Excerpt One:
I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I found myself pleading with God: "God, please, please, please don't let me die. Please don't let them find a tumor. Or a cyst. Or an aneurysm. Oh God, not an aneurysm. And please don't let it be cancer. Or a stroke. Or Lou Gerhig's disease. Whatever that is. I only ask that it not be polyps, or nodules or anything in the lump family. And please don't let it be Lupus, or Shingles or diabetes. If you could just spare me from palsy and Hodgkin's and Parkinson's diseases that would be great too. Renal failure, oh God, please let it not be renal failure, Lord. Epstein Barr? Not good, Lord. Not good. It's just that I have so much I need to do. This would be a really bad time for me to have something serious. You understand, don't you Lord? Oh God, say it's not Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lord. Say it's not Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever!!"

Excerpt Two:
When I was diagnosed I just sat there. I couldn't get up out of the chair. I felt like I weighed a thousand pounds. To be honest with you I didn't even know what MS was, but I knew it was bad. I knew that former mouseketeer, Annette Funicello had it...and so did Richard Pryor...and that it was some mysterious disease that sooner or later confines you to a wheelchair. I went home. I was all alone. I called up a friend and told her the news. She tried to cheer me up. She told me that now I was one of Jerry's kids and that the Easter Seals people do some really great stuff. I told her that was Muscular Dystrophy, not Multiple Sclerosis. I sensed that I was getting defensive about it. I guess when you finally get diagnosed with your disease you tend to get a little possessive and protective of it.