When I awake each morning, I descend the twelve steps to our basement, first visiting the restroom, then weighing myself. I then ascend the twelve steps to the kitchen. I take a sixteen-ounce blue-tinted glass out of the cupboard—a glass from a collection belonging to a dear friend and member of our church, which she gave us before moving into assisted living. I fill the glass with water and set it on the counter. I then retrieve my Abiraterone Acetate sealed away in a yellow “Caution Chemotherapy Material” zip lock baggie and bring it into the kitchen. Opening the bag, I undo the cap on the blue bottle and carefully coax four of the large caplets into a medicine cup—being careful not to touch the medication. I put the lid back on the bottle, replacing it into the yellow chemo bag, and put it back in the bin with my other meds in the dining room. Looking at the clock to note the time, I dump the pills in my mouth and wash them down with the entire glass of water. Finally, I write the time on a chart I created to keep track of all my medications.

After exactly an hour of waiting—sometimes showering, sometimes working, sometimes sleeping—I pour into two six-ounce hand-painted cups with saucers, gourmet coffee that Nancy has kindly brewed for me. I enjoy Trader Joe’s Autumn Maple Blend so much that I bought five pounds of pre-ground last fall to last throughout the year. However, my favorite is Black & Bold’s light roasted “Chocolate, Blueberry, and Honey” blend from Limu, Ethiopia! My daughter, Sarah, first purchased the coffee for me for my birthday from the Black and Bold company in Chicago. I have since started buying the coffee myself!

I then mix a scoop of fiber into a twelve-ounce bottle of Peach/Mango Body Armor Lyte. Next, I pour a quarter cup of Silk unsweetened soy milk into a bowl with a half cup of Kashi Go Rise cereal and an eighth cup of organic Sunmaid raisins. Finally, I grab a banana out of the fruit drawer in the refrigerator and bring the cereal and banana into the dining room, making a second trip for the coffee.

Receiving the food with thanks, I eat my cereal, well chewing each bite, savoring its nutty flavor blended with the sweetness of the raisins. I take a few sips of coffee, lingering over the warmth of the coffee in my mouth. I then take out a blood pressure cuff, placing it on my left wrist, and with both feet planted on the ground and my left hand over my heart, I check my blood pressure. If my blood pressure is 110/n or above, I add my heart pills to my morning array of capsules and tablets. If my pressure is below 110/n, then I put my heart medication aside on a small black dish used for soy sauce, and then wait to check my blood pressure every fifteen to twenty minutes until it is high enough to take the medication. After monitoring my blood pressure, I check through all of my pills dumped in my hand to ensure they are all there, five large pills and seven small pills. Popping the pills into my mouth, I down them all with the Body Armor. I repeat the ritual 12 hours later, only with fewer pills.

Before my diagnosis, I started my day the same way, but instead of taking the hormone deprivation therapy and waiting an hour for my first little six-ounce cups of coffee, I began with a sixteen-ounce mug of coffee to savor. But now, as many three-month slivers of time have passed, the side effects of the more potent medications have done their damage. As a result, I have had to add to my regimen of pills, medicines to combat heart disease, and now most recently, a blood thinner to ward off any more pulmonary embolisms (blood clots) in my lungs.

Each morning, I begin my day with the reminder that I have advanced-stage cancer when retrieving the yellow “Caution Chemotherapy Drug” plastic bag. Yet, I am grateful for all the pills, injections, and inhalers prescribed to me that have been keeping me living and breathing.

I sometimes wonder what will happen when the pills lose their punch, when their effectiveness of sequestering cancer fails, or when keeping the blood flowing through stenosed coronary arteries dwindles. Will my faith smolder? Will the peace from the Author of Peace evaporate like dew on the grass? Will the ocean waves of His grace that have swept over me throughout my life cease? Will the eternal hope that I have in Christ decompose into doubt and fear? What will happen when I am too weak to turn to Him?

In the stillness comes His answer borne on the wings of His Spirit and out from His Word.

When all your strength wanes, and my peace and grace and hope seem to elude you, when you are no longer strong enough to turn to me, I am ever turned to you. I AM your peace, your grace, your eternal hope. And My unwavering faith will bring you home.