"If you go to the jungle, you will be dead in two weeks!" The grim reaper threatened in a hiss. Cloaked in an aura of darkness, my cancer doctor, the grim reaper leered at me with her deep set yellow eyes set in a face like a skull dipped in grey wax. "I'm going to the jungle, and I'm going to fast" I objected, "you can check me for cancer again after that and then we can talk. But I'm going to the jungle." The reality of spreading disease was starting to set in. Would I really be dead in two weeks? Was she right? I started to feel the fear, but stayed adamant von fasting in the jungle. Was I willing to die in the jungle, alone, and never see my family again? The answer was yes, if I was going to die, I would die on my term. I had no idea if I would live or die, but it was no longer about "would I die?" because we all die someday. How will you choose to die? If I was to die, I wanted to die on my terms. Book jacket.
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