Nineteen years ago, at a time when I was given but four months to live—at the outside—by the great doctor, Sir William Osler, the greatest name in medicine for two hundred and fifty years.
And that gloomy prognosis was entirely correct, for I had a blood pressure of 212 to 215 and a “chaotic heart” with “general breakdown,” and had long been compelled to live upon the ground floor to keep my crippled heart beating at all. But the worst indication was my family history. My father and ten brothers and sisters all died of “heart disease,” my father, the oldest of any of them at the time of death, dying at the age of forty-three. And I have one brother and one sister dead of “heart disease.”
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IN MOST CASES I HAVE EVER READ, THE GREAT AUTHOR/DOCTOR ALWAYS WAS FACING DEATH, BECAUSE THEY PUT DOWN THE WORLD AND GRABBED ONTO NATURE TO SAVE THEIR OWN LIFE. THEN SO GRATEFUL, THEY SPENT THE REST OF THE YEARS HELPING OTHERS AND MOST DIED WHILE STILL WORKING.
IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE LIKE YOUR ACESTORS DID, YOU CHANGE.