A Dying Woman Found Peace With Mushrooms. Most Americans Aren't Allowed That Option.

A new film tells the story of a cancer patient’s quest to confront the existential angst of dying by taking magic mushrooms.

Nothing stood out about the two-story white house, with its backyard playset, wrap-around porch, and evergreen topiaries. It could have been any other home in this part of semirural Colorado. But on a chilly March afternoon in 2024, Lisa Jacobs found herself at this innocuous setting for a very unusual purpose: to take magic mushrooms as a way to confront her impending death from terminal breast cancer. 

"The fear, for me, is disappearing—of being gone," Jacobs said in a new documentary about her experience. Mushrooms, she hoped, would allow her "to have a different relationship with the fear." 

A growing body of research suggests that psychedelic experiences, with proper guidance, can alleviate some of the anxiety, depression, and existential dread that inevitably accompany a cancer diagnosis. Psilocybin, the primary active molecule in magic mushrooms, was first researched for this purpose a decade ago, when scientists at Johns Hopkins University found that high doses of the drug produced large decreases in depression and anxiety—and high increases in optimism and quality of life—for 51 cancer patients who participated in the study. Six months later, about 80 percent of the participants continued to show clinically significant improvements in their well-being and life satisfaction. 

Additional studies followed, strengthening the evidence for psilocybin's efficacy for easing end-of-life distress. Yet for the vast majority of Americans, treatment with magic mushrooms remains legally out of bounds. Psilocybin is a federally listed Schedule I substance, defined as having no currently-accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse. It is also illegal to buy, sell, possess, or use psilocybin under federal law. 

Jacobs avoided breaking the law because she happened to live in Colorado. In 2022, voters there passed the Natural Medicine Health Act, which decriminalized personal possession, use, and cultivation of psilocybin mushrooms. While the sale of magic mushrooms is still illegal, people in Colorado can now legally consume them at home or—as Jacobs did—under supervision at licensed healing centers.  

Heather Lee, a licensed clinical social worker and one of the first psychedelic-assisted psychotherapists to be certified in the U.S., warmly welcomed Jacobs and two younger women into her home, just a few hours before a snowstorm descended. Though the other two women were also there for psychedelic therapy for cancer distress, their vibrant appearances suggested that they were on a very different prognostic trajectory. Sitting on beige couches in front of a gas fireplace, surrounded by throw pillows, the two women spoke of remissions while Jacobs fiddled with her scarf. When her turn came, her voice cracked and she said she was here to do "some peace work, some soul work." 

Jacobs later confessed that vulnerability is not a skill she ever learned. She didn't need to say it: her strained voice and forced smile had already given away that weighty subjects were outside her comfort zone. She preferred, instead, to make small talk with the other women about the weather, upcoming birthdays, and the "cute little crop top" one of them was wearing. 

The incongruity of these moments underscored one of the film's overarching themes: ordinary people confronting what seems like an extraordinary circumstance—death—yet it is, in fact, one of the most human experiences of all. In a society where death is mostly ignored and denied until it loudly makes itself known, though, Jacobs, like so many others, realized she was woefully ill-equipped to navigate it. She hoped the mushrooms would show her the way.  

The next morning, Lee prepared a psychedelic tea whose bitter flavor was masked with honey and lemon. "What meets you is meant for you," she said as the women clinked their pastel blue mugs and took their first sips. "Trust in that." 

Upstairs in bed, Jacobs put on a set of purple headphones and a pink eye mask, and Lee tucked her in. As with many psychedelic experiences, the hours that followed were both ineffable and full of symbolic significance. Jacobs recalled seeing a female warrior—who she understood represented herself—standing on the bank of a river wearing rusted, dilapidated armor. After years of fighting, the warrior was worn out, her armor in pieces. A sense of hope surged in Jacobs' chest as she watched the warrior cast aside the once helpful but now burdensome armor. She then made her way across the river to a field of green. 

Besides Colorado, Oregon is the only other state where magic mushrooms can be legally consumed. In Oregon, however, the options are even more limited: psilocybin can only be accessed under supervised administration at licensed service centers. End-stage cancer patients like Jacobs should also be able to use psilocybin under the Right to Try Act—a 2018 law that allows terminally ill people who have exhausted approved treatments to access investigational drugs that have completed safety trials. But doctors who have tried to procure psilocybin for dying patients have so far failed, because the Drug Enforcement Administration claims it has no mechanism to register doctors to administer illegal substances—an interpretation upheld in court last year. 

Ultimately, the mushrooms did not rid Jacobs of her sadness about "leaving," as she put it. But she emerged with a new sense of freedom and acceptance about herself. Notes she took during the trip, written in green ink, served as a reminder of key lessons learned during that inward voyage: "Forgive her. Embrace her. Love her just as she is. She doesn't need to do or be anything." 

Jacobs, who passed away in November 2024, also credited the mushrooms with helping her spend her final months following her heart rather than her head. The grief was still there. But now she could also savor the joy of watching the sun glint through swaying willow branches; being held by her mother as she cried; surrendering to her family's care with love and gratitude rather than resentment for all she had lost. It was an end to the story that should be available to us all.