Ronald Chin

Ronald Chin received a diagnosis of multiple myeloma in January 2017 and has been in remission since October 2023. Catch up on all of 

When the world becomes too much, I turn to my personal "undo" list, which are six simple practices that help me shed the day's weight and return to myself. I gently exercise my body until my breath deepens. I break from familiar patterns that have become invisible prisons. I silence the endless ping of notifications, even if just for hours. I gather with my Bells of Hope meditation circle, where our collective silence speaks volumes. I ask myself what gifts the day has offered, however small they may be. And I gently redirect my attention to what truly matters, letting the rest fall away.

Like many of us, I am often glued to my iPhone, my thumb sliding hypnotically across the glossy screen as I scroll through an endless parade of Facebook posts — photos of family and friends from around the world sharing their travels, joyful gatherings, or picturesque landscapes. After an hour, my eyes get tired from the information overload. Yet something is soothing about the mindless rhythm of it all — the same comfort I find in watching the television illuminate my living room at 2 AM, three episodes deep into a cooking competition where chefs frantically plate dishes I'll never taste.

But a welcome break in my habitual scrolling soon comes when I am invited to stay with my sister and her husband in their cozy home in New Hampshire, which features warm, carpeted floors and a sunlit kitchen. In their finished basement (a cavernous space with recessed lighting and a gallery of memorabilia) they've created a mini-gym with an elliptical bicycle (the kind with a cushioned seat that cradles your lower back), a professional-grade treadmill with digital readouts, and an exercise ball the color of a summer sky.

While staying with my sister and her husband, staying off social media, I reconnect with my body again as if acquainting myself with something brand new. My quadriceps tremble as I rise from their plush living room sofa, my arms lifting from the armrests like construction cranes. Inspired by the basement gym, I descend the carpeted stairs and mount the elliptical, pedaling steadily for ten minutes while admiring the posters and artwork. Afterward, I balance on the exercise ball, its surface yielding slightly under my weight, and completed eighteen deliberate squats with my arms crossed over my chest, feeling the satisfying stretch and burn in my thighs.

With each squat, my muscles trembled but held, and I felt a wave of accomplishment wash over me, not just for completing the exercise, but for finally addressing the nagging guilt of neglected physical therapy. The spaciousness around me, free from the clutter of my usual environment, seemed to mirror the mental clearing I was experiencing.

Since Covid, I have also been hosting a daily meditation group called Bells of Hope where the focus is to de-stress and disconnect from the pace of modern life. During my sessions in New Hampshite, I notice my shoulders relax and my breathing deepen the moment I see our circle of familiar faces on my laptop screen, Sue with her little dog, Mitzi; Jochen in his lovely apartment in Berlin; or Leticia sitting in her outdoor yard surrounded by green trees. Dee has a husband who is failing, others are dealing with grief, and the news has everyone on edge. I always begin by asking, "What are you grateful for today?" As we take turns sharing, I watch concerned brows soften and tight lips curve into gentle smiles. The heaviness in the Zoom room lifts, replaced by something lighter, more buoyant.

I lead everyone through a visualization exercise. "Picture yourself in a place where you feel completely at peace," I say softly. "Maybe you're sitting in a temple on the mountain peak, or enjoying the view of the ocean on a summer evening. Perhaps you're watching the moonlight spread across water, or wiggling your toes into warm beach sand while waves whisper against

the shore. Wherever you are, feel how the earth supports you, how this moment holds you perfectly."

The benefits of meditation cannot be overstated. My brother-in-law Steve, who experienced several mini-strokes had already been practicing transcendental meditation techniques during his recovery. He noticeably reduced his stress which contributed to his healing process. As a cancer patient, I also find meditation similarly invaluable to calming my mind.

Finally, gratitude is yet another pathway to peace. As I visit with my family in New Hampshire, the fresh landscape lifts my spirits. The warmth of connection that truly nourishes me. My sisters and I made a pilgrimage yesterday to Mt Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, a place where history and beauty intertwine. Standing before the gravestones of our parents and uncle, I ring Tibetan bells that roll out across the quiet grounds. I breathe in the fragrant summer air and turn my face to the sun. The scent of incense rises like prayers into the air...and I am grateful for this moment.

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

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Articles

In times of overwhelm, personal practices can help restore balance and focus. Engaging in gentle exercise, breaking from routine, and disconnecting from digital distractions are effective strategies. Meditation, particularly in a supportive group setting, offers significant mental health benefits, fostering relaxation and gratitude. The author shares experiences of reconnecting with physical and mental well-being through family visits, exercise, and meditation. These practices not only alleviate stress but also enhance appreciation for life's simple gifts, contributing to overall peace and healing, especially for those dealing with health challenges like cancer.

Through exercise, meditation, and gratitude, I reset my mind and body, finding peace and strength in life after my cancer diagnosis.

Pushing My Reset Button: Finding Balance and Healing Through Cancer 

As I grew up, my dad shared his passion for travel, taking our family on adventures that became cherished memories. One of the highlights was our trip to the 1964 New York World's Fair, where the air buzzed with excitement and innovation. In 1967, we ventured to the Montreal Expo, immersing ourselves in a vibrant tapestry of cultures and futuristic exhibits. We also explored the historic streets of Washington, D.C., where we marveled at the iconic Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, gazed in awe at the grandeur of the White House, and wandered through the galleries of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History.

With a knowing smile on his face, my father said, "Travel when you are young, not when you are retired or old!" Those words echoed in my mind long after our conversation. Following his advice turned out to be one of the best decisions I've made in my life. I've been fortunate enough to circle the globe on multiple occasions, living part-time along Amsterdam's picturesque canals and savoring teaching experiences across the continents—from the heartfelt workshops in Europe to the beautiful gardens and villages in China.

In 2016, I found myself standing backstage at a Feng Shui conference in the charming town of Tiradentes, Brazil. As I prepared to step onto the stage, I noticed an unsettling weakness in my limbs. Each step felt as though I was treading on thin ice, requiring deliberate caution to avoid a misstep. The spotlight was on me, but my mind was preoccupied with the frailty I couldn't quite understand. Unbeknownst to me, the silent thief of myeloma was already gnawing away at the strength of my bones.

Upon receiving the diagnosis of multiple myeloma in 2017, my journeys for the ensuing years transformed dramatically. My primary mode of travel became the stretcher ambulance, or vans specially equipped to accommodate my wheelchair. Each trip was a careful choreography, a dance of patience and adaptation. The waiting for endlessly delayed car services became a routine exercise in endurance as I navigated the complex logistics that now defined my mobility.

The last time I boarded an airplane was back in 2019, flying from the bustling metropolis of New York City to the serene haven of Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina. My journey was to visit friends at their charming lake house in Virginia, nestled by tranquil waters. Navigating the sprawling airport was a unique and eye-opening experience for me as I maneuvered through the throngs of travelers by wheelchair. The hustle and bustle of the terminal, with its echoing announcements and hurried footsteps, painted a vivid backdrop to my adventure.

Eight years have passed, and now I confidently navigate the city with my trusty rollator. It's my constant companion for grocery shopping, strolls around the bustling streets, and even occasional rides on the subway. My last significant journey was a memorable one, as I took the Amtrak train from the heart of New York City to the quiet center of Atlanta for the Christmas holidays. We were fortunate to secure a private, handicap-accessible bathroom with our cozy roomette, ensuring comfort throughout the eighteen-hour trip.

I am thrilled to share the news that I have received approval for Access-A-Ride. With this newfound freedom, I feel an exhilarating sense of possibility, as if the entire city has opened up to me. This service proved to be the ideal way for my wife and me to attend the Mt. Sinai Survivors Day event. There, we had the incredible experience of meeting my fellow multiple myeloma thrivers in person, surrounded by a community that shares resilience and hope.

I would love to board the airplane now; however, I can't shake off a twinge of anxiety hearing about the travel delays and the precautions necessary due to our immunocompromised condition. The idea of soaring through the skies to Atlanta to reunite with family fills me with warmth, or flying over turquoise waters to Cancun for a lively family get-together offers a tantalizing escape. There's also the thought of journeying to China to reconnect with my roots at my ancestral home, which calls to me with a deep, nostalgic pull. Just recently, we took the time to renew our passports, preparing for such adventures.

Despite the fractures in my spine and the lingering neuralgia from the shingles, I am profoundly grateful for the ability to remain mobile. This mobility enables me to visit family and friends, as well as explore new places. Each step I take, though sometimes accompanied by a twinge of pain, is a reminder of the freedom I still possess. The joy of seeing familiar faces and the thrill of discovering new places fill me with immense gratitude.

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A lifelong passion for travel, instilled by a father, has shaped a journey marked by cherished memories and global exploration. Despite a multiple myeloma diagnosis in 2017, which altered travel dynamics, the spirit of adventure persists. Mobility challenges have been met with resilience, adapting to new modes of travel and embracing opportunities like Access-A-Ride. The desire to reconnect with family and explore new destinations remains strong, underscoring the profound gratitude for mobility and the joy of discovery, even amidst health challenges.

I share how traveling fueled my passion for life, how myeloma changed my journeys, and how new mobility options have opened doors to adventure and connection.

Traveling with Multiple Myeloma: A Journey of Adaptation and Hope

I take memoir writing classes to enhance my storytelling abilities, seeking to infuse my narratives with depth and emotion. In our most recent session, our group was presented with a unique challenge: to weave a tale using six evocative words as prompts. These words — mountain, curtains, finger, surprises, allowing, and bread — served as the foundation for my narrative.

What follows is the result of this creative exercise, inspired by a pivotal moment in my life. It recounts the time when I was first diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a diagnosis that felt like a dark cloud looming over me. Despite the weight of this revelation, I was determined to visit our newly leased office space — a charming third-floor walk-up. We had just signed a two-year lease, and it seemed fitting to bless the space with positivity and hope.

I continued my journey up the mountain to my office sanctuary. The sun slowly set, casting a warm orange glow over the rocky terrain. My saffron robes were like curtains billowing in the breeze. As I ascended higher, the air grew thinner, and my breaths became more profound. Yet, I felt no fatigue. Instead, I was filled with peace and purpose, knowing I was nearing my spiritual home. My heartbeat steadily in my chest, like the rhythmic drumbeats of a distant ritual.

I could see my temple in the distance, its golden spires reaching towards the heavens. It was a sight that never failed to bring tears to my eyes.

As I approached the gates, I felt a sense of familiarity and comfort wash over me. This was where I belonged, where I had found my true calling. I walked through the carved archway and entered the courtyard. The quietness of the temple enveloped me, a soothing balm for my soul. I walked into my mancave. My heart overflowing with gratitude and reverence.

This was my sanctuary, my refuge from the chaos of the outside world.

As I descended from the mountain, I couldn't help but think about the wonders of technology. My finger glided effortlessly over my iPhone screen, tapping and swiping to share the delightful surprises that unfolded along my route.

I captured photos of the majestic scenery, eager to share them with my friends and family through social media. The thought of instantly connecting with loved ones from anywhere in the world still amazed me.

But as much as I appreciated technology, I also treasured the moments of solitude and reflection that came with disconnecting from it. The peacefulness of the mountain allowed me to fully immerse myself in my surroundings and connect with my inner self.

As I continued my journey, I couldn't help but wonder how different life would be without all these modern conveniences. Would we appreciate nature as much? Would we have more time for introspection and self-discovery?

But then again, technology was another form of spirituality for some. It connected us with others, provided us with endless information, and even helped us navigate our spiritual paths.

I smiled as I thought about how I allowed this technological device in my hand had become a tool for both sharing and experiencing moments of enlightenment. And as long as it didn't consume me completely, I was grateful for its existence.

I am focused on my journey, and my purpose is to experience the present moment fully. With each breath I take, I let go of any worries or distractions that may try to pull me away from this peaceful state.

As I reach a particularly level stretch of the path, I pause to eat some homemade bread. Looking down at my phone, I see notifications from various social media platforms. But instead of being tempted to check them, I simply acknowledge them and let them go.

There is no need for constant connection in this serene environment, where even technology seems to blend in with nature's beauty. Instead, I connect with myself — my thoughts, feelings, and surroundings — in a way that feels much more meaningful.

The narrative explores a personal journey of self-discovery and reflection following a multiple myeloma diagnosis. It uses the metaphor of ascending a mountain to symbolize the pursuit of peace and purpose amidst life's challenges. The protagonist finds solace in a spiritual sanctuary, balancing the benefits of technology with moments of introspection. The story emphasizes the importance of being present, appreciating nature, and maintaining a connection with oneself. It highlights the dual role of technology as both a tool for connection and a potential distraction from meaningful experiences.

I reflect on finding peace, purpose and presence after my diagnosis through a creative writing exercise rooted in mindfulness and metaphor.

Being in the Present Moment With Multiple Myeloma

A survivor perseveres through life's trials, emerging on the other side of a perilous event or harrowing ordeal, like an accident or a grave illness. This individual embodies resilience and withstood circumstances threatening to take them down. Similarly, the term can describe a person who endures the emotional challenge of continuing life after the loss of a loved one, such as a cherished family member. This survivor navigates the turbulent seas of grief and loss, finding a way to carry on despite the profound absence left behind.

I became a survivor when I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma and lived through a clinical trial in 2017. I became a survivor by making thrice-weekly trips to the hospital for infusions of (Kyprolis) carfilzomib, (Treanda) bendamustine and dexamethasone, along with occasional doses of Zometa (zoledronic acid). I became a survivor, enduring MRI scans and radiation treatments while lying on my back with broken bones. I became a survivor by having my stem cells collected for a transplant that ultimately didn't occur.

I emerged as a survivor after enduring compressive fractures in my thoracic and lumbar vertebrae, labeled explicitly as T11, T12, L1, L3 and L5. The pain was excruciating, a deep, relentless ache that seemed to reverberate while imprisoned within the white tortoiseshell and leg brace. In L1, there was severe retropulsion — a spinal burst where fragments of bone were forced into the delicate spinal canal, threatening to wreak havoc on my nervous system. My height dwindled from a statuesque 5 feet 8 inches to a petite 5 feet 2 inches.

Remarkably, I am considered an anomaly because I retained the ability to perform basic bodily functions like peeing and pooping. My nerves, which could have been severely compromised, mercifully remained intact, sparing me from the paralysis that loomed as a terrifying possibility.

Indeed, I am a survivor. After eight long years, I finally feel robust enough to traverse the city on my own. This past Valentine's Day, I embarked on a journey by myself using public transportation for the first time! My adventure began with the crosstown bus, traveling from the iconic Metropolitan Museum of Art at 86th Street/Madison to Broadway. From there, I descended into the depths of the subway, catching the #1 train to 34th Street/7th Avenue at Penn Station, and completed my journey with a leisurely walk home. My only companion on this journey was my trusty cane!

A few weeks later, I was at a feng shui consultation near the majestic St. Patrick's Cathedral. Navigating the mazelike tunnels of the 53rd Street/5th Avenue subway station, a chaotic construction mess, was no small feat. For someone like me, who typically relies on my trusty rollator walker with a seat, these obstacles might as well have been insurmountable cliffs. Yet, with determination and carefulness, I maneuvered through the maze, feeling a profound sense of accomplishment with each step.

The physical therapy sessions, with their rigorous exercises and carefully guided routines, gradually built up my strength. I could feel my stamina growing as I pushed through the repetitions, my muscles becoming more resilient each week. This newfound vitality boosted my confidence, allowing me to take on challenges I once thought were insurmountable.

Meanwhile, my wife, Heather, played an indispensable role in this transformation. She gracefully transitioned from hovering over me with constant concern to stepping back and

encouraging my steps toward self-reliance. Her gentle smiles and words of encouragement reminded me that she valued my progress and celebrated my newfound independence.

I am a survivor, and my journey is a testament to the power of gratitude and the harmonious blend of diverse healing traditions. My Eastern training in meditation, qigong, and other energy modalities has taught me to channel and balance the vital forces within.

Western medicine, with its arsenal of potent healing elixirs, has played an indispensable role in my recovery. Together, these approaches have woven a tapestry of resilience and renewal, enabling me to regain my strength and embrace life with renewed vigor.

Survivors embody resilience, overcoming life-threatening challenges such as severe illness or the loss of a loved one. This narrative details a personal journey through multiple myeloma, involving intensive treatments, physical therapy, and the support of loved ones. Despite severe spinal injuries and the risk of paralysis, the individual retained basic functions and gradually regained independence. The integration of Eastern and Western healing practices played a crucial role in recovery, highlighting the importance of gratitude and diverse therapeutic approaches in fostering resilience and renewal.

I share how I survived multiple myeloma, painful spine fractures and years of recovery to reclaim my independence and vitality.

Ronald Chin

Pushing My Reset Button: Finding Balance and Healing Through Cancer

Traveling with Multiple Myeloma: A Journey of Adaptation and Hope

Being in the Present Moment With Multiple Myeloma

I Found Strength After Surviving Multiple Myeloma and Through Recovery

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