It was last Sunday morning, around 7:30 A.M., when this dream startled me:

It is evening. I am alone, leaving a conference room, my arms filled with notebooks and texts. As I make my way down the empty corridor toward the garage, I feel great weakness consuming me. My legs feel rubbery. Terrified, I look for someone or some thing to hold on to. I am crumpling, the carpeted floor fast approaching me.

 The dream alerted me to my true circumstances, having barely managed my self-care, the previous day. I needed more help to remain safely in my home and reluctantly made the necessary arrangements, given my penchant for solitude.

During the following week, the hospice nurse and chaplain visited, recognized my deepening weakness and shortness of breath, then ordered medical equipment and supplies to convert my bedroom into a sick room. My end time seemed eminent. Accordingly, I took to my wonderful bed, never moving about on my wheeled walker unless supervised. My strengthening and deep breathing exercise ceased.

With my power of attorney, I also finalized the last of my business, notified my lawyer, broker, and accountant of this change that may or may not lead to the death of my body at this time. Family, friends, and neighbors were also advised, unleashing torrents of love and prayer. All seemed ready, but for what? When?

Then, my sister Martha arrived from out of state and for the past two days we laughed and shared stories, as only sisters can do.

And this evening’s phone call with a CPA buddy helped me understand the emotional bottom from which I’m emerging, that such experiences can occur before the last one that leads to the death of the body. So just relax when the next one comes and ride it out.

So, reduced to zero energy, more short of breath, I’m adjusting to the new normal with spirited round-the-clock helpers. My blogs will continue, as I am able …

I did piss others when I cancelled the hospital bed and other equipment—perhaps for a later time.