There's a long list of things I don't have to worry about anymore, and apparently it's still growing. ALS freed me years ago from any fear of cancer, which killed both of my father's parents, or heart disease, which claimed both of my mother's. Early on, when I was put on an anabolic steroid to counter the muscle wasting, my cholesterol shot up 100 points. This might have been a serious concern for someone else, but as my doctor cheerfully put it: "I don't think you're gonna be around long enough to develop congestive heart failure."
When I enrolled in hospice, my original nurse (who soon thereafter vanished mysteriously) pushed the idea of keeping a stash of morphine on hand "just in case." In case of what, I wondered. A dirty bomb? President Palin? For shortness of breath, she explained. "It'll calm you." I finally gave in just to shut her up, then forgot about it until last month's trial, which made a believer out of me.
I'd already been on an antidepressant* and a
*A chirpy physician's assistant once said, "You've been on the SSRI for a while now. Have you thought of stopping?"
"Are you insane?" I snapped. "Have you looked at my file?"