Good morning, dear reader. It’s been a very busy week, but I assure you I’m still alive and writing. I’ve been working on an essay about fear that should be ready by this weekend. In the meantime, I thought I’d give you a little peek into how my mornings have changed over the past month or so.

My morning routine is not what is was when I first came home from the hospital. At that time, I had more time in the morning, more flexibility, and I could take time to “eat” as part of a regimen. Now, however, I’m back to the same choice that most people face – eat at home or sleep more – and like many people, sleep wins. That extra half hour is golden.

When do I have breakfast? In the office, just before 8 am. When I get to work, I set up a gravity bag with two cans of vanilla syrup, about 6 oz. of hot coffee (for the vitamins), and the inner contents of two iron supplement softgels (removed by cutting into the pill with an Exacto knife and squeezing the contents into the coffee to dissolve). Over the next half hour, I’m able to inject the concoction while catching up on my morning email. It has become part of my routine.

Which is scary. You see, I don’t know how long I’ll be like this. How much longer I’ll have the tube for feedings. My hope is that it will be – at most – six more months. By then, I hope to have regained enough skill with my new teeth and fake tongue to be back to solid food. But what’s odd is that most of the time I don’t consciously miss breakfast anymore – until someone brings something in that smells of sausage and cholesterol, and then I start to drool uncontrollably.

I’m just afraid that I’ll accept living like this. It’s important for me to remember to fight against that acceptance every day.

Until next time, dear friends, take care of each other.

You must act as if it is impossible to fail. – Ashanti proverb