The winds of change are blowing, as they do for all of us – myeloma patients, caregivers, and healthy people alike – and so I answer with the activities of normalcy. Lately that means putting away the holiday décor.

There’s something comforting to me about putting everything back in its place, for as much as I love gazing upon my Christmas villages or the white porcelain ornaments on the tree, I always welcome a return to un­cluttered counters and furniture in its rightful place.

Much to my surprise, however, I do have one holiday leftover that I’m keeping, and I’d like to share it with you.

It was a week before Christmas, and I was rushing about town, buying gifts in a maddening frenzy, like Santa’s whirling dervish. I was at a bath and home store buying up insulated sports cups and candles when I happened to look up and see a framed quote that caught my eye.

It was a clean white picture frame on a white background with black capital letters, and it read: “THE TIME TO BE HAPPY IS NOW”.

It was a clarion call, and I heard it loud and clear. There I stood, blocking the narrow aisle with my shopping cart and a prehistoric, open-mouth stare. Pulled in as if trapped by a tractor beam, I moved closer to read the sign again. THE TIME TO BE HAPPY IS NOW, it said. The words were awesome and vital, and in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season – with its scheduling demands, gift lists to knock out, end-of-the-year work deadlines, visits to the specialist, and anxious waits for lab results – I took a much needed moment to pause and reflect.

I looked around to see if anyone else had registered the power of this message. They hadn’t. Other shop­pers still rushed by in their quest for towels and discounted sheets. I reached out to pick up the picture, when I discovered a companion sign next to it. It read, “ALWAYS PUT YOUR FEARS BEHIND YOU AND YOUR DREAMS IN FRONT OF YOU.” Yet another message that called me out. I was in awe. I stood there for ten minutes just re-reading the messages, thinking about the meaning they had for my life.

The capital letters made the text seem emphatic. And the simple black font on the white background looked like a commandment, a message that I was supposed to hear, a dialogue for my inner voice.

Needless to say, I bought both pictures that day. They now hang in our bedroom so they are the first things I see every morning.

I think about the messages daily, like a mantra. The cadence of the words hushes the worry and helps me to focus on the wonderful life that my husband Daniel and I share. It helps me to be strong and be the caregiver that he needs me to be. I seek and find a beautiful normalcy in the work-a-day moments when it’s just us, and I don’t see the myeloma or my fears about the future. Instead, I see the twinkle in his deep green eyes, and the way his smile lifts his lightly freckled cheeks when he throws his head back to laugh. These are the perfect gifts of today. This is my nirvana. Why would I ever choose to miss a moment of this?

As a caregiver, I know that I don’t live in a vacuum. My feelings and my thoughts come with a keen sense of responsibility; they can be uplifting to him, or they can bring him down as well. I want him to be happy; and so I choose to be happy as well.

Since the recent release of new myeloma diagnostic criteria ^[1] by the International Myeloma Working Group, Daniel and I have had opportunities to practice not worrying. These new criteria would move his diagnosis from an average risk of progression to a high risk of progression, whereby an estimated 80 percent of smoldering patients will develop myeloma within two years.  And, while he does not have any "CRAB" features other than slight anemia, Daniel’s involved serum free light chain level is above 100, his monoclonal (M) protein is on the rise, and his hemoglobin level had decreased by his last visit with his myeloma specialist. Based upon what I’ve read, some myeloma specialists might even suggest starting treatment now, given his free light chain levels.

The winds of change are blowing indeed, with many specialists, patients, and caregivers asking questions about how smoldering myeloma should be defined and treated. Many specialists are considering whether it’s better to treat high-risk smoldering patients with medication instead of using watchful waiting protocols.

I’m glad that myeloma specialists are trying to prevent end-organ damage from occurring in smoldering patients who are likely to progress to active myeloma. But having symptoms that bring Daniel closer to treatment also brings us to a heightened level of anxiety. Daniel says that adjusting to a “new normal” really means “getting used to living in crisis mode.”  I think he may be right.

For me, the question has always been whether Daniel is still smoldering, like it was a shield of plausible deniability. The longer he could smolder, the longer we could hold out for a cure, and hopefully he might be spared a stem cell transplant or myeloma maintenance therapies. Now it seems the real question is whether he is likely to progress, and when treatment should begin. As his wife and caregiver, it’s getting harder for me to take refuge behind the terminology. Whether he has average smoldering myeloma, high-risk smoldering myeloma, or active myeloma, the roads all seem to be leading to treatment. Therefore, I will be positive and hope that he can smolder awhile longer, knowing that if he can’t, then at least we didn’t waste yesterday worrying about tomorrow.

Despite all this and what may be a challenging new year, the time to be happy is now. Therefore, with faith, hope, and my special signs on the wall, I will put our dreams before us, fears behind us, and collect all the joys of today as we continue to walk the smoldering road.