Covid

The first week of January, 2021, before we had the vaccines and while I was trying to be being super careful, I managed to get two different strains of Covid within three months (the first was the fiery sore throat, the second just the gernal "not feeling good" kind). I got the first after getting a pelvic X-ray in a small medical clinic. I managed to stay in my bedroom and I didn't give it to anyone else

The second came from our veterinarian son who didn't know he was getting it when we had Easter dinner together, and had likely picked it up at work. Les also got it.

The two episodes left me feeling super tired and with even less brain than before. 

Heart Issue #1

I was actually at an appointment with my oncologist when my blood pressure and heart rate went too high and he sent me to get an ECG and then to Emergency where I had more tests and then I was assigned to a cardiologist who sent me for even more tests. That resulted in my having to take a blood thinner and a beta blocker. Those, especially the beta blocker, just kind of snatched any energy I had left. A few months later, I had an ablation for a heart flutter on the right side of my heart, but I'm still on the medications. 

The Mayo clinic describes Cardiac ablations as a treatment for irregular heartbeats, called arrhythmias. “Cardiac ablation is most often done using thin, flexible tubes called catheters that are inserted through a blood vessel.” (Mayo Clinic)

In my case, on August 18, 2021, we went to the Newmarket hospital (Southlake) where catheters were inserted in my upper right thigh. It uses heat or cold energy to create tiny scars in the heart. The scars block faulty heart signals and restore a typical heartbeat.

Heart Issues #2 and #3

I had another episode in early September, 2023 (irregular heartbeat, high BP, etc.), which led to an atrial ablation on the left side of my heart in March, 2024. 

It seemed to have worked for a time, but after two more episodes and visits to Emergency in 2024, I had another atrial ablation (this time on both sides of my heart) on New Year’s Eve, 2024. 

In between these major things, I've lost count of the number of doctor visits, ER visits, dental procedures, blood tests, stress tests, ultrasounds, minor issues (like ankle sprains), and so forth. 

If you're wondering if the radiation or the chemo or the Covid could have caused my heart problems, either one of them could have. A nurse I talked to during my last ablation voted for the radiation since my cancer lump was on the left side. But no one really knows. It might have happened even without the other things.

To sum up, ever since the chemotherapy started in December, 2018, I’ve been tired all the time, and while I could think of many things I wanted to do, when it came down to it, I just didn’t really care if I got to them or not.

So, basically, I’ve been happy if I got dressed every day and went for a walk, remembered to eat and drink and take my pills and vitamins, wash and hang up my clothes, water my plants, buy birthday gifts for our grandkids, and talked to Les intelligently now and then. He's been my sole caregiver during this time.  

Mostly, I’ve read many, many books. Some new paperbacks or hardcovers I bought or got from the library, but mostly eBooks. Speaking of which, I’m so glad that I have my Kindle and our library has both Libby and Hoopla account because otherwise I couldn’t have afforded to buy all these books.

Les and I also tend to watch a few TV shows in the evenings, mostly mysteries or comedies on Acorn or Brit Box. And we’ve watched a lot of curling games, tennis, baseball, swimming, skating, and other athletic events.

I've also done puzzle after puzzle on my standing table, often while watching TV. I had a lot of 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzles, some from as far back as 40 years ago, but I’ve bought some new ones and family members have given me some. (I plan to blog about why I love jigsaw puzzles one of these days.)

I’ve tried to keep reasonably fit by walking almost every day, doing exercises that my physiotherapist recommends, and Pilates or dance (with an app called Body Groove).

One ironically good thing about my not doing much writing over the last years is that I haven’t been spending all day on the desk top computer, so my back hasn’t been bothering me nearly as much as it was. I have had some random right knee and right arm pain, though, which my physiotherapist thinks the ablations might have caused. Always something!

I’ve been doing some work in the yard, which is basically now done in English country garden style. Backyard as well as the front.

We actually started with the backyard 12 years ago and completed the front over the last few years ago. Les and our two older grandsons have done most of the digging and the planting, but I did the research and chose what plants to get and I do most of the deadheading and so forth. We have a lot of bee- and butterfly-friendly flowers. Les and I have shared in the watering. I have indoor plants as well, including a number of pots of sansevieria, all of which came from three original ones we bought a few years ago.

Today, September 2nd, 2025

What I haven’t done since 2018 is go to a mall or any physical store or event; do any cooking or more than a little cleaning up when Les was away or when he had rotator cup surgery; and have anyone over except for occasional family members. I also haven’t taught a workshop, written anything except a short prequel to a book I wrote years ago and a few blogs, or even cared that I wasn’t doing anything. And I've drive the car maybe 5 times in those years. 

The one thing I HAVE done since 2021 is to mentor one writer, using virtual meetings, thanks to The Writers Union of Canada, which offered grants for mentoring. the grants gave me an excuse to ask a superb writer who has several pieces in our Hot Apple Cider Books if she needed help. The plan is for her to have a book out in October and another one in February of next year. She’s pretty well the only person I’ve spoken to aside from doctors, our dentist and physiotherapist, family members, and a couple of neighbours I often meet when I’m out walking.

The “new” and good news is that in the middle of May, I started to feel a little bit like myself. In other words, I had a little energy and a little brain for a week straight. I waited a few weeks to see if it continued before I even told Les because, in the past, I’ve had energy for maybe a day or two at a time, but then it would be a week or more with no energy at all. But, right now, most days I still wake up in the morning with some energy and some brain. I really hope that’s going to continue.

I wore a Holter monitor for 2 weeks in April and again in July and they didn't show any issues. I'll do the same again in December.  Hopefully, I won’t need another ablation. I’m still on the blood thinners and beta blocker, though.

Because my brain has still been kind of sporadically here, the other thing I've done over the years is to be somewhat active on social media, mostly posting pictures (of plants!), and commenting on or reposting what other people have said. Should you want to connect there, I’m on Facebook, Instagram, Threads, Bluesky, Mastodon, and (recently) Substack as N. J. Lindquist. 

Despite my rather complicated journey, I urge every woman to get a regular mammogram. If you’re clear, you have lost nothing. And it they find something, you have a good chance of fighting it.

Should you want to read more about the cancer and heart issues in the last seven years, click on this link. https://njlindquist.com/blog/breast-cancer/

I met Martin years ago at a Christian Booksellers Conference in Canada. I was there helping an artist set up her booth. (I’d met her in 1994 when I was asked to write an article on her for ChristianWeek.)

It was my first time at a conference like this, and I spent most of my time wandering around looking for books by Canadian authors. It became a bit of a joke, because I had a really hard time finding any. I had arrived expecting the Canadian authors to be front and centre, and instead they were hidden, if there at all. I did manage to find a Sigmund Brouwer book, and two men in suits scoured their booth to find Linda Hall’s new book August Gamble. One of them finally found it on the bottom, back side of a tall metal turning stand. I had the impression that he wanted a prize for finding it.

And then there was Martin Smith, who was working for a music distributor which, of course, included many American singers. But he and Eric Spath, who was also working for the distributor, were actually promoting Canadian singers, too!

After that conference, I bumped into Martin at other events, and we talked about the need for more promotion for both Canadian musicians and writers who were Christian.

Then, in March, 2007, at a Christian conference in Toronto, I had a conversation with Eric Spath, who was now working with World Vision Canada. He had actually come to The Word Guild’s Write! Canada conference the year before looking for authors who were also speakers for a Girls Night Out program World Vision Canada had begun.

For some reason, Eric showed me a book they were giving out at the Girls Night Out events. It was an American book, and I won’t say the title, but it made me gag. I was pretty sure it was being given out because it wasn’t selling as well as expected.

I said, “What if we could give them a book with Canadian writers in it?”

Eric shrugged. “We’d need 30,000 books by January.

“Let me think about it.”

I wandered around the booths, my head spinning. How on earth could we get 30,000 books by Canadian writers in that short a time?

I knew how to create books. In 2000, I had republished a young adult book that had been first published by Moody Press in 1991. And I’d written and published four additional ya books. But it was hard work. And how would we fund it? We’d be giving the books away, not selling them.

I ended up at the table where Martin Smith was sitting alone. Since no one else was around for the moment, I told him about my conversation with Eric. He was supportive and encouraging. He mentioned the compilation CDs that were sitting on the table in front of me. I picked one up and examined it. Ten songs by ten different Canadian artists.

What if?

I looked up at Martin. He had a questioning look in his eyes.

“We could do this!” I said. “Stories. True or fiction. A few poems. Kind of like Reader’s Digest. A compilation. By Canadian writers!

Martin was grinning. “That would be terrific!”

I won’t go into the details here about how the books came into being. That’s another story. But I just wanted to emphasize that without Martin, the 30,000 copies each of Hot Apple Cider and A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider that went out at Girls Night Out and Couples Night Out events, as well as the books sold in stores and by the authors, not to mention the later copies of A Taste of Hot Apple Cider, Christmas with Hot Apple Cider, and Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon, would likely never have happened.

The bonus for us, and Martin, was that he ended up having stories in both Christmas with Hot Apple Cider and Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon. Stories filled with his gentle humour, I might add. In fact, his story “The ‘Other’ First Prize” in Cinnamon opens the book. 

In his honour, we’ve made the ebook version of Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon available for $0.99 until the end of the month. 

(Click here for more information about Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon and links to get the ebook at Kindle, Kobo, iBook, and Nook.)

Perhaps because of my grandmother and my other relatives, or perhaps because I've always felt different from other people, I’ve been talking to God ever since I was a child. And always, when I wondered about my past, and who I really was, God would tell me it was okay—it was all under control. 

Even after leaving home, getting married, and having four sons, I did nothing to find my birth parents. Perhaps because along with the nice daydreams there was also fear—what if they were horrible people and they were in jail? Or worse— Anything was possible....

But when my first grandchild was born, and my son asked me about my medical history, I suddenly realized this wasn’t only about me. We all needed more information.

So, after doing some research and telling myself to "Just Do It," I contacted the post-adoption agency in the city where I had been born. Within weeks, I knew my parents had been a very young unmarried couple. I also learned that my mother had written them recently saying she wanted to get in touch with me….

Ten years have passed. I’ve met both my biological parents. And I’ve learned that my birth was the spark that led my biological mother to give her life to God. Since then, she’s been a missionary and a pastor’s wife for over 50 years. And during that time she prayed for me daily, and believed that because God had been faithful to her, he would also be faithful to me.

All those times God told me not to worry—that it was okay—it really was.

Isn’t it funny? All that wondering, and in the end there was a simple explanation with ordinary people. And God was there the whole time, looking after each one of us, answering prayers, working things out for the best for everyone.

I believe that my adoptive parents were exactly the right people to raise me. The fact that I was able to help lead both of them into a relationship with God is only one of the wonderful things that happened.

When my biological mother became pregnant, it wasn’t seen as a blessing. Just the opposite. And yet she believes it was a blessing, even for her. God really can take any circumstance and bring good out if it. 

Whenever I might be tempted to worry about what will happen tomorrow or next week, I simply have to look back at my past and say, “I know who holds my future; God has it all in control.”
*First published January 2010 in The Link and Visitor. Edited slightly.

Note: If you want to know more about my journey as an adopted child, and finding my biological parents, check out my memoir blogs here. 

 The new covers of the Hot Apple Cider books with the old ones below them:

 The new covers of my mysteries with the old ones below them:

I've created a third edition for my children's fantasy. It's on the left. The story-line is unchanged, but because I am making it a series, there has been a little editing. This will be the style for the rest of the series. 

A doctor first suggested he might have lung cancer a year before, but then they decided he didn't. But in October of 1992, they changed their minds. He did have lung cancer after all, and it was inoperable.

I flew from Toronto to Brandon for a week in the latter part of October. I soon realized that my mother was unable to cope and in denial most of the time. Because we lived so far apart, I hadn't realized that she was slipping into dementia and Dad must have been looking after her. 

I flew back home to spend a week getting things organized for Les, our older two sons who were in high school, and our 3-month old puppy. Then I'd flown back with our younger boys, who were still being home-schooled.

While I was gone, Mom had called 911 for help when Dad had fallen, and they'd put him in the hospital. The cancer had gone into his spine and was now spreading all through him.  He had no pain other than an occasional headache, and all he needed was an aspirin or other low-key painkiller.

When I walked into the hospital after dropping the luggage and boys at the apartment, Dad was sitting in a recliner chair in a small sitting area. When he saw me, he immediately said, "Nancy, why am I here?" 

I pulled a chair up in front of him and said, "It's the cancer, Dad. It's spread."

"Then I need to do something." He immediately closed his eyes and ask God to forgive him for his sins and to look after him, using language I knew came straight out of his mother's pleas to him, both spoken and written. 

The change was apparent in the peaceful look on his face and the relaxed lines of his body. He shook his head, clearly puzzled. With the innocence of a child, he asked me, “Why did it take me so long to understand?”

I said, "I don't know, but I'm glad you do."

I took him back to the ward he was in, with three other men, all younger than him. He soon fell asleep, and as I watched him, I thought of his mother, who I called Granny Shaw. She had died 34 years earlier. A devout follower of God, my grandmother prayed daily for each of her ten children and for their families. Many of them did make a commitment to God, but not her second youngest—my father—or his wife. But Dad had remembered her words. 

Our younger two boys were 12 and 8, so I brought them with me to the hospital for a short visit a few times, but mostly I left them in the apartment doing their schoolwork, playing card games, or watching TV while I sat with Dad. Mom didn't mind having them there. 

During the next ten days, George and Bernice, a couple who were younger than Mom and Dad but very close friends of theirs, drove Mom back and forth to the hospital, took her shopping as needed, kept her from getting too upset, and made sure she was eating. I spent most of my days at the hospital. When I found out Dad had fallen while trying to get out of bed in the night to go to the bathroom because he didn't realize his legs no longer worked, I hired a nurse to be with him nights. 

When I was certain Dad was asleep for a bit, I went back to the apartment or did some necessary running around. A few years before, Dad had made sure I had power of attorney for both of them. Because Dad's files were completely up-to-date, it was easy for me to get copies of the power of attorney from his lawyer, close bank accounts, start to organize a funeral, write an obituary, and take care of everything so Mom had nothing to worry about. Their friend, George, was again invaluable in this process.  

Other friends and relatives of Mom and Dad's also stopped by, brought meals for us, etc. One thing Mom and Dad never lacked for was genuine friends. 

Since I'd never had the experience of being with someone when they died before, I had a lot of questions about it, but no idea who to ask. (I've never liked asking questions.) There was a small sitting room for visitors that I went to occasionally when the nurses were in Dad's room. One day, I found what appeared to be a textbook for nurses sitting on a table. I looked in the back for a glossary and found a section on what happened when someone dies. Just what I'd been wanting! It was quite helpful. 

So when the nurse asked if we'd like them to move Dad into a private room, I knew the end was coming. 

On the morning of November 27th, I came into his room and found him lying there, his head raised slightly, smiling. I asked why he was smiling and he said, "I'm just glad." That was our last conversation. Shortly after that, Dad went to sleep and he didn't wake up. On November 28th, as I sat by his bedside waiting for him to draw his last breath, I was filled with the sense of God’s presence, watching over both of us. What could have been a difficult time became an interlude of joy and peace that, as Jesus said, passed understanding. And, thankfully, when he died I recognized the signs and was able to calmly go and tell the nurse that he was gone. 

My dad's older brothers taught him to smoke cigarettes "out behind the barn" when he was eight years old. When I was younger, he was smoking at least a pack a day (although never when he was around his mother). In his late 40s , he happened to be watching TV when a documentary came on about smoking and what it does to your lungs. He never touched another cigarette. Yes, he died from lung cancer, but it might have happened years earlier if he hadn't just happened to see that documentary.  

Anyway, what I most want to say is that my dad was a really good dad who had limited education and limited opportunities, but always did his best to look after his family, including not only his wife and daughter but also his mother and other older relations. He was the one person I knew I could always rely on if I ever needed help, and he adored his four grandsons and they loved having him around. I can't even imagine how thrilled he'd be to meet his great grandchildren. But perhaps he's somewhere smiling down on them right now.

And, to end with some happy notes:

1. Two years earlier, on Oct 19, 1989, Dad was sitting in our family room with Mom and our whole family, watching the Bill Cosby Show. That episode was titled, "Theo's Gift," and it talked about dyslexia. My dad struggled his entire life with difficulty reading and writing, and had been called "stupid" more than once by a teacher. When he had to write a letter, he got Mom to do it. He read every day before he went to sleep, but very slowly. Mostly Reader's Digest, maybe a western or another fairly easy book. He also read the local weekly newspaper and sometimes the bigger daily one. Anyway, on the show, when they talked about the problem Theo had, my dad got to his feet and pointed at the screen. "That's me! That's what I have! The ending of words keep changing!" Finally, my dad received validation that there was a name for the condition he had, that it could affect anyone, and that it had nothing to do with how smart you were.

2. In the spring of 1991, my first book, Best of Friends, was first published (by Moody Press). Dad was so proud that I had written a book and even though it was a young adult novel, he read it more than once. I'm so glad he was around for that. 

3. The only sport I ever saw Dad play was golf (which he played as often as he could). But the sport he most loved to watch was baseball. Sometimes he took me with him to Souris Cardinals' ballgames. And when I was younger we always watched the World Series together on our TV. (Usually featuring the Yankees, as I recall.) When Toronto got it's own team, he was thrilled and he quickly became a Jays fan. We took him to a few games when he was visiting. 

On October 24th, 1992, during my first week in Brandon, and before they realized Dad needed to be in the hospital, we watched the Toronto Blue Jays in game 6 of the 1992 World Series. Mom had gone to the bedroom because she found most sports boring, but Dad and I watched every pitch, every strikeout, every hit.... And we celebrated together when the Jays won. I'm so glad we had that moment together. 

4. I have to admit I'm not really a "griever." After I realized he was dead, I didn't shed any tears. I went back to the apartment and told Mom and George and Bernice, called Les, organized the funeral, sent the obituary to the places where Mom wanted it, did all the things you do... 

Les and our older boys flew down. I had realized Mom couldn't be on her own, so we'd arranged for her to stay with her younger sister in Winnipeg for a few weeks and then fly down to stay with us for a while. Once we were back in Toronto, we got back into our usual lives again, with additional shopping and moving things around to turn our family room into a bedroom for Mom when she arrived right after Christmas.

5. Just before Christmas, one night I felt I had to write a story. It was about a man in a ward with three other men in the palliative care wing of a hospital. The story isn't about Dad or the actual men who were in the ward with him, but I have to admit that, being a writer, I did take quite a few notes when I was sitting there with not much to do. Anyway, I think I poured my emotions into the story. (It's called "Living on the Edge," it's kind of weird, and it's one of 7 stories in this book, which I published under a pseudonym.) I guess writers are funny people. Or maybe it's just me. But I think Dad would enjoy the story. 

A Few Pictures. (Note, the one above was taken when dad was about 50.)