Support for Crystal

Hello, everyone! *Please read Crystal's message below!*

My name is Stephanie, and I'm helping create this GoFundMe on behalf of Will. This is for one of our own, Crystal Mongold Eisenhofer, also lovingly known as the ShutterFest “Model Boss” (a name given to her by Will!).

Crystal has been experiencing some challenging times, which I'll let her share about. We'd love to be able to come together to show her lots of love and support. Donations can help provide some peace, and allow her to focus on what's important - herself.

*100% of all money goes to Crystal Mongold Eisenhofer, we can provide proof to all*

From Crystal:

This is the Beginning of My Breast Cancer Journey

It started with a hug.

I was at my daughter’s Halloween party, surrounded by laughter and energy. Her friend Hunter—who always greets me with a huge hug and a back crack—did just that. But this time, something in my breast twisted and hurt. I brushed it off, like I usually do. After all, I’d been dealing with pain and swelling in my left shoulder for over a year. I figured it was just one more weird ache to add to the list.

But something about this time lingered.

In November, at 50 years old, I finally had my first mammogram. I know—I should have gone sooner. But life gets busy, and pain becomes normal sometimes. During that appointment, they focused in on my right breast. Took multiple images. I saw the technician’s face. You know the look—the one that says more than words can.

I knew.

In December, I had an ultrasound to confirm the mass they found. At that point, you just plan. That’s how I cope—I make lists, I organize. I try to stay in control.

January brought the biopsy. And yes—it was cancer. While the word hit hard, I think it hit my husband even harder. Sitting in the car with him afterward, just the two of us, it felt like the world fell down around us. We had just come from speaking with the surgeon and oncologist about the next steps. There were so many unknowns. But in that quiet moment between appointments and real life, everything felt heavy, raw, and real.

In February, we elected to move forward with a mastectomy of my right breast. The doctors had recommended a lumpectomy, but I chose the more aggressive path. I didn’t want to face the possibility of going back in if they didn’t get clear margins. And in the end, it turned out to be a blessing—they found more than expected. The mastectomy was the best choice for me, and I’m grateful we listened to our instincts.

Recovery was slow, but surprisingly manageable. I was incredibly lucky to have my husband by my side—cooking, pampering, and supporting me in every possible way. And my two amazing daughters never stopped checking in. They worried, they encouraged, and they loved me through the hardest moments. Knowing they were there, even when I tried to act “fine,” meant everything.

March came, and I returned to the studio. I thought getting back to work would feel like a relief—but it wasn’t. I struggled to focus. I couldn’t find the energy to edit the sessions I had done before surgery. Work piled up, but my heart wasn’t in it. So I gave myself permission to let it go and move forward.

Then April arrived—and with it, ShutterFest. A time I normally look forward to with excitement. But this year, it felt different. I felt different. I was more vulnerable. The hormone blockers were messing with my moods. The long hours were harder on my body than I remembered. But when you're the model boss—organizing and managing over 400 models—you don’t just stop. You push forward, because people are counting on you. And I did—thanks to some truly amazing souls who helped carry the weight when I couldn’t.

All throughout this, I kept things quiet. Only a few close friends knew what I was going through. I’m not one to share my struggles easily—I tend to bottle things up and push forward. But I’m learning that there’s strength in opening up. That vulnerability doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human.

In June, I found myself back in testing mode. I had refused chemo—at least for now—because I wanted confirmation that there was still active cancer before I added more toxins to my body. It didn’t make sense to me to go through that without knowing what we were really facing. So the next step was a CT scan with contrast. The results weren’t the best, but we had options.

July has been filled with procedures: a bronchoscopy biopsy on my left lung, a colonoscopy, and a PET scan. As those results have come in, we've been grateful for some hopeful news. My lungs are clear—no signs of cancer. My colon did show diverticulosis (lots of pockets), which will require some diet changes to stay ahead of any issues. The final results from the PET scan are scheduled for next week, and we are cautiously optimistic.

At one point I was told: “This year will be given to cancer.” And that’s proven true. This experience is draining. The meds, the tests, the emotional toll—it’s changed so much in my life. But even with all of that, I am grateful. Grateful that this journey is mine and not someone else’s. Because I have been blessed with an incredible support system—my family, my friends, and guardian angels I feel with me every step of the way.

Now I’m home, letting the dust settle. Still processing, still learning what this new normal means. Some days I feel strong. Some days I feel completely undone. Most days, it’s a little of both.

This is just the beginning of my story. I’ll keep sharing—not because it’s easy, but because I know I’m not alone. And maybe, by telling the truth—my truth—someone else will feel a little less.