People always asked me why I wrote so much and so intensively. I never told them one of the real reasons: I always expected my life would be limited. My grandfathers died, respectively, at 42 and 44, both of things that could have been cured today. My father died of a heart attack at 62, and his life probably could have been extended many years today by all the new tests and drugs available. But I felt that once I passed that birthday, less than a year ago, I might be living on borrowed time.
They say that when you are fighting cancer that becomes a full-time job in itself. Supported by my truly wonderful family, I’m working on it. (…)
I’ll probably never drive again nor, after cancelling two trips, travel internationally. In fact, the way things are going at the moment, I might never eat solid food again. (…)
Some friends tell me they think we’ve turned the corner and that there’s real hope of beating the terrible forces that have messed up our societies and insulted our intelligence and tried to sully our reputations.
That’s something worth living for and fighting for. I hope to do it with you people as long as possible.
