A three-story high evergreen grows in the corner of my yard. The majestic tree shades a small patch of the front yard and continually drops loads of pine needles, creating an acidic soil. The second story of our townhouse looms over the little yard, so little rain reaches the soil. 

In the 30 years we have lived here, I have battled these adverse con­di­tions to try and grow flowers. After many failures, only four perennials return each spring to provide a little greenery for the front of my home.

In the outside corner, farthest away from the massive tree, red sticks protrude from the soil. Within a few days, I notice that the red sticks have changed into six-inch stalks with red buds at the tip. Yes, the sticks are alive. My peony bush is growing again.

The nature of my multiple myeloma has pushed me to dramatically change my approach to life. When I was diagnosed, I was totally immersed in my career as a professor of nursing in a mountain community college. After the stem cell transplant, I realized that my life could be shorter. At the time, the oncologist gave me a five-year prognosis because my type of multiple myeloma is high risk due to its genetic profile: deletion 17p and translocation t(4;14). Over the next two years, I moved from a full-time job to part-time to full retirement. Six years later, I am still here, surviving multiple lines of treatment.

During many of these last six years, I don’t remember noticing the rebirth of my peony plant. Somehow the peony kept returning even with little water or attention from me.

Now I notice. Now I pay attention.

With a little research I learned that peonies are hardy plants that can thrive up to 50 years. They also require a cold winter to regenerate, and can grow in areas up to 7,000 feet. My town is located at 6,250 feet in the Colorado Rockies, clearly a sign that my plant is hardy and resilient.

Learning more and observing the peony made me more aware of how my myeloma journey has changed me over the years.

One obvious observation is the resilience of the plant. It survives harsh winters, little water, and acidic soil, and it develops into a beautiful plant with lush, pink blooms every spring. It makes me remember that I have survived six years of relapses with weakness, bleeding problems, and shortness of breath. Seven months ago, I wasn’t sure what treatment was left for my disease. I started treatment with Darzalex (daratumumab), Velcade (bortezomib) and dexamethasone (Decadron). Now I am enjoying a new remission. I may not bloom pink petals, but I am enjoying walking, swimming, hiking, and traveling. Like the peony, I am resilient.

A gift the peony has given me is how to pay attention to what’s happening around me. When I was working hard in a demanding career, I focused on accomplishing goals each day. Many details of life escaped me. I didn’t notice spring until trees and flowers were in full bloom. I missed the beginnings, such as the red stalks of the peony growing taller each day. I am paying more attention to my family and friends. I practice living with intention.

This morning I had my blood drawn for myeloma markers for the first time in two months. Next week, I see my oncologist and resume monthly Darzalex infusions. I could worry about results of the blood draw, because as we know myeloma cells multiply silently.  Some days, I doubt my current health. I waste hours worrying about the future. Now, if I begin to doubt my future, I walk outside and observe the growth of the peony stalks.

Over the weekend, we had a late spring snow in the mountains. Tulips and daffodils were beaten down by the snow. Yet the peony continues to grow; the stalks are taller than yesterday. Today it is a sunny day with blue skies. I am surrounded by leafy green trees, crab apple trees in pink and red dresses.

Today the peony and I are thriving.