In 1993, at age 46, my general practitioner declared me incurable.

I remember it was a cold day. An employee in my publishing company, drove me home from the doctor. It was a Wednesday. It felt weird. The feeling of no control over my life, the feeling that there is nothing I can do.

I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t thinking of dying. I only thought of loss of control.

At the time I already had difficulty staying up, doing my work, so my employees reported to me in the makeshift bedroom I set up in the office. I needed help to go to the bathroom… my strength was not there.

I advertised and hired a personal trainer a week earlier, to train me so I can walk, stand, and do my work…

It so happened, that by the time I got back to the office, the trainer was waiting already.
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