Read Time: 3 minutes
Story and photos: Ed Kleiner
From time to time, Huntsman Cancer Institute invites guest commentary from our community. The views reflected in these commentaries are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views of Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Takeaways:
- Caregiving and healing are journeys shaped by resilience and adaptation. What began as a sudden, life-threatening diagnosis evolved into a long recovery that required both Linda Kleiner and her husband Ed to adjust expectations and find new ways to live fully.
- Moments of connection—nature, routine, and shared experiences—can sustain families during treatment. Walks near the hospital, time together during long days of care, and later small adventures helped restore a sense of normalcy and hope.
Impact: At Huntsman Cancer Institute, expert care helped stabilize Linda’s condition and support a recovery that allowed her and her husband to rebuild a meaningful life together.
We knew that something wasn’t right, yet we went out. It was June 4, 2023, and we were going to celebrate our 34th anniversary a day early. We arrived home that evening and she couldn’t walk into the house, let alone her bedroom or bathroom.
The following evening, she was in Reno, Nevada, having pins inserted into her upper vertebrae. The diagnosis was acute myeloma and it had been eating away at her bones for several months. She was teetering on an abyss—incontinence, paralysis, possibly death. After surgery and a referral from our doctor and a good friend, Huntsman Cancer Institute became our new home.
Our visits to Utah began in the summer. Mountain wildflowers bloomed on the hills above the hospital. By fall, those hills had turned gold and red as the Gambel oaks and maples dried up and dropped their leaves. Meadows, once green with promise, crunched dry and brown under my boots. We were still making trips to Huntsman Cancer Institute as a blanket of snow and frigid temperatures fell over the valley.
As a caregiver, I had lots of time on my hands, but I wanted to be there whenever she was awake. We had meals together. In the intensive care unit, Linda was well cared for by a charming, diverse team that worked with a feverish discipline.
I went from walking five miles a day on our farm to hanging out in the hospital, typically finding comfortable couches and chairs with fantastic views of the Salt Lake Valley and the Wasatch Front. The best views were in her rooms on the 4th and 5th floors of the Kathryn F. Kirk Center (Cancer Hospital North). Through the fall, we watched the construction of a huge sundial on the roof of the new parking garage, and the most beautiful sunsets, sunrises, rain storms, and snowfalls. Occasionally, fog would wash the city skyline, creating a white oblivion.
While Linda slept, I decided to go exploring early each morning for about two to three hours. I discovered the Bonneville Trail behind the hospital and made many trips into the canyons. Summer wildflowers exploded across the hillsides, dominated by lupines, arrowleaf, paintbrush, and sweetvetch. These same trails intersected with Red Butte Garden and the Natural History Museum to the south, which I visited often.
As Linda became mobile, she made it to the gardens where she could take a variety of easy walking pathways. We both walked the City Creek Canyon bottom in the shade of a riparian forest.
Two years later, life looks different, but it is still full. Linda’s hair has grown back with a vengeance—fluffy blonde locks that seem to float above her head, defying gravity. Her body, though, remains fragile. Just before her bone marrow transplant at Huntsman Cancer Institute in November 2023, she survived emergency spinal surgery to stabilize damaged vertebrae, and she will likely need to move carefully for the rest of her life.
Even so, she has made remarkable progress. Over the past two years, Linda has steadily improved her mobility. She put away her cane about a year ago, though she still walks gently and carefully calculates her movements. Stairs are difficult, but we are fortunate that our home allows her to live comfortably on the first floor.
Our retirement plans have changed. Dreams of hiking in the Dolomites, bicycling, and skiing, are dust to the wind. Instead, we have found new ways to explore together. We took a boat trip following the route of Lewis and Clark down the Columbia River, and we have become pretty good at road trips with Airbnb stays along the way.
On good days, Linda can walk two to three miles—sometimes around our farm, sometimes on local community trails with her walking friends. Recently, we even flew to Florida and Georgia to visit family and friends. Linda tires more easily now, but she still enjoys getting out and being active.
So now, we have a new life, and we carry on thankful and humble that we survived this trauma and can still enjoy our lives together.