A couple of weeks BP (Before Pandemic), I found myself caught in a storm of worry, grief and fear.

My soulmate husband Will was diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

In case you’ve never heard of it (we hadn’t), it’s a rare form of bone cancer.

The good news: Myeloma is slow growing and treatable.

The bad news: Our doctor in Ventura said Will’s disease had already caused some bone damage which meant he’d have to start chemo right away. And have a bone marrow transplant three months later.

In an instant, it felt like the technicolor photo of our lives faded to grey.

I held back the tears  in the doctor’s office, taking my cues from Will (who must have been a zen master in a past life).

He took a long, deep breath, insisting on “staying present” and “not getting ahead of ourselves.” (Truly not my specialty.)

My mind imagined the worst case scenarios.

I sobbed in the garden, in the bathroom and on the phone, (out of Will’s earshot) with some close friends.

I gave myself time and space to feel the feelings. And to get them out.

I shared my fears with the trees and the flowers.  Roared like a lion in my car. And cried like a baby in yoga.

But my heart held space for magic and miracles.

I prayed constantly.  To God, Goddess, the earth, the sky and everything in between: “Please, I beg of you. Please send us magic and miracles”  


Would you believe that Will’s brother (who’s in medical PR), had recently written an article about multiple myeloma?

And that he knew of a world renowned multiple myeloma specialist in Los Angeles?

And that we were already planning to go to LA that week?

And that we managed to get an appointment at 6:30 AM?

And that his office was just 5 minutes from where we were staying? (Truly a miracle, given the vastness of LA.)

We savored each and every synchronicity (no matter small or seemingly insignificant), as a sign that the Universe had our backs.

And the more gratitude we reveled in, the more doors kept opening with ease and grace.

And would you believe….

After doing extensive tests, our myeloma specialist came to the opposite conclusion of the doctor in Ventura.

He called Will’s disease “myeloma light.”

No bone damage. No chemo. No transplant. Just monitoring every 3 months.


After the happy tears, I did feel some rage toward the doctor in Ventura and all the anguish his misdiagnosis had caused us.

But then, I chose to be grateful for him too. Thankful that he found the disease so early. And that we found our beloved myeloma specialist.

 May my story be a rainbow ray of hope for you.

Right now, we’re all walking through a torrential storm of worry, fear and grief.

In no way am I downplaying the magnitude of the challenges the world is facing.

But I know that even now, in the depths of our struggles, there are gifts to be found.

Will and I consciously named and claimed all the good things that were happening during one of the worst times in our lives.

By focusing on the magic that was showing up for us, I believe we opened the door to more and more.

They say that “energy flows where attention goes.”

And I say:

Look for what’s right when things go wrong.

When fear comes knocking at your door, open a window.

Breathe in all the shades of green in the world. How blue-tiful the sky is. And how each little bird has its own special song.

Focus on what brings you joy and lifts you up.

And while you’re at it, I invite you to share some of that with us.

(It could be a small act of kindness. Or a big epiphany. Or how much you love kissing your dog’s little wet nose. Or…..?)

Just share whatever your heart feels like saying in the comment section below.

The magic of your words might help lift someone else up from their muck.

May you and your precious loved ones stay safe and be well.

With wings of love and hope,