I retired in July 2024 after more than 35 years at the University of Minnesota in various editing positions. My plan was to kick back a bit, then explore what the retirement gurus call Chapter Two. I thought I’d explore freelancing, volunteering, a little activism, and a lot of leisure. But it turns out my pancreas had other ideas. 

Funny thing about the pancreas: It doesn’t get much attention, until it does. There are no odes to this vital organ, no love songs. You don’t leave your pancreas in San Francisco. There aren’t even any pancreas emojis. No wonder the pancreas might feel a bit slighted, lying ignored, hidden behind other organs that get all the fame and credit. 

Until, one day, it says, “ahem.” But not in a nice way. It’s a warning cry for help, an alert of disease. “Bet you don’t know I have a cyst,” it says. So, it’s a bit cranky. 

At least, this is how I saw it. I’d had a mysterious abdominal bleed in July 2023 and had been undergoing periodic scans. The eventual diagnosis was a pancreatic cyst and a clot in the splenic vein. By fall 2024, my surgeon advised removing the tail of my pancreas and my spleen. Retirement, interrupted. 

Forever grateful 

The surgery went well, and I am forever grateful to the medical team and supporting staff at M Health Fairview in Minneapolis. I felt fortunate to be in good hands—including those of many recent immigrants, I couldn’t help noting—and to have good health insurance. 

The pathology report, however, confirmed my worst fear: pancreatic cancer. Stage I, just a smidgen and caught really early, but a diagnosis no one wants to hear. Following surgical recovery, I underwent six months of chemotherapy (with my primary health care provider, Park Nicollet). My oncologist said I was “incredibly lucky” that the abdominal bleed had prompted monitoring, and he believed the outlook was promising for a cure. I finished chemo in May 2025, and I’ve completed more than a year of surveillance cancer free. 

I’m still processing everything that happened. Beyond the physical traumas, one of the hardest aspects for me was the brain fog. I had made my living editing, yet sometimes I couldn’t remember a word or finish a thought. I couldn’t read much, and I didn’t write or journal—I felt too much fatigue, for one thing, and I was blocked emotionally. 

But after a year or so, I’m back to baseline. I’m journaling like mad, in part thanks to a wonderful book: The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad. I’m reconnecting in person with family and friends, going to museums and weekday Minnesota Twins games, reading and writing, and doing those things retirees get to do. Retirement, resumed.

Thankful for the University of Minnesota

I don’t have any pearls of wisdom to share—at least, not now. But one takeaway: I’m thankful for the University of Minnesota. Park Nicollet referred me to M Health because, I was told, it has the strongest pancreatic expertise in the metro. And then just when I needed it most, the Bakken Center for Spirituality & Healing offered the ideal online class: Healing in the Midst of a Cancer Journey. The Bakken’s mindfulness classes also became part of my routine.

My other takeaway: I misjudged my pancreas. What’s left is working well, pumping out insulin and digestive enzymes and cheerfully letting me live a normal life. I now appreciate my pancreas, and—since I’m finally smack dab in retirement Chapter Two—I have time to write that first pancreatic love poem.

If you would like to share a first-person reflection related to retirement or aging, whether it’s humorous or sobering or a snapshot of what you’re currently doing, please contact UMRA News Editor Kristine Mortensen at [email protected]. Note “First person” in the subject line of your email.