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Walking

On By HschichieIn blog8 Comments

I write to you today with a head full of introspection and gratitude. Bear with me as I pontificate a bit. 🙂

It’s always a funny thing, driving onto the Anschutz Medical Campus.

For our family, this place holds a lot of history.

This is where Samantha received so much of her care. It’s where brilliant doctors tried to understand a little girl’s complicated mitochondrial disease and where we learned words and acronyms we never wanted to know.

Years later, this is where Ryan came for answers and care as mitochondrial disease began taking more and more from him.

And now, it’s where Cynde is fighting cancer.

So yeah…driving onto this campus hits a little differently for me.

Anschutz is a busy hub of people who are really sick. Behind almost every window is a family waiting, hoping for good news, sitting beside someone they love or trying to figure out what comes next.

But that’s only part of the story.

It’s also a busy hub of researchers searching for answers to some of the most complex diseases — cancer, mitochondrial disease, ALS, epilepsy and so many others.

It’s a place where thousands of doctors, nurses, researchers, therapists, techs and caregivers come to work every day and say, essentially, Let’s see what we can do.

There is something incredibly hopeful about that.

Maybe that’s why I always feel a tad nostalgic, weepy, hopeful and proud when I drive onto Anschutz.

Our family has experienced some of its hardest days here.

But we’ve also experienced extraordinary care here. We’ve watched people fight like hell for the people we love. We’ve benefited from science, research, medicine and people who have devoted their lives to making someone else’s impossible situation a little more possible.

Yesterday, they did that for Cynde.

Cynde did not have a great night last night.

She had some nausea, it took a while to get her settled into her bed, and someone checked on her about every 15 minutes.

BUT…

It was so much better than having a terrible night because she was in terrible pain. Or because her vitals were out of whack. Or because, because, because.

A very complex surgery went well.

Today looks good.

And I am grateful.

This morning, they laid out a plan for her to do some walking.

I thought, Well, that seems pretty aggressive considering you pillaged her belly yesterday.

But who am I to judge?

Here is Cynde, walking the hallways less than 24 hours post-pillaging.

And Pops and I got to complete the puzzle.

And today I am so stinkin’ grateful.

Grateful for an amazing surgical team.

Grateful that Cynde decided, from the very beginning, to face this head-on. That she decided she could do hard things.

Rest with a good blankey post walk!

Grateful that Pops has a little spark back in his eyes.

I will not lie to you. This has been hard.

I am grateful for good friends, a good therapist and a good hubs who held me as I kind of lost it — as I said out loud that this was way too much for my family. Way too much for me. As I looked to the universe and pleaded for just a pause in the trauma.

Maybe that’s part of gratitude, too.

It doesn’t mean pretending the hard things aren’t hard. It doesn’t mean we aren’t tired or scared or sometimes really, really angry about what life has handed us.

Maybe it just means recognizing the moments when the weight gets a little lighter.

Cynde still has a hill to climb. This is the beginning of a new chapter, not the end of the story. Her body needs to heal. We still have more rounds of chemo ahead, and then we will reassess.

But today?

Today feels like we can breathe a little.

Kiss the Phews on their stinky heads.

Walk the dog.

Laugh a little louder.

Finish a puzzle.

And revel in the seemingly ordinary miracle of walking the hospital hallways less than 24 hours after a very complex belly pillaging.

Today, I am so stinkin’ grateful.

Thank you, dear Tribe, for continuing to walk with us. ❤️

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Mid-Day Update:

On By HschichieIn blog2 Comments

Hello Dear Tribe:

We are six hours into this process, and things are looking good.

The surgeon came out and talked to us while the team was bathing Cynde’s abdomen in a nice, warm chemo wash. We have about two more hours to go before she is in recovery, but so far, so good.

Here is what we know…

Her cancer was pretty aggressive and had set up shop throughout her belly. The oncology team removed her ovaries, uterus, omentum, appendix and part of her large intestine. They also spent about an hour carefully looking for small tumors and zapping them with what I am calling their anti-tumor gun.

There are still a few tiny pockets of cancer cells that need to be evicted. We are hopeful the chemo wash today, along with her ongoing chemotherapy, will take care of those remaining areas.

How are we feeling?

Mostly, we are anxiously waiting for the surgery to be over and for Cynde to be safely resting in recovery.

But we also feel incredibly grateful that these first six hours have gone about as well as they could have. There were no unexpected surprises, and when we asked the surgeon how she felt about the outcome so far, she used one very important word:

“Optimal.”

Here’s to optimal.

We will take optimal ALL DAY LONG.

I will update everyone as soon as she is out of surgery and in recovery.

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Find Your Grail

On By HschichieIn blogLeave a comment

This is a big week for our family — and for you, dear Tribe, those of you who have embarked on this journey with us.

As we get closer to Thursday, and Cynde’s surgery, I promise not to leave you in the dark. I will consistently post updates here. I will let you know what I know.

And right now, I don’t know a lot.

Except for what I feel.

And that is that we are on high alert, waiting for Thursday.

Until then, there is life to be lived and moments to be had.

The family went to Spamalot yesterday. And when I say “the family,” there were about 20 of us in the audience trying to “look on the bright side of life,” searching for a shrubbery and keeping an eye out for murderous rabbits.

Ryan loved Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

As his disease progressed, Ryan’s speech could be pretty bad at times. He had a “talker” that helped him communicate phrases and needs. When he went into hospice, he asked the speech therapist to program it with phrases specific to palliative care.

His favorite was a button quoting The Holy Grail and “I’m not dead yet!”

He also had a button that said, “Ask my sister,” meaning me.

The button had a picture of a nun.

As in sister.

And if you know me…well, that sister/nun button was amazing.

It’s been six months since we lost Ryan. My lovely SIL decided we should celebrate and remember Ryski by going to Spamalot.

I think the timing was perfect.

The musical is completely silly, but tucked among the killer rabbits, Knights Who Say “Ni!” and general absurdity is a message that resonates:

Find your grail.

Last week, I sat in my therapist’s office and told her that nothing in my life feels solid or predictable right now.

She asked me what my anchor was.

I thought for a second.

“Walking the dog and swimming.”

“Do that,” she said. “And make it non-negotiable. Find a way to walk or swim every day. Make that your anchor.”

I’ve thought about that a lot.

Is swimming and walking the dog an anchor or a grail? Do I anchor or do I search?

Or maybe an anchor keeps you grounded while you search for whatever comes next.

Or maybe you start with small things that keep you tethered while everything around you feels uncertain.

Walk the dog.

Get in the pool.

Put one foot in front of the other.

Just make sure you don’t float away.

Or maybe I am thinking way too much about Spamalot.

But as we move into a big week, all of us are searching for that next step.

We celebrated Cynde’s birthday yesterday.

Before she blew out her candle, she looked around at all of us with resolve and said:

“You all know what I’m wishing for this year.”

We do.

And perhaps that is our grail right now…..a successful Thursday.

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Sometimes You Need an Ugly Cry

On By HschichieIn blog1 Comment

Sometimes you need a good cry.

Not a tear or two that you quickly wipe away, but the kind that steals your breath. The down-and-out, ugly cry.

I’m a big advocate of the ugly cry.

Because life doesn’t stop. Laundry still needs to be done. Meals still need to be made. Bills still need to be paid. The dog still needs to be walked.

Meanwhile, grief waits patiently.

It has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it.

Lately, I’ve been walking my brother’s service dog. I love that dog and all of his opinionated little ways. He’s the slowest walker on the planet, stopping at every mailbox, light pole, stubby tree and random rock to investigate which dog came before him. Every stop requires careful consideration and, naturally, a signature mark of his own.

It can make for a very slow walk.

So I listen to music.

And sometimes, I cry.

Spotify has an uncanny ability to notice the one song that hits you right in the heart, then fill your playlist with ten more just like it.

Lately, that song has been Pink Skies by Zach Bryan.

There’s one line that undoes me every single time:

“If you could see ’em now, you’d be so proud.”

Most days it brings a tear or two.

The last few days…

It’s brought the ugly cry.

Because those words make me think of Ryan.

Last weekend, two of the Phews attended Camp Erin, a weekend camp for children and teens who have experienced the death of someone they love.

I’ll be honest—I have struggled with grief groups over the years. I wanted this weekend to be different for them. I wanted them to feel seen, understood and maybe even find a little joy in the middle of something so hard.

In true Phew fashion, they did exactly that.

They connected with their counselors. They played a lot of basketball. They drummed until their arms were tired. They laughed. They made friends. They were even interviewed by Jeremy Hubbard from FOX31. Bereavement camp hosts more than 50 Colorado kids to help them cope with grief

Watching the clips and hearing about their weekend filled my heart in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Because they are growing up.

They’re becoming remarkable young men.

Kind.

Funny.

Thoughtful.

Resilient.

If you could see them now…

You’d be so proud.

Nice job, brother.

You can find out more at: Shimmering Wings – Shimmering Wings Camp Erin-Denver

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Break Out

On By HschichieIn blog4 Comments

Happy Sunday, dear tribe!

I apologize for the late update. I escaped to Grand Junction this weekend with my sister-in-law and my Phews. Colorado has been hot and smoky, so we escaped to dear friends with a pool, a movie room, and what may be the world’s most powerful air conditioner.

Little did I know that while I was breaking out for the weekend, Cynde and Pops were planning their own jailbreak.

The weekend got off to a rather exciting start.

On Thursday morning I got a voicemail:

“Call us! We’ve had an exciting morning!”

I reminded them that details are important. Given the “excitement” we’ve had over the past month, I now end every conversation with, “May this appointment be really boring and uneventful.”

Excitement is a tad loaded for me. 😊

Thursday’s plan was simple. Cynde was scheduled to have a chemo port placed. It’s a fairly routine procedure that takes about an hour and makes future chemotherapy treatments much easier.

Except…

The night before, her TPN pump decided to go on strike. It stopped delivering the nutrition and hydration her body depends on. Since her nutrition is infused over an 18-hour period, missing eight hours is a pretty big deal. It throws everything off, including blood pressure and lab work.

Sure enough, when they arrived, Cynde’s blood pressure was too low to safely do the procedure.

Now what?

Chemo was scheduled for Friday, and without a port everyone assumed that plan was about to change.

While the doctors and nurses discussed their options, Pops asked a simple question.

“If she already has a central line, why can’t the chemo go through that?”

The room got quiet.

Great question, Pops.

After a few minutes of discussion, the team agreed. There really wasn’t a reason to place another line right now.

Victory!

One less procedure. One less opportunity for infection. And chemo could stay on schedule.

Cynde and Pops headed happily toward the parking lot.

They were halfway there when both of their phones started buzzing.

“Come back.”

“Your blood pressure is too low.”

“Please report to the emergency department.”

Fiddlesticks.

They dutifully headed to the ER and began the process of getting checked in.

Except…they really didn’t need another hospital admission.

What Cynde needed was a little nutrition, a working TPN pump, and some time for her body to catch up.

So they made an executive decision.

They broke out of the emergency room and went for an ice cream cone.

To be fair, “breaking out” was really more like:

“We don’t think we need to be here. We’re going to get an ice cream cone.”

Rebels.

The good news is that Friday’s chemo went much better than the first round, and for that we are incredibly grateful.

The chemo cocktail includes dexamethasone, a steroid that helps reduce nausea while providing a little extra energy and appetite. She may feel pretty good for a couple of days before the fatigue catches up.

But that’s tomorrow. Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow.

Celebrate today.

If today is a day for an ice cream cone, eat the ice cream cone.

Tomorrow will take care of itself.

Today, we’re simply grateful.

Rebels.

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Gettin’ Wiggy With It

On By HschichieIn blog6 Comments

There is a quote that floats around the internet that says something like, “Losing my hair didn’t make me feel beautiful. It made me feel like a cancer patient.” I imagine that’s true for many people. Hair loss isn’t just about hair. It’s another reminder that cancer has arrived, and it announces itself to the world before you’re ready.

So here we go…..

This is a busy week for Cynde and Pops. On Thursday she’ll have her chemo port placed, and on Friday she’ll head back for another round of chemotherapy. Nurses continue to come and go, monitoring blood sugar, TPN, and her central line, but everything is moving in the right direction, the direction that gives her body the best chance to be as healthy and as strong as possible for treatment.

Tomorrow, Cynde meets with her hair stylist to talk about what comes next.

She’s always said she doesn’t want a wig.

But I also think we have an opportunity to have a little fun with this, because, Lordy…we could all use a little fun.

So we decided to imagine a few possibilities.

The Basics

What if we just embraced it? No wig. No pretending. Just Cynde- beautiful, striking, and strong. Add a colorful scarf, a cute hat, some fabulous earrings, and let her smile do the rest.

Then We Got a Little Creative…

#1 Soft Pixie #2 Sleek Bob

#3 Textured Pixie #4 Soft Layered Bob

And Then…Well…Things Got a Little Crazy.

The best part?

When you’re getting a little “wiggy with it,” you can be whoever you want to be. Cher one day. Meg Ryan the next. Maybe even Dolly Parton if the mood strikes. Whatever makes you laugh. Whatever makes you feel fabulous. Whatever helps you forget, even for a moment, why you’re wearing it in the first place.

This week is another big step in this journey. We’d love your healing thoughts, prayers, good vibes, and positive energy as Cynde heads into another round of chemo.

And if you have a favorite look from our little fashion show…feel free to vote.

Thanks, dear Tribe. ❤️

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I Scream, You Scream……

On By HschichieIn blog4 Comments

Cynde’s eating ice cream!

I knew before all of this what a great and powerful tribe you are, but you’re somehow still exceeding expectations. Thank you for that.

After our post yesterday, our amazing nurse came into Cynde’s room and asked what she needed most.

Without hesitation, she said, “I want this NG tube out.”

If she could have manifested one thing in that moment, it would have been the removal of that tube.

I have to tell you, good nurses are the best. This stinkin’ tube is nestled down in her stomach and goes out her nose; that’s a lot of tube. She told the nurse she was really worried that its extraction would be painful.

“Let me get some cream that will numb your nose,” he said.

He came back with some lidocaine cream and carefully applied it.

“Let me just make sure you’re numb.”

And with that, abracadabra, he removed the tube before she even realized what had happened.

Nice job, Dustin. Nice job.

And after the tube came out, they decided she should celebrate with a little ice cream.

She ate it.

She kept it down.

Double, triple yay!!!

This morning was about mobility, getting her to walk and sit upright to help things move around. And you know our Cynde, she was all about all of that.

The team decided she was stable enough to move down to the Oncology Gynecology floor (GynOC), and they were putting plans in place when I left. The ICU team sees a lot of really sick people and has a hard job. It was evident that in 48 hours, they had gotten pretty attached to the fam and are happy/sad to see us go. Dad even handpicked some high-performance golf balls for our nutritionist’s husband. She was pretty touched.

The goal of the ICU team is to get you out of the ICU and onto your care team. We leave feeling super relieved about the progress over the last 48 hours, but concerned that we do not want to return.

This means assy rattlesnake cancer is still poking around her belly. The GynOC team will address the ‘breadcrumbs’ in her belly and work to ensure she gets the nutrition she needs while avoiding stress on her system. The process might seem slow but they are being cautious and deliberate.

It will be a delicate dance, but Cynde used to be a ballerina. She can learn the steps.

The rest of us will follow along- and I mean that literally. Pops’ spirits were great this morning, so much so that Cynde had to tell him to shush a couple times so she could talk to the docs.

As for me, I am grateful I can be there. I had a moment when one of the nurses asked if I had any siblings, and I got teary thinking about Ryan. AND then we had to explain our situation, which is hard, but it is who we are.

I will update tomorrow about moving day onto the GynOC floor. I have had a couple of people reach out to say they commented but cannot see their comments here; I will work on that. For now, this blog is the best place to get updates. You can also reach me at heather.schichtel@gmail.com. Texts are good too, but we are getting a lot of them. If we don’t get back to you, please do not take it personally; we are trying to keep a village informed, an awesome, amazing village.

I took a photo of Cynde and asked AI to have her eating ice cream; this is what it came back with. I am manifesting this photo as a picture of health 🙂

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The Lights of Friday

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I love this time of year. The days are cooler, the leaves are beginning to blush, and my calendar notes practices and games. The Phews are playing football.

Who would have guessed I’d become so invested in football? Certainly not me. The crack of helmets, the gasps when the wind gets knocked out, the unstated fact that kiddos get hurt, it still makes me cringe.

Football.

And yet, I love it. Because somewhere between the drills and the whistles, something remarkable happens: a community gathers. No one’s on their phone, no one’s scrolling through social media. Parents and kids line the fields, coaches shout encouragement, and teammates cheer one another on. For a couple of hours, everyone is fully present.

Middle Phew plays flag football. MP is agile, fast, and strong, but still unsure if he’s ready for the contact of tackle. I get it, Middle Phew. For a while, his practices were on Friday nights, and I’d stick around to watch. Flag is lighter, more joyful, a little less pressure. The coaches will run a play against the entire team, tucking the flag into a hat or a shoe. Want to see joy? Watch a forty-year-old man with a flag in his hat giggling as a swarm of twelve-year-olds tries to catch him. It’s impossible not to smile.

After practice, Middle Phew climbs into the car, cheeks flushed, hair damp with effort and slightly stinky. I hand him a sandwich from Snarf’s. Snarf’s hands down, makes the best sub sandwich around and we head to watch one of his brothers play under the lights. The drive is filled with talk of plays, teammates, life, music, school and snacks.

By the time we reach Long Lake Stadium, the lot is packed. The air is cool, the field is buzzing, and the mountains hold the last traces of sunset. I juggle camp chairs, blankets, snacks, and drinks as we weave through the crowd to find the rest of our family.

Then, for a moment, I pause. I take a deep breath. The lights reflect off the helmets, the cheers rise, and I’m surrounded by this small, beautiful chaos we call family life.

In a few years, it will look different. The Phews will be driving themselves. Their friends will take up more of their time. Maybe they won’t need sandwiches or sideline cheering. The hectic will fade.

Maybe I cherish it more because we didn’t always have this. Or maybe I cherish it because I know how quickly it changes.

Either way, I cherish it.

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My Battle Against Wild Intensity

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On Friday, I plopped down on my therapist’s couch. It’s one of my most favorite places and after an eye-opening couple of weeks, I needed a place to process.


My recent, abrupt dismissal from my side writing gig left me a bit sideways. While I was proud of how I held my ground, calling things as I saw them and not rolling over to be ‘nice’, I still had a lot to work out in my head. Much of my self-reflection led to a dreaded question I had to ask: “Is it me?”


Is it me? Dismissed from two jobs in five months. I had to look at myself in the mirror and examine the reflection. I studied intensely, just as I look for chin hairs that are out of place. Sometimes 10x magnification just isn’t enough.


My mind can quantify a lot, but the heart and the ego don’t quantify anything well. The ego bruises, the heart breaks, and like any soft tissue, they take time to mend. And in this world of cancel culture, it is easier to yell, blame, unfriend, shame, and walk away.


I love therapy. We examined the times this has happened to me, a quick cancel. We examined patterns, including what I attract and what is attracted to me. We unpacked. And like any messy bag, unpacking can be cathartic, pulling out the items that have been festering and no longer serve us.


I have been known to come in larger than life. At times, Milley Cirus has been my spirit animal…..I came in like a wrecking ball….


Like any spark attracted to a flame, the initial fire is fabulous; it’s hot, it’s intense, commands attention, and is a tad explosive.


I remember this fire after Samantha. I was a big ol’ bottle of lighter fuel just waiting for a spark. And that spark accomplished many great things over the course of a decade. It was fueled by intensity and the need to do something amazing, and we did. But when my Miracles for Mito partner and I parted ways, it left me wondering what happened to that glorious flame and sorting through the ashes.


It was also the middle of COVID, and I needed something else. In came my writing gig. It wasn’t mine, but I was all on board with a salesperson/publisher determined to make her magazine huge. I was fueled by her fire and the love of seeing my name and my work in print.


And in my last sales job, I came in with intensity, working at a fevered pace, consuming the accolades, determined to make a difference, held together by grand, big ideas.


After my last letting go, I bought Brené Brown’s new book, Strong Ground, and joined a Pilates Studio.


Something has been missing, my core. Those muscles that hold everything together, those that lie deep in our middle and work every day to keep us upright. Those muscles that cannot be built overnight, those that require consistency and repetitive hard work.


‘Intentionality and Consistency over Wild Intensity’


Ugh- so boring! Daily mental and physical lunges and squats, and showing up at work to build a foundation, brick by brick, rather than blowing up a bouncy house.


Bouncy Houses are fabulous. And they tend to blow away in a strong wind.


We ended the hour at therapy. Yes, all of this happened in just an hour. My therapist looked at me, “I know this year has been hard, but this work? What we are doing here can be life-changing. Let’s go do some mental push-ups.”


Push-ups. So terrible, unsexy, consistent, and intentional.


1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6………

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Back to Write. Back to Reality

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Yes, this title should be sung with Soul II Soul in mind, and the beat of Back to Life, Back to Reality……Yes, I know this is now firmly stuck in your head for the next 12 hours.


You’re Welcome.

Side note, did you know Caron Wheeler wrote that song after she had a near-death experience? I didn’t know this, but I’m storing it away for a random trivia night.


Gosh, this week was tough, wasn’t it? And in the theme of the song, many of us are searching for what the new reality is. If we listen to the media, the reality is a little jarring.


Wednesday was terrible. It really was. No matter where you side with Charlie Kirk, his death is another tragedy and another crack in the divide of our country. Our Evergreen High School had another shooting. I went to a funeral and said goodbye to Mrs. Adams, a Mama from my childhood and caregiver for Young Heather.


And I got fired from my writing side gig.

I say fired, but when you are freelancing, you are at the mercy of a publisher. In this case, we just didn’t see eye to eye on some things. On Wednesday, after 4 years of producing content, she looked at me and said, “I think we’re done.”


And that was it. We were done. I say this knowing I wrote great stories. When I took this gig, a friend of mine said, “It’s like writing for the local newspaper. Everyone wants to be in the newspaper.”


But after years of telling others’ stories, mine suffered. The other night, I sat at my computer, unsure of what to write if I wasn’t writing for someone else.


Well, that is tragic.


And as a result, this blog of mine has suffered. But more impactful is that I stopped telling my story, the story of my family, my thoughts, my interactions with the world. As I sit down tonight without an agenda, just typing away, I am reminded of my own therapy that is my written word.


So maybe this site will get a little more love. Back to me. Back to Write.