Today, I think of my life in two distinct chapters: before BC and after BC.
Last Labor Day, I had just arrived in Telluride, Colorado, for the Film Festival. The mountains glowed with golden light, evoking a sense of enchantment and possibility. Within days, the glow vanished. My doctor broke the spell with the news: I had breast cancer. I needed to return to New York City immediately to meet with a surgeon and discuss treatment options.
Deep down, I wasn’t surprised. Breast cancer runs in my family, and I knew my risk was high. My decision to have a double mastectomy felt inevitable—but it wasn’t easy. I’d never had surgery before, and this was a brutal introduction. Still, I wanted to do everything I could to avoid a recurrence. I worked on making peace with my choice, even as I recalibrated what my future—and body—might look like.
For me, the hardest part of having cancer wasn’t the medical ups and downs—it was telling my two sons, then 20 and 23. One was studying in Dublin, the other working in London. Breaking the news over a Zoom call broke my heart. I tried to reassure them that I’d be okay, even though I wasn’t sure myself. Would I be fine? Would they?
One of the first things cancer changed was travel. Since the boys had left home, we celebrated the end of each year with family trips—France, Portugal, and other places where we could reconnect, explore together, and forge new traditions. This time, we stayed close to home. No wandering unfamiliar streets. Instead, we walked well-worn paths in New York, visited old friends, watched the skaters at Bryant Park, and cocooned indoors—just my boys, a tree, and me.
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A Healing Journey Begins
My first surgery was a relief: successful, with clear lymph nodes and no complications. My doctor and I agreed to delay the second surgery to allow time for physical and emotional healing. I returned to work and started a weekly yoga class to ease the tightness in my chest and shoulders.
A month later, my husband and I returned to Telluride for our annual winter trip. I couldn’t ski or carry my own bags, but I could sit on the deck and take in the snow-covered mountains. It was enough.
But even as the scars on my chest healed, my heart remembered the pain and fear. So when my editor asked me to cover the SOUL Wellness Retreat in Los Cabos, the opportunity seemed heaven-sent. I was ready to shift from being a patient to being a person again. And I wanted to put into practice what I’d been learning in yoga: meditation, gratitude, and letting go.
Turning the Page at Nobu Hotel
When we stepped out of Los Cabos International Airport, the heat hit like a wall. But after an hour’s drive through Baja’s cactus-studded desert, we arrived at Nobu Hotel Los Cabos—hidden at the end of a winding road in the private Diamante community. It felt like I’d stumbled upon a secret retreat I didn’t know I needed.
We were greeted with chilled towels and matcha lemonade, rich in antioxidants. That small, thoughtful moment grounded me in the present. As we walked through the Zen Rock Garden and open-air lobby, I took a deep breath. It felt good to arrive.
With 200 rooms and suites, plus 60 residences, Nobu blends Japanese minimalism with Mexican craftsmanship. My room—over 500 square feet—was larger than my first New York apartment. A reading nook, a private balcony overlooking the pool, and in the distance, the Pacific. The centerpiece was an onsen-style soaking tub, set beneath a skylight and framed by a wall of river rocks. Just stepping into the space was an invitation to slow down. It wasn’t just a room; it was a sanctuary.
Lisa Greissinger
“Los Cabos showed me that wellness isn’t a checklist—it’s a gradual unfolding. It’s the warmth of the sun, the scent of the sea and desert, the taste of food just harvested from the earth. It’s a reminder that healing has its own time and pace. And sometimes, often, it begins by simply being still.”
— Lisa Greissinger
At the SOUL Wellness Retreat, each day brought a different kind of restoration. Mornings began with ocean views, the sound of the ocean, and a soy matcha latte on my balcony. Then yoga, sound healing, or breathwork. After class, we faced the vas Pacific and journaled: “Set your intentions. Let go of what no longer serves you.”
I wrote about everything I was carrying: Will I see my children settled? What form will my body finally take? Will the cancer come back? When will I feel like “me” again? How soon will I feel ready to really travel? What will my next, more complicated surgery be like? Will the pain be manageable?
Then I let the questions go—at least for the moment.
At the 13,000-square-foot Esencia Wellness Spa, I booked an aromatherapy massage. Treatments included volcanic stone therapy and sea salt scrubs infused with local herbs and essential oils. Even with 13 treatment rooms, I never felt rushed. A spa butler guided me from check-in through the hydrotherapy circuit to my massage, where the therapist was sensitive and skilled with my post-mastectomy body.
My frequent trips to the Nobu Hotel Cabos’ outdoor hydrotherapy garden became another space for renewal. I’d move from the steam room to melt away the tension before moving to the invigorating bucket shower, soaking in the jacuzzi, braving the energizing cold plunge, and finally, a snooze in the walled garden. Each cycle left me more balanced and centered.
Long known for its natural beauty and ocean adventures, Los Cabos is quickly becoming a destination for restorative travel—the kind that encourages you to slow down, reflect, and reconnect with yourself. This year, Michelin awarded green stars to two local standouts—Flora’s Field Kitchen and Acre—for their commitment to sustainable gastronomy (plus five new One Star restaurants). The region is now drawing wellness seekers not just for its landscape, but for its experiences: sunrise beachfront yoga, cacao ceremonies, spa rituals rooted in indigenous tradition, and food that nourishes the body and soul.
Every meal at Nobu was a reminder that wellness doesn’t mean deprivation. At the Mediterranean-inspired Muna, we had short ribs with jocoque (a rich, tangy dairy similar to buttermilk) and endive. At the Mexican-inspired Pacific, whole baby corn came with toasted grasshopper mayonnaise. Regional flavors gave me a real sense of place. Next door, the open-air M Bar was perfect for sunset mocktails—fragrant with thyme, basil, orgeat, and fresh berries—or a craft cocktail, if that’s your thing.
Among the Trees and Hilltops
After Nobu’s serene luxury, Acre Resort was a lush escape. We were there for a farm-to-table lunch and a hands-on soy candle workshop. Acre’s tropical oasis also houses an animal rescue sanctuary (yes, emotional support dogs!), an art studio, and a Tree House Spa, offering restorative treatments like cactus detox wraps and lavender scrubs with herbs grown on-site. Guests can stay in one of 12 luxe tree houses suspended above the Earth for an elevating experience, or in one of the 10 family-friendly haciendas. It felt like a place for both escape and connection.
We also visited Monte Cardón, where chef Ubaldo Martínez creates personalized, hyper-local meals using ingredients harvested within 12 miles in his slow food kitchen. Before dinner, we participated in a traditional cacao ceremony, rooted in Mayan healing practices—that moment changed everything.
We ground cacao beans into paste, set intentions, and sat in silence. As I worked the beans and silently meditated, tears came unexpectedly. I acknowledged the fear I still carried as a breast cancer survivor and reconnected with my body as it is. The experience was both cathartic and healing—and I walked away feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted.
Miguel Banos/Monte Cardón
Space to Heal
Los Cabos showed me that wellness isn’t a checklist—it’s a gradual unfolding. It’s the warmth of the sun, the scent of the sea and desert, the taste of food just harvested from Earth. It’s a reminder that healing has its own time and pace. And sometimes, often, it begins by simply being still. Healing isn’t just medical—it’s in movement, stillness, ritual, and reconnection. When I arrived, I didn’t know exactly what I needed emotionally, but now I was ready to face my next surgery.
When I left Nobu Hotel Los Cabos, I wasn’t just rested—I was restored. Los Cabos gave me the space, silence, and inspiration to reset my post-mastectomy body and mind. It wasn’t a luxury wellness escape; it was a journey to identify myself as a breast cancer survivor.
