countertops. I did not wobble my way across, barely making it. No! I just walked! I hoped for this but I have to admit I did not see it coming, not today. When you are using all you have to move around each day, even with a great deal of hope, drastic change can seem impossible. It feels miraculous for yesterday’s impossible to become today’s reality. What a joy! After making my first big steps, I announced my accomplishment to my family. Paul quickly started up celebratory music on the stereo. “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves sounded through the kitchen speakers. Suddenly, we couldn’t stop smiling. Jackson boogied around the room and spun across the floor. Laughter filled the air. Mine was cautious dancing but dancing just the same. I could wave my arms and wiggle my body without falling, without wavering much. Oh! What a gift! 

I want to do everything now, but I’ll try not to. I’m guessing my next lesson will be on pacing myself. For now, I’m happy to be walking with more ease. Even if it’s cloudy outside, I’ll be “Walking on Sunshine” for the foreseeable future.

Walking, Simply Walking

2.2.2024

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There’s always something to be thankful for. I’ve had my challenges finding those things lately! There has been a stark contrast between my lived experience and what I’m working for, hoping for, searching for: health.

It’s been nearly three months since I last wrote. I’ve been busy adapting to many changes. In early November I was beginning a different chemotherapy and it worked. My eyesight improved significantly! I managed to stay on it long enough to get some real benefit but ultimately we stopped because it was too hard on my body. We moved onto another medicine but stopped that as well; it wasn’t working. Tomorrow I begin another new (to me) medicine. The side effects don’t sound very fun (they never do), but I’m strangely excited to begin. I want it to work. I’m ready for it to work. 

So, I can barely walk now. Side effects of medication paired with cancer near my brain have me swaying and wobbling like crazy. Everything I do is a tremendous effort. I move through life furniture-grabbing and creeping along with canes or a walker. Oh how I miss my old life and everything I used to do! Bending over to pick toys up off the floor, carrying a basket of laundry, even cleaning the bathroom sounds appealing now. Aside from spontaneous remission, walking smoothly across a room has become my ultimate dream. Perhaps this is not forever, only for now? My doctor has planted seeds of hope. (Bless him.) If we can get the cancer knocked back I may walk with ease again. 

It’s funny the things we overlook when searching for something to be thankful for. On my tough days, I need to find something positive to keep going. Back in the good old days (last summer), I never would have considered gratitude for walking. Walking, simply walking is a beautiful gift! Walk across a room, up the stairs, through your neighborhood, through a pasture or through the woods. If I could, I know I would! Have you been for a walk today?

Something Else

11.8.2023

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I knew it when I wrote my last post but I just couldn’t pack any more bad news into that message. My vision has changed. I’m not seeing like I used to. We have been watching fluid in my eyes for years but it has never drifted into my central vision so it has not been a problem. At one point, a few years ago, my eye doctor thought I might have cancer in my eyes so I met with a retina specialist. I loved him because he told me what I wanted to hear, “Nah, it's not cancer.” 

With my vision being…less…lately I had another visit with that retina specialist. I reminded him that we’d met a few years ago and how much I liked him because he told me what I wanted to hear about cancer in my eyes. His response? “What if I changed my mind?” 

Have you ever even heard of someone that has cancer in their eyes? I certainly hope not! I haven’t. This is getting ridiculous!  The good news is that we don’t need to do anything in particular about it just yet. Cancer that is improving elsewhere is cancer that will improve in my eyes. Great! 

I’m seeing things differently - literally - so I’m trying to figure out both what I want to do and what I can do. Things that I could do just a short time ago are harder. I’m stubborn - and that helps a lot - but I’m slowly realizing that I just have to do things differently. I’ll be happier if I do. 

Thirteen years ago when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, we had space for a sewing room in our house. It was a wonderful luxury and a beautiful outlet for me to do something I enjoyed when I wasn’t feeling well enough to do my normal things. Now, our bedrooms are filled with people! It’s a wonderful thing. Although, it is tough to find space to do the creative things I love without a lot of setup. Over the weekend, I started trying to carve out a little sewing space for myself in the dining room. It all started with lighting. I needed enough light in our dark, old house to be able to see. We bought a beautiful task light, clamped it on the little table in the corner and I set up my sewing machine. My aspirations were low. I’d just mend the open seams on our dish rags. They’re in perfectly good condition except they were cheap and all the end seams have worn open. It would be an easy fix. With some color-matching help from Jackson, I  filled a bobbin with the correct color thread. Then, it was time to thread the machine’s needle. My eyes felt blurry, they filled with tears. Overwhelmed at the challenge, I couldn’t do it. 

This is my life now? I think I can, I think I can, I can’t?

In the end I did thread the needle - twice - and I’m confident I’ll be able to do it again. I’m putting tiny threads through small spaces and succeeding. That’s what my body feels like, too, but it’s okay. I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to keep breathing, crying when I need to and do what I can to look at life from the perspective of a full cup. There are so many things I’m interested in and so many ways I can enjoy this life. I’ll thread needles while I can and when I can’t anymore, I’ll just do something else!

Devastatingly Beautiful

10.30.2023

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Nearly two weeks ago, my oncologist walked into the room with what he described as devastating news. I could tell he was upset. He admitted he’d lost sleep over it the previous night. I'd had a PET scan and a brain MRI the day before. Normally, I read the reports and study them before he comes in. Something was different this time, I just didn't want to. I guess it's a good thing I didn't. 

Devastating news. Devastating news. Devastating news. I kept hearing him say it. The PET scan didn't show much that surprised us, at least nothing we didn't already know about. There's still cancer around the lining of my lungs and lining of my heart but it's not particularly worse. Some of my bone cancer has gotten worse but not expanded greatly. There's also cancer in the lining of my abdomen, but we knew that. Goodness! So much cancer and this part wasn't even concerning! The big news was that there's cancer in the fluid around my brain and spine - “A sugar coating,” he said. A person with this diagnosis has an average life expectancy 4 to 6 months. I can get a year if things go really well. Yikes. Devastating news, indeed.

How am I doing? As well as can be expected, if not better, I guess. Sometimes I feel balanced and stable. Other times, when I'm tired or not sure what to do with myself, I feel utterly crushed by the weight of it. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling this way before I even knew I had this terrible cancer diagnosis. A lot has happened in the last month or six weeks that has been hard for my body. I really haven't felt like myself and have had to adapt in ways I never had to adapt before. Still, I am here somewhere. I find myself rising up again and again. I take inspiration from amazing people like my grandma Steffen. She used to say to me, "There's always, always something to be grateful for," and of course she was right. There is always something to be grateful for. That's one of the reasons this blog is so important for me. I hope you'll continue to read along with me as I write and share it with friends or anyone you think might enjoy it. Writing in this place helps me find myself, it helps me be more positive in a real way, a way that works for me. It helps me find the silver linings that keep me going. Oftentimes you are the silver lining that keeps me going.

This is devastating. It is crushing, but it is more than that. My new perspective brings agony but it also brings joy. There is nothing like deep sadness to help me see what I already have in front of me and what I have is a beautiful life. I have a life so beautiful, so full of love, so wonderful that I don't want to leave it. Devastating news, yes, but only because I have such a devastatingly beautiful life. Could anyone ask for more?

Whatever I Want

9.13.2023

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Believe it or not, this really is a hot bath. We used to get a pretty sweet setup on the farm - a cold cattle tank for the kids and a hot tub for me! Notice, my sweet, sweet boys often needed to warm up with Mom in the hot tub!

I’m not sure if you know this about me. I’ve been homeschooling with some combination of our children for the past ten years. It has been everything you might imagine it to be, everything most life experiences have the potential to be. It has been deeply challenging and wildly joyful. It has been good. But, all good things must come to an end. 

I have been absent from this place for around a year. I just had to stop. After years of keeping all the balls in the air I just didn’t feel I could keep kids coming and going from school, homeschooling, household management, cancer treatment, and blogging about cancer treatment going. It was too much!

The past year of treatment has amounted to a parade of targeted chemotherapy infusions. Targeted chemotherapy works in special ways meant to be less bad (that’s my description, not the cancer people’s). The length of each treatment has varied but this summer they have gotten ridiculously short. Ironically, this has probably been the best summer I’ve had in 3-5 years and it has been filled with failed treatments! (Yikes! What does that say about cancer treatment?) Anyway, we’re moving beyond targeted treatments back into carpet-bomb, knock-down, drag-out, hard core chemo again. 

After only a month on the last targeted chemo I was hit with the worst pain in my life. For a metastatic breast cancer patient, new pain = check it out. Unfortunately, the cancer has moved into my abdomen. The pain is under control now. I am super grateful. We did a procedure on Friday that should prevent that pain going forward. And, I started a new chemo, too. 

As we wrapped up the school year last spring, Paul and I speculated at what in the world I would do with myself once homeschooling ends. My main idea was this: whatever I want! Paul chuckled and suggested I do whatever I want for far longer than any stretch I had in mind. (I suspect he thinks I deserve it.) 

In the meantime, it has occurred to me that these are not ideal conditions for doing whatever I want. After a busy morning Thursday of getting everyone off to school, a lovely, quick visit from a friend and an appointment I came home feeling cold. I thought I want soup and a hot bath. Then, I realized, I could have it! I quickly threw some garden vegetables in a pan to saute, added some broth and left it while I took the hottest, nicest bath I’ve had in years. There was no one home to use up my hot water or call my name. I only had the scent of simmering soup to lure me out of the steamy bathroom. 

Despite it all, I’m doing whatever I want and it feels good!

Gold

7.14.2022

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I met a rock star two nights ago. Literally. I also met a guy that posts exercise videos on social media, a nurse that loves to laugh, and the sweetest health aid. The people that work at HCMC are totally awesome.

My surgery went very well. I’m improving every day. There are tubes draining fluid from my left lung. They hurt, but I try to stay grateful the drains are there and doing their job. The work of this surgery means I’ll have two stable lungs. I’ll be able to sing and dance and play again! 

There are times in life when gratitude comes pretty easily. This is one of them. My time in the hospital has been such a blessing because of the amazing people here. Love, compassion, good humor, and a genuine willingness to help makes healing easier. Every person I’ve met this week has a heart of gold. Who knew my week in the hospital would brush me up against fame and so many, many shiny hearts?

One

7.10.2022

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It's raspberry season in our garden. Zucchini are bursting forth and the tomatoes are blossoming like crazy but it’s the raspberries that have our attention. We go out to pick them first thing most mornings. We pick all that are ripe, but a few hours later more are ready. They are a marvel!

The last lung drain I wrote about left me feeling really good for two days. Then, I returned to not feeling well. It got worse. Breathing was difficult and I was really sick. Finally, we drained all the fluid away.

The good news:  my lung is able to re-inflate. A long-term fix is possible. The other news:  I’m having lung surgery tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll come home with a lung less prone to fluid build-up. 

A new treatment plan is in the works. Options are few at this point. That’s not great, but I remember this is just like buying a house or finding the love of my life. I might want to have lots of options but I only need one that works perfectly. 

Until Monday, I’ll be in the garden - picking berries!

So Good

6.16.2022

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I had another drain from my left lung yesterday. We removed more than a liter of fluid. If you’re keeping track, that’s more than three liters in just six weeks. It’s no wonder I feel heavy sometimes! Once the procedure was complete we looked at the remaining fluid. There is still a lot in there. Rats. 

Initially, I was really disappointed. Recovering in the hospital, I didn’t feel much different. It seemed like a lost cause until I got up and started moving. As I walked away from the hospital in my suffocating N95 mask, I could breathe! I could almost fly down the sidewalk. Burning past every other person on the street, my feet moved easily. My legs felt light! Still, I hesitated to get too excited. Sometimes I get a little bubble of energy but it often bursts. Not this time! At least, not yet. 

I slept beautifully last night and woke up an hour earlier than usual this morning. I can feel that my body needs some rest but I also have so much energy! I’m returning to my natural state. It’s the one in which I laugh and smile easily. I dance around and feel motivated to do life. It’s awesome! Just think what it will be like when my lung is free of fluid. Look out world! 

Hey. Could you do something for me today? Stop. Take a deep breath. Feel how well your healthy, beautiful lungs work and be grateful. You’ve got it so good (and so do I)!

Planted

6.10.2022

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In summer, the front of our property is lined with flowers. The show begins in early June with a nearly 40-foot hedge of deep pink peonies. By the time they finish blooming, geraniums take over until frost threatens. I spent hours dragging along to plant only half the geraniums yesterday. I didn't feel well but I knew what I needed, and I needed to get some of those plants in the ground!

My thoracentesis was Monday. It drained fluid from the lining of my left lung. It was remarkably easy, easier than all the other times. Since Monday was so easy, I seamlessly (unconsciously) changed my expectations for the entire week. Surely, I'd wake up on Tuesday feeling even better. Easier breathing, more oxygen, more energy, right? Not really.

It's been a long, slow week. My body has been heavy with fatigue. I pushed myself too far at times, and then, retreated into rest. Ugh. 

I expected to spend today dragging through the second half of my planting. Jackson and I made our way outside. He wanted to dig and I figured I'd drag, but it didn't work out. Well, the dragging along didn't work out. What a difference a day makes! Sometime between breakfast and outside time, a little laughter, music, and joy crept in. They brought energy. It was for me! We dug, we sang, we danced, and in short order, all the geraniums were planted.

Blessings

6.2.2022

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Hello! It’s been a long time! I took a vacation from writing. I hope you don’t mind. Living with metastatic breast cancer is no small feat so taking one item off my to-do list was…well, needed. 

Remission isn't the way I thought it would be. I imagined it would be sunshine, wild joy, and light radiating everywhere. I thought it would be complete confidence that everything is perfect and exactly how it should be. 

It's not like that. 

It has been, Is this what ‘normal’ feels like? It has been slowly, slowly having more energy. It has been me trying not to panic every time I don't feel well. It has been a practice in trust.

For a few months I enjoyed an enormous burst of energy. I was doing my regular exercises but found I could do even more. I felt better every day - better than I’d felt in years! I began to glimpse what I thought normal, non-cancerous people might feel like.  Then one morning, I woke up in pain. When you have cancer, new pain = scans. 

I met with my oncologist today to go over all that has happened:

  *I had a PET scan - we look for cancer with this one,

  *an echocardiogram of my heart, and

  *a few weeks ago, I had fluid drained from the lining of my left lung.

Good news! There’s not much going on cancer-wise in my body. There are little bits but it does not really appear to be progressing.

My heart looks good and there is even less fluid than last time we checked.

Finally, my left lung. I do have a large amount of fluid pressing on my lung. It may be causing my stomach pain. I had some of it drained away, but there is still a lot in there. Since I’d rather feel great instead of good, we’re going to drain more. It’s a little tricky to have needles stuck between my ribs but it’ll be worth it. I’m going to feel amazing once it’s gone! So, I’m delighted!

I hope all this means I can turn back to writing. I love connecting with you. I hope you will stay with me, keep reading, and maybe even share me with a friend. Thank you for being here. Blessings to you all.

Changed

11.24.2021

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There is a small hill in our neighborhood. It is so small that you could easily walk through our ‘hood and not know it was there. Where we approach, it has a one-block incline and one-block decline. It’s not much to think of, if you’re healthy.

Back around the time of my heart surgery our neighborhood hill took on a bit of significance. When I couldn’t breathe well enough to walk safely on my own, Paul went with me. I couldn’t go far or as fast as I wanted. Just a block and a half from home, we were often greeted with the hill. Turn left to walk the easy street, a gentle decline. Turn right to go up the hill. Watching through the eyes of love and seeing the state I was in, Paul would have likely chosen the easier path for us. Not me. No. I chose the hill almost every time. Even when I was breathless, I started climbing. 

After radiation, things for me went downhill fast. I did not feel well. Lumps pushed out of my neck. My back ached. My body was heavy with pain and exhaustion. Maybe I was just recovering from radiation? No. My cancer was misbehaving. 

Despite the pain, deep disappointment, and, let’s be real - fear - I set my mind on positivity. I told myself that I am healthy. I took myself for walks. As I went along, I spoke aloud, “I am perfectly healthy.” I did not feel healthy. It was hard to walk. It was hard to get through every day. It was hard to be without a break from thoughts of cancer, pain, and my harsh reality. Still, I kept on. I lied to myself. Walking, “I feel better every day.” Thinking, “I feel better every day.” Saying, “I feel better every day.” Praying, “Thank you, God, I feel better every day.”

I had a checkup at the cancer center a few weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been surprised by what I heard because my body never lies. I knew how I had been feeling. Still, it was a surprise when the word “perfect” floated through the room. I was overjoyed when I heard the word “remission.” REMISSION! Of course, it’s not definite -these things never are - but it sure looks and feels like remission. 

Now, I really do feel better every day. When I wake up in the morning I am excited for each day. When I exercise, I smile because it feels so good to move. When I interact with my family I laugh, because everything is more delightful when I feel well. When I go to sleep at night, I am grateful. Life is so good.

I went for a walk today. I wanted to savor the scent of fall and let my hair blow wild in the autumn wind. I walked South. When I got to the bottom of the hill I paused. I turned right but I didn’t walk up the hill. I bounced, I jogged, I ran. It was fun! I grinned. Things have changed. 

Happy Again

9.8.2021

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In my natural state, I am smiling. I smile when I walk, smile when I talk and smile when I’m emailing someone I like. I wasn’t so smiley for a few days. Radiation was easy. Well, the process was easy. It wasn’t perfect, though. Cancer treatment never is. 

My regular cancer medication has me operating with very little appetite. My radiation was straightforward, directed to the first lumbar of my spine. The only thing in the way? My belly. Running a little radiation through my guts dropped my appetite right down to nothing. Thank God for my amazing body! I’m already regaining my appetite. I want to eat. Every food leaves me feeling sick but I’m progressing just the same. 

Paul is unbelievably good to me. He patiently tells me what I need to hear. It won’t be like this forever. He selflessly adapts when my skin crawls with pain. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He echoes back to me what I know to be true. Tomorrow will be better. And it is! Here we are. Another tomorrow has arrived and it is better. It’s better than yesterday and tomorrow will be even more. 

Now, I’m smiling. I’m tending the garden and children. I am returning to myself. I’m happy again.

Lovely Life

9.1.2021

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Things have been moving and shaking at our house. We are cleaning and sorting, fixing and soon (I hope) painting. Our load has been a bit too heavy for years. We’re making way for positive new energy, new life, and fresh new ways. 

The last week has been a lot. I had a biopsy taken from my neck, drained fluid from around my lung, met my new radiation oncologist and scanned and planned for radiation. That was all before noon on Friday! Since then, I had a COVID booster, an echocardiogram of my heart and finished more than half my course of radiation. Things are moving and shaking!  

Radiation started on Monday. It. Is. So. Easy. The entire universe seems to be conspiring to make it so. It is only about ten minutes from our house to the cancer center but this week it seems remarkably faster. Somehow, day after day, all the stoplights are green. Sunshine and music streaming, I cruise downtown with a smile on my face. When I arrive, everything is easy. Parking? Reserved. Waiting room? Empty. People? Super nice and always ready. It feels as if finally, finally things are turning around for me. If green lights, sunshine and nice people don’t mean my cancer is on the run, what could? (Wink.)

Even with so much ease this week, I’m feeling a little wilted. Side effects and the uncertainty of it all sometimes gets to me. At about 4:00 today I decided I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do for the rest of the day. Maybe, for the rest of the week. Now, I’m doing entirely as I please. It’s good. I cut myself some fresh zinnias. I placed them at my bedside. As I drift off to sleep tonight, I’ll let go of my heavy load. I’ll fill myself with positive energy. I’ll look at my fresh, beautiful flowers and sleep, dreaming of my lovely life.

Keep Going

8.23.2021

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In April, I started new medication. As the side effects set in, my writing voice slowly went mute. By the time summer arrived, I didn’t even try to write anymore. 

Today, I’m back. I stand squarely in a season of abundance. Tomatoes pile up on the countertop. Fruits wait to be preserved. Kale, cabbage, broccoli, Swiss chard, onions, green beans, beets, garlic, cucumbers and zucchini await my tardy harvest. Despite drought, they take what little I give them and keep growing. 

Over summer I experienced two different combinations of cancer treatments. The first hit me hard. I pushed back with daily exercise and as much positivity as I could muster but it won in the end by pulling down my spirit. I did not feel like myself at all. Without me I just wasn’t me, and that wasn’t sustainable. It turns out I can’t do cancer treatment or life when I don’t feel like myself for a long time. So, we switched to a new plan. Not perfect but much more tolerable, I felt like a person again; my spirit returned. It is easier to ignore the unpleasantries of cancer treatment when I feel like myself. 

I had a regular cancer check-up and PET scan last week. My cancer is slowly growing. There is cancer in the lymph nodes near my collar bones and in one lumbar of my spine. Fluid is accumulating around my left lung and more fluid is present around my heart. I will take radiation therapy for my spine, a procedure to drain fluid from my lung, a lymph node biopsy, and at my doctor’s request, seek another opinion for what medication to try next. 

My amazing oncologist told me this is not an emergency. It is growing slowly. It will not kill me. Not yet. We are looking for the right recipe to stop my cancer. I am grateful that he always remembers I am a person and treats me as such. On top of that, nurses offer me hugs. Lab techs help me laugh through tears. My favorite scheduler fixes my treatment calendar to be as easy as possible. Love filters through every interaction. 

I am home now. Love lingers here, too. Hugs and sweetness mingle with the drive of everyday life with children. I honor this moment. I stop. I breathe deeply. I am grateful. I thirst for remission. Despite drought, I use what I am given and keep going.