Long months of blogging my terminal illness have finally etched a new place in my heart: acceptance of my diseased lungs and the helpfulness of hospice-recommended drugs. It all started with the occasional cocktail (morphine and Lorazapan) at bedtime, enveloping me within restful sleep and lengthening my attention span while reading and writing the following day.

Such a radical change from my former aversion to ingesting drugs speaks of fresh grace, the fruit of countless prayers for which I’m grateful. Each morning, deep peace unfurls the challenges of the day and spirits my steps, often supported by my cane. True, I participate more slowly, given the chronic weakness in my body, but I’m still participating.

The bag of other unopened drugs from Barnes-Jewish Hospital, sent home with me following last November’s discharge, still sits on a shelf in my kitchen. What drugs I will need remains to be seen, given the slow progression of my terminal illness. With my changed attitude, however, I welcome the palliative effects of the drugs, until I no longer need them, no matter the side effects.

No doubt supporting this changed attitude is the quaternity of my spirited helpers, anticipating my slightest need, 24/7. We continue learning from each other.