Several years ago someone repeated a phrase a friend had said. It went something like this, "Poor Irene. She has had such a hard life. Never got any breaks."

I can't begin to tell you how much that galled me. I was furious. The comment really wasn't one of concern. It was one of superfluous pity and gossip. I was furious. And this is why:

Though I've hit some rough patches in my life, who hasn't? I'd take my rough patches over anyone else's any day. Sure, there have been crummy moments, but haven't we all had crummy moments?

I married twice and divorced twice. The sense of failure was heart-wrenching at times, but ultimately I realized I had had two opportunities to love. Two amazing opportunities! I had two glorious chapters in my life where love was the centerpiece - scented with promise.

My marriages failed. Big deal. It doesn't mean my life failed.

I look at my accomplishments. None of them are newsworthy, but I have many, many headliners, huge successes per my definition.



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Well, since my diagnosis, I have to confess that there have been moments when I've felt I was never going to get a break. There are few *breaks* with IPF, which is still considered a rare lung disease with no treatment.

For two years I did everything right - everything I was told to do to maximize my chances for a lung transplant - and then it was discovered I have a blood disorder and there was 0% chance for a donor match. Yup, that wasn't much of a break.

But then Pirfenidone was FDA approved and I started taking the maximum dose. Pirfenidone can't cure or arrest IPF, but it slows down the progression of scarring. Pirfenidone has been hard at work to buy me some time.

It's my last possible break.


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Two weeks ago I suspected I had the onset of a tiny infection - something I usually successfully take care of holistically - lots of cranberry juice. My Hospice RN opted to give me a commonplace antibiotic to speed the healing process. I took 7 days of the 10 day prescription. Something didn't feel right, so I stopped taking the prescription. With further research, I learned that the antibiotic I was prescribed is red-flagged and should never ever be taken with Pirfenidone. Never ever.

When I read this alarming news, big splashy tears erupted and flooded my face. It's so unfair. I'm not certain what damage was done - the night I realized something was terribly wrong, I'd felt like a ton weight had been placed on my chest and I had trouble breathing.

This is the dealio with Hospice: they are in the death business, not the living business. I qualify 100% for Hospice because my life is that very, very fragile, but the idiopathic nature of my disease is a wild card of sorts. It never occurred to me to question my Hospice RN and the prescription she'd handed me. It never occurred to her to check on its compatibility with Pirfenidone because what difference would it make if a person is already dying?

I await a call from the Vanderbilt Pulmonary Clinic for their assessment.

Was the sensation of a heavy weight on my chest simply symptomatic of my disease, or was the incorrect prescription responsible for the heaviness? If IPF doesn't kill me, I could allow despair to take me.

But I won't.


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So, yeah. I've had some bad breaks - but haven't we all. We all have devastating moments. I think it's how we choose to use those moments. We can use despair as an easy escape route down the road to pity. Or we can dust ourselves off (in my case the pollen dust of a beautiful spring day) and move forward with positivity.

My death has a label. I know what will take me. I know how it will take me. I have a measure of control with its course. Every single day I'm surrounded by loving friends. I talk to my children at least once each day. I look out the window of my office and can spy on Mr & Mrs Cardinal as they set up home in one of my hanging ferns. I have more people and more love than I could possibly list here. I've had no more stumbles than the rest of you. It's how I've chosen to regain my footing that's made the difference.

David and I are planning a road trip in July. Totally insane, but we think we can pull it off. If anything else, it give us something to look forward to. We hope to drive to Clifton to visit the Fritsche family. I so adore Olivia and her family - lovely, lovely people. David and I have had some of the funniest road trips. I suppose some people would think it odd that we set the GPS to hit all the Dunkin' Donuts? He'll drive straight through both ways. It just might be doable... If Hospice doesn't kill me first.


So you think I haven't had any breaks... well then, you don't know me very well. I love my life. I walk (and stumble) in gratitude every day.


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A photo documentation of my Mother's Day.







I saved the package from Olivia (my soon-to-be-daughter-in-law) to open on Mother's Day. Oh My Gosh! I am so in love with this bird and the woman who sent it. Thanks, lovey. You know me well




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Family Bean - Chase, Julia, Malcolm & Bert






Beautiful flowers from Chase and his family.



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This is an hysterical card sent to me from Rachel, my daughter.











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Beautiful box of pears from Ken & Patsy






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Beautiful Flowers and Candy from my son, David







Flowers and candy from David! Absolutely stunning! (I've shuffled the candies around a bit to hide the spot where one is missing. Heh.)

When David was about seven years old, one evening he said, "Mom, I love you more than all the lampposts in the world." Life doesn't get more precious than that. *sigh*





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Joan is more than just the person who helps keep my home tidy. She's one of my closest friends, an angel. She comes by every single day to deliver groceries & mail. If needed, she does a post office run for me and picks up prescriptions. She's selfless - always putting others first. Today, as I was about to scrounge around for lunch, she suddenly appeared with a bountiful collection of her home-cooked foods. Her generosity humbles me like no other. My feast included meatloaf, creamed peas, mashed potatoes, cucumber salad, mac & cheese, fried okra, homemade rolls, and chocolate pudding cake. On Sundays she cooks for her extended family. She didn't have children of her own - just everyone else's. Seriously. She's an unsung hero to many. A blessing to all - especially this woman. I love my Joan.

I had the best Mother's Day ever ever.


Thanks for stopping by.