Yesterday a friend called. She and her husband were on the road, I-70, about to pass through St. Louis, headed for home, Kansas City. I've known this friend for over 40 years.

She'd just spent a week or so in Pittsburgh where one of the finest pulmonary clinics in the world is located. She was evaluated for a double-lung transplant. She was declined. She's too high risk because in addition to IPF, she has other medical complications.

She called to tell me she's going home to die. There's no other option.

I'm glad her doctors didn't give her a timeline. Who knows? She might outlive us all!

Nearly a year ago I was diagnosed with the same disease. The doctor gave me two years. It's okay that he did, but I plan to defy him. Just watch me.

My friend asked the doctors at Pittsburgh what death by IPF is like. She was told that unlike other lung diseases, IPF patients simply get tired. They finally get so tired that they fall asleep and drift into death.

What a great answer! I likey.

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I've been tired lately, but I can assure you it's not the type of tired the Pittsburgh doctors were talking about. I get tired because I live like I have no health issues. I take care of my large home and portions of my large property. I do it all, all, all.

Today I suited up with a mask and gloves to do some yard work that required environmentally safe chemicals with packaging that shouted red letter cautions. I then cleaned a large portion of my garage, which was recently coated with a fine mist of sawdust. I unpacked two large boxes delivered by FedEx, I swept porches, watered plants, and just prior to typing this, I stripped my bed of sheets that are at this moment in my wishy-washy. By the time they're dry, my energy resources will be replenished and I'll remake the bed.

I'm supposed to have dinner with friends tonight. I might not go. I'm tired. I'm just so very, very tired.

I've cancelled my week at Mountain TOP, which is a Christian camp on the Cumberland Plateau. It's one of my favorite destinations ever, ever. I was supposed to work with teens at risk - something I would've enjoyed so much. I cancelled.

I should add here that I'm into my 2nd week of a lung-shattering-cough cold. Gah.

Yet, with great joyful anticipation, I've prioritized with travel to be with my grandchildren this summer. I'll fly to Kansas City, MO and Portland, OR. Flight arrangements with oxygen are a little tricky and making arrangements for oxygen delivered to my destinations is a little tricky, but I think I'm all set.

David will also be moving to Monteagle later in the summer. In the meantime, he's immersed himself with TN Bar exam preparations.

I have so much to look forward to.

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Today as I was cleaning the garage, a beautiful young woman appeared. Tears suddenly streamed down her cheeks. A good friend is dying, dying fast.

So we talked.

The respite from housecleaning was good. Hearing my own voice and my beliefs regarding life and death was good.

When posited what one would do if given a terminal diagnosis, I shared my own discovery. Did I jump on a jet and travel the world? Did I lavish my life with retail therapy? Did I chase any other improbable dreams? No. I discovered I just wanted to keep on living life as I always have, and invite the ordinary to become extraordinary.

So, that's why I do crappy stuff like cleaning the garage. It makes me feel normal and ordinary. I walk in gratitude when I sweep my porch or clean my garage or do my laundry. This is true.

Friends and family will be outraged or dismayed that I don't ask for help, but how can I? How can I pick up the phone and say, "Please assist me in living my ordinary life."

Lest you think this is a pity party post, it isn't. It's a reality check for me and my friends and family. If I'm not as attentive as I should be, please forgive me. Like most people, I'm doing my very best. I just get tired.

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I think I'll attend that dinner party after all, but first I'm going to sit a spell and think about my friend in Kansas City.