• When my husband was diagnosed with cancer, I was shell-shocked.
• My routines were upended at the same time I became his caregiver.
• I reached out to family and other caregivers for support.

People often remark on how healthy my husband is. At 82, Barry scampers up and down hills like a mountain goat and out-paddles many members of his kayak group. So it came as a shock in September when we discovered he had stage 2 lymphoma. Cancer? Unbelievable.

I was amazed by Barry's reaction to his cancer diagnosis. He didn't ruminate endlessly over what he could have done to prevent it, as I might have. A science journalist, he has researched and written a great deal about cancer. "Some cells mutate when they divide," he said to me. "If they didn't, we wouldn't be here. It's part of evolution."

His diagnosis changed our plans — and our routines

Not only did we cancel an international trip when we found out, but in spectacularly bad timing, the routines that anchored my life also came to an abrupt stop. Both my yoga teachers stopped teaching, my weekly walking partner left town for the season, and as a freelance writer, I had few assignments.

In the Myers-Briggs personality assessment, I'm known as a "J," a person who needs structure. The prospect of several empty, shapeless months was deeply discouraging for me.

It took time to adapt to being a caregiver

Because Barry's treatment plan involved no radiation and only one chemo infusion every three weeks, we joked that he was experiencing 'cancer lite.' But his energy level dipped precipitously, and sometimes, I felt as though I had chemo fatigue, too. Our home situation reminded me of the beginning of the pandemic, except everything stopped for us while the rest of the world carried on.

The uncertainty was the worst part. After the oncologist and nurses repeated the mantra "only three chemo treatments" several times, we optimistically penciled in the date when we hoped to fly to Mexico, where we spend part of the year. Then one week, during an appointment, our oncologist offhandedly said, "Could be five, maybe six treatments."

What? I fumbled for Barry's hand under the table. "I thought you said three," I said, trying to sound neutral.

He shrugged. "We don't know for sure."

I was furious at him for messing with our plans. How dare he? Of course, I was ignoring the fact that despite all the advances in the field, cancer is still an unpredictable science.

I reached out to family and other caregivers for support

As Barry's caregiver, I felt a responsibility to be resilient, but didn't always feel that way. My sister helped. "Call me anytime," she said. She sent Barry homemade oatmeal cookies with a note that said, "The way I'm supporting you is by supporting Louisa."

Through the internet, I found an online support group for caregivers sponsored by the University of California San Francisco Medical Center. It was only once a month — not enough for me — but I appreciated hearing from other caregivers about their cancer situations. We shared stories about feeling overlooked and neglected at times. Listening to them, I felt grateful that Barry's case was relatively mild. We weren't living through grinding years of cancer, and he wasn't going to die (not yet, anyway!).

I also reached out to other family members. My brother-in-law, who lives with depression, told me that accompanying my sister to chemo appointments during her breast cancer a few years earlier had given him a sense of purpose and direction. Unlike me, he wasn't perturbed at not having much of an independent life.

Barry, on the other hand, thrived on his solo time at the infusion center, chatting with the other patients. He joked that it was like flying Business Class, with reclining seats and gracious nurses attending to his every whim. Although he enjoyed introducing me to his new-found friends, he didn't want me there all six hours, and I, too, enjoyed my "day off."

He's cancer-free now, but we're still getting through it

It's now been four months since Barry's diagnosis, and I am indeed writing this from sunny Mexico. Barry's latest scan showed him free of cancer, and his energy is gradually returning. And I'm back into yoga.

But I don't have the pillowy confidence I once had, and maybe that's a good thing. I used to brag about my health — how fit I was, how I'd live to 100 or more. Now, I'm more humble. I feel for people with cancer, and especially for their caregivers. I know cancer never happens in a vacuum. It's a family disease, where everyone is affected, and no one is spared.

• In 1999, my husband took a sabbatical, and we traveled to Guanajuato in Mexico.
• We both daydreamed about living in Europe and even house-sat for our friends in Amsterdam.
• In 2004 we realized it was Guanajuato that made more sense for us to live in.

In 1999, my husband and I left our consulting gigs in Palo Alto, CA, rented our home, and took off on an international self-designed sabbatical.

We traveled to various parts of the world, but we started and ended our sabbatical in the beautiful UNESCO World Heritage city of Guanajuato, Mexico.

I thought we would retire and spend time in Europe, but fast-forward to now: At 73 years old, I spend part of my time in Mexico instead.

Our dream was a home in Europe

Both of us had always daydreamed about a base in Europe. Barry, raised in England, has a great fondness for the continent. I, because my family lived in Europe during some of my childhood, had always wanted to live there as an adult.

Not long after we sold our home in Palo Alto, Dutch friends whom we'd met on our sabbatical invited us to house-sit while they went on vacation during the month of May. We were elated — this would give us the opportunity to check out Amsterdam as an international base. And springtime is the perfect season, right? But that May turned out to be piercingly cold and wet — much less forgiving than January in California. The first several days we huddled together on our friends' sofa, wrapped in blankets and drinking tea.

A confident lifelong cyclist, I had pictured myself serenely biking along the city's storied canals. It didn't turn out how I had envisioned. I was intimidated by the way the Dutch rode alarmingly fast and stopped for no one. One day, I watched a woman in a business suit speeding down the bike lane, balancing two small kids and a grocery bag, while chatting away blithely on her cell.

It also wasn't easy to make connections. We found the Dutch not that different from Americans in some ways — busy, goal-oriented, direct, and focused. And they didn't seem very easy to get to know. I thought it might be because we were American until I met a Danish woman who'd had the same experience. Pieter, our Dutch friend, explained that most people in the Netherlands stay within the same circle of friends from childhood.

House-sitting in Guanajuato changed everything

Of course, we already knew about Guanajuato but had never considered it an international base because we were in thrall to the fantasy of a home in Europe. But in 2004, we were invited to house-sit, our first visit in three years, and we were newly entranced by the city's beauty and charm.

During our stay, we met several resident foreigners who greeted us with their stories of buying and remodeling homes.

Suddenly, it made sense. Guanajuato was not only nearer to California, it was also closer to many of our family members — and considerably less expensive than a home in much of Europe. We both spoke manageable Spanish. As for the weather, it was exactly what we wanted.

In 2005, we bought an old adobe house on a pedestrianized street, and we've lived there part of the year ever since.

We split our time between Mexico and California

While less vibrant than colorful Guanajuato, Eureka in California also has unique charms, and we appreciate the contrast between the two towns — Spanish vs. English; 7,000' high mesa vs. green, moist sea level; owning vs. renting.

In Eureka, we live 10 minutes from the ocean and a block from Humboldt Bay, where we each paddle, Barry in his kayak and I on my paddleboard. In our upgraded EuroVan — which Barry dubs our third home — we explore the natural beauty of Northern California and southern Oregon, where we still discover new areas to visit.

In Eureka, I ride my bike on various dedicated trails around town; in Guanajuato, we shut our front door and, within 10 minutes, are hiking in the hills above town.

We're glad now that Amsterdam was not a fit for us. Though we never dreamt we'd own a home in Mexico, it's been the best surprise of our retirement years.