![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPjiQLzOPaiJrOqMMV0y1tE_VKr84y3woMrLcFys3ln_ba58sRcaKq3oAqYMpP6a7Fcy4QEFddQet_cJ5Kp7ZAXGkBS0hHMtvxzZNSGBzB7oTj5nzhkpOZMNbu3NDtCm3vskoXVeff8y8/s200/Photo+WA+Post+Imagae.jpg)
In April 2015, at the age of 55, I was diagnosed with one of the most lethal and aggressive brain tumors, a brainstem glioblastoma multiforme in an advanced stage. The prognosis was both grim and precise: Without treatment, I might have a few months; with treatment, I could last six months. If I beat overwhelming odds, I’d toast the new year one last time.