About Us — and About You
Our journey began with one diagnosis, two people — and lessons we’re here to share with you.
Who we are
We're Gaga and Sloba, one wildly optimistic couple trying to outwit cancer, kitchen disasters, and hospital paperwork, all while keeping our sense of humor fully charged.
This space isn’t just our story. It’s a place for anyone facing illness, burnout, life that suddenly looks different from what they planned or need to take a break.
I’m Gaga — an-ex scientist by work experience, explorer by nature, and the least-qualified person to fold a fitted sheet. I have a PhD in AI and spent years building models of plant immune systems and complex diseases… yet I still cut pizza with scissors and think ironing is a risky sport. I take complicated things — science, health, emotions — and turn them into something clear, useful, and optimistic.
Five years ago I made a move no algorithm could have predicted — I came to Chile for love.
Love has a name: Sloba.
Sloba is the best electrical engineer I know — a telecommunications and electronics expert with a lab that has everything… except free time. He dreams of launching a YouTube channel about fixing circuits and resurrecting vintage instruments. Current channel status: one channel, zero videos, infinite optimism.
We work together in his telecommunication-services company — he handles the tech, and I take care of the AI and R&D.
He's also facing multiple myeloma — a bone marrow cancer —with the same precision and stoic logic he brings to every circuit board he builds.
And me? I’m facing it with love, stubbornness, scientific papers, and an ongoing battle with broccoli.
Before the Diagnosis — Our "Normal" Life
We used to live the kind of life many people recognize — busy, a bit chaotic, stretched thin between work, responsibilities, and the two countries we called home. Our days were a constant juggle of remote jobs across time zones, endless projects, travel plans, and the daily question of “cook or surrender to takeaway… again?”
Sloba's Marathon
Worked across three continents’ schedules — mornings with Europe, days in Chile, evenings with Australia — a global marathon powered mostly by caffeine, overtime and pizza delivery. He loves his work, which made it easy to forget that rest is not a luxury.
My Pace
I was further behind, doing similar marathon but at a dignified walking speed. Ten-hour days felt "normal," and between contracts I would slow down — a lesson I'd started years earlier and was still trying to master.
Exercise was always scheduled for "next Monday." Cooking happened when life allowed. Friends mattered, but everyone was busy, so meetups were fewer than we wished. Life felt full… and often unbalanced.
Racing through our routines like so many people do, we didn’t realize his body was already whispering warnings.
The Day We Found Out — The Turning Point
It wasn't completely out of the blue — we knew something was wrong. A lump appeared on his lower jaw… and within two weeks it grew to seven centimeters. The pain was brutal — easier in the morning, unbearable by evening, and almost impossible at night.
While waiting for the biopsy results, we hoped desperately for something benign, ugly but harmless. We read everything online. (Tip: don't do that. But also… you will, because we did.)
Then came that day in May.
The paper in his hand screamed the words we struggled to swallow: multiple myeloma.
Hope for a harmless explanation vanished instantly.
Shock
How can he have multiple myeloma at 49? Isn't this for much older people?
Bargaining
Why not something benign instead?
Like someone would listen.
Fear
What now? What will the future bring?
Will there be any future?
And strangely… there was relief too. We finally identified our opponent. Those awful days of not knowing were over. Suddenly, everything made sense:
- the stubborn leg pain from last year
- the random arm pain
- the frequent colds and flues that wouldn’t clear
- the fatigue we blamed on busy schedules
A strange lottery — and our ticket wasn’t the worst, especially knowing his mum is living with MM for years.
Now we’re stepping into the ring to fight — and we’re here to win.
Early Treatments & The Learning Curve
About 30% of his bone marrow was affected by malignant cells— a serious diagnosis, but found early enough to prevent fractures or kidney damage (something we’re deeply grateful for).
The challenge was the type: kappa light-chain myeloma, tends to “escape” the bone — exactly what happened in his jaw, where the tumor had already destroyed three teeth before anyone knew what it was.
The treatment journey began fast and intense:
01
Radiotherapy
For the mandibular plasmacytoma—lump in his mouth
02
PET CT Scan
Revealing another lesion on the pelvis, also treated with radiotherapy
03
Chemotherapy
A high-intensity weekly regimen for the next four months
04
ASCT
Preparation for autologous stem cell transplant
Those months were a blur of:
- medical jargon
- spending five hours a day in the kitchen — later reduced to three once he improved
- endless reading of scientific papers about people who've been in remission for 25+ years (my reward for leaving the kitchen)
- learning to ask questions
- and discovering humor in the most unexpected places
If you’re here for clarity, practical tips, or proof that your chaos is normal — we’ve lived it, and yes, it is.
Lifestyle Changes We Made (Diet, Mindset, Humor)
A diagnosis like this changes everything. It made us slow down, listen, and rethink what being alive actually means.
We realized:
life is not a default right
rest is essential
perfection is optional
laughter is medicine (truly is, check it here)
Evenings became comedy time. We allowed ourselves to do nothing, without guilt. Dishes waited. Work waited. Health didn't.
We overhauled our diet:
- fresh vegetables & fruits
- healthy proteins
- homemade mozzarella and feta (yes, we actually make cheese now!)
- olive oil, whole foods
- specialty flours (chickpea, oat, spelt, rye, almond, flax)
Restaurants and takeaways? Almost never. We cook every day — fast, simple, kidney-friendly meals.
Me — the former kitchen-phobe — now cooks daily. I once thought kitchens were Mordor with better lighting, but love is a super power. Now I cook with purpose… and occasional profanity. I call it productive rage management.
We also embraced hobbies we long postponed: writing, crafting, dreaming. He is spending more time in his lab. I even started a novel. I wrote the characters, the plot, and the ending. What's missing? …The novel.
Instead, I'm writing this blog — partly to explain to my book mentor why that book still doesn't exist.
Somewhere in the digital void, an online shop of my handmade jewelry is still "almost ready." Let's not discuss how long it's been "almost ready." I will come back to it one day.
Where We Are Now — Healing, Hoping, Living
As of December 2025, we're almost three months past the ASCT, and Sloba is preparing to start two months of consolidation chemotherapy after the New Year. After that comes maintenance therapy: one capsule a day in a three-weeks-on, one-week-off rhythm, continued for at least two years. It's not too demanding — basically like taking a daily pill for diabetes or cholesterol.
We're living slower now. More intentionally. We cook together, laugh together, cry sometimes, but mostly — we keep going.
You'll find here a bit of everything:
Treatment Insights
What we've learned while navigating treatments
Practical Tips
The routines, remedies, and practical tips that actually help
Simple Recipes
Simple recipes even total kitchen beginners can survive
Life Stories
Stories that have nothing to do with illness — just soul-food moments and warm little oases in the middle of chaotic day
It's messy, hopeful, human, and occasionally buried under shiitake mushrooms.
And when I'm not juggling chemotherapy schedules or burning soup, I work as an AI consultant — someone has to pay for all that ginger, berries, and the new mortgage.
Welcome to Our World
Here, we share our world as it is: unfiltered, imperfect, and real.
The good, the bad, and the absolutely absurd. Somehow, even on the hard days, we still manage to laugh.
We’re genuinely glad you’re here. We share our journey so no one has to feel alone in this maze — whether you’re navigating illness, caregiving, or just life being life. You’ll find honesty, practical lessons, and yes, the occasional kitchen disaster.
This space isn’t only about illness. It’s also about light — bright colors, small escapes, ridiculous family stories, and the moments that keep a tired soul afloat.
This whole project began as an attempt to create something beautiful when life felt anything but. And the beauty stayed.
If anything here brings you warmth, comfort, or even a tiny laugh on a heavy day, then this blog is already worth writing.
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