Thanks and Gratitude From a Multiple Myeloma Survivor

January's twinkling lights and evergreens turn my thoughts to those who carried me through illness: doctors who made sense of my diagnosis, nurses who found veins when mine hid, EMTs who navigated tight corners with my stretcher and the home health team who transformed chaos into routine.

I'm equally grateful to my family and community who became my domestic lifeline — managing paperwork, cleaning, cooking and bringing food when despair threatened to overwhelm us, and hauling furniture up two narrow flights to create what became my Blue Zone sanctuary.

Among the constellation of helpers, two luminaries have shone brightest through my darkest nights: my wife, Heather, whose face beside my hospital bed carries the gentle serenity of a bodhisattva, yet who summons fierce advocacy when confronting doctors, insurance companies and the labyrinth of medical bureaucracy on my behalf.

And Anton, my bio-energy healer, with his snow-white beard and timeworn face. During our sessions, his hands hover above my skin, radiating warmth while his breathing falls into rhythm with mine. Between his palms and cancerous cells, he transforms my fragmented energy from stagnation to flow.

Heather and I move through life as yin and yang. Before my illness, we ducked beneath Bangkok temple doorways, laughed through Amsterdam streets and shared exotic bites across São Paolo tables. Our journeys through four continents built the foundation of our partnership — each memory a brushstroke in our shared canvas.

In 2017, multiple myeloma redefined us. My equal partner became my lifeline as I watched from my sickbed, helpless as a child. My travel companion transformed — her flowing hair now pulled back, her movements through our apartment precise and focused, distraction a luxury she could no longer afford. Her steady hands guide injection needles and dress my wound with surgical precision. She manages appointments, memorizes medication schedules, challenges doctors with unwavering resolve and coordinates our parade of home health aides like a maestro.

Eight years have passed. Our roles are changing. I cook, do laundry, teach qigong and counsel clients on I-Ching and feng shui. Meanwhile, Heather works to reclaim herself after years spent in the caretaker role, her artist's hands now arranging our home anew and transforming our third-floor sanctuary into a space where others can come to heal.

Anton and I first met at a healing retreat on Long Island years before my diagnosis. When my world collapsed, he reappeared at the Edgar Cayce Center, hand extended. Though I know dozens of practitioners from my feng shui circles, each with their own specialties and techniques, something in Anton's calm gray eyes and the quiet confidence in his voice told me he was the right choice. After his call to share his list of services, I sat on the couch, tears streaming down my face, clutching his telephone number like a talisman.

During chemotherapy's darkest days, Anton became my lighthouse. His bio-energy students surrounded me while I was still in the hospital bed in our apartment. When my Qi dimmed to a flicker, his hands cradled that spark until it grew strong enough for me to hold again. Our wellness gatherings at the SLA Art Space, though initially for my healing, became a sanctuary where everyone found what they needed.

I recently had an incredible in-person session with him. Anton's hands hovered above me while seven quartz crystals aligned my body. I felt pressure against my chest and temples, electric tingles through my limbs. Behind closed eyelids, colors swirled — first purple, then golden light spreading through my torso like warming honey. For the first time in months, I felt rejuvenated.

These two people — Heather with her lioness heart and Anton with his healing hands — have transformed my journey from pain into possibility. In their presence, I find the strength to continue. Together, they've taught me that even in collapse and ill health, life can bloom again.

For this — for them — I am endlessly grateful.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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