I am Suzanne V. Reese, a 63-year-old grandma, author and journalist who recently received a terminal, inoperable diagnosis of radiation-induced heart failure. You may know me as Rosie the Resister, writing the Resisters' Report on Substack. Others may remember me as the author of the fictional Extranormal Series--a paranormal romance that went crazily viral while I was doing zero promotion during chemotherapy for breast cancer.

This isn't the first time the Universe has tried to off me. While it does seem to be official this time, the timeline is still a big question. My cardiology team (who know this disease) has told me to plan on weeks. My oncologist (who knows my history) says to ignore numbers. They're not relevant to me. Here's why:

I was born with a VSD (a hole between my right and left ventricles) in the way back early 1960s when they couldn't fix such things. The doctors told my parents to take me home and enjoy me. They said the hole would either close or kill me in the next 3 or 4 years. Instead, it took until I was 29 (and had birthed four children) for me to go into heart failure.

Ironically, they used bedside X-rays to monitor my heart after the subsequent open-heart surgery, which followed the exact path of late-stage breast cancer when I was 47. That time, my oncologist gave me a 10% chance of lasting 3 years. That was 17 years ago.

This time, it's the radiation from my cancer treatment that has caused my heart to calcify. So...whether I have a few weeks or longer I don't know. But I'm living by the adage to plan for the worst and hope for the best.

Which means first things first. I have limited energy and a few things that only I can do before I go, such as completing my life story for my grandchildren, and writing personal letters to each of my children and grandchildren (17 letters in all).

I'm also settling into my new home after moving from California to Utah to be with family, and adopting my adorable new puppy Red. Red is a six-year-old Shih Tzu. I wanted something easy--a calm, housebroken little dog to snuggle with. What I got was Red, who spent the first six years of his life in a puppy mill as a stud dog. He came to me missing one eye, malnourished, with a full-body rash from living in a cage. But I fell in love immediately. We're both navigating major changes. While I'm preparing to leave this world, he's discovering it for the first time: from the sound of children playing to seeing the night sky. His health needs are significant, as are mine. So at a time that my income is reduced, I'm finding an increase in my overall expenses.

I'm one of those people who fell through our nation's many social system cracks, spending most of my life either as a SAHM or disabled to ever qualify for social security. I'm fortunate to have been able to meet my recent increased medical needs by writing on Substack. But I'm not able to keep up my writing schedule, at least for now.

What I need most right now is financial breathing room. Enough to stop worrying about money while I finish the things that matter most—whether that's weeks, months, or, knowing my history, maybe even years. If I'm still here and healthy enough once the important work is done, I have more writing waiting: Rosie the Resister has things to say, I have a nonfiction book about America's God Complex that needs finishing, and a mixed-up fairy tale series that's halfway completed. But right now, I just need to be present. For my family. For Red.

To be honest, I'm not entirely comfortable creating a GoFundMe, but the last couple of weeks have stretched me thin enough to be willing. I'm asking for help covering basic living expenses during this time, so I can focus on these priorities without the constant pressure of working when I'm not physically able. Funds will go toward housing, food, moving and transition costs, and other day-to-day needs, as well as ensuring Red is cared for. It will also help cover my large $7,000 hospice deductible.

If you've read my writing and it's meant something to you, this is a way to say so. If you've never heard of me and this just moved you, thank you. Either way, I'm grateful for your support. Your help will allow me to focus on what matters most, spend meaningful time with loved ones, and honor the life I've lived.