I write this under great duress, and against my better judgment: it has never been my policy to mix my personal life and my writing/professional life. This time, however, I don't see how I can avoid it.
My regular readers will have noticed that I've skipped more than a couple of columns recently, with no explanation. Well, here's the explanation: I have been diagnosed with late-stage adenocaricinoma cancer, and am now undergoing experimental therapy with the new drug Keytruda.
Under normal circumstances, this diagnosis would be a death sentence. However, Keytruda – recently approved by the Food and Drug Administration – for cases like mine, has proved to be a godsend for many patients previously thought hopeless. While the results are preliminary, they are hopeful: it looks like I have the key mutation that gives Keytruda one up on this terrible disease.
And I have to say one thing that might sound a bit odd: I will survive this. I don't know why I have such certainty when it comes to this. Maybe I'm in denial. All I know is that, at the very core of my being, I know I'm going to come out on the other side of this whole and intact.