There was nothing gradual about my diagnosis. In the morning I was still happily navigating the world as a healthy person although I got breathless easily. That afternoon I learned I had LAM. The next day I was told that my prospects were poor, that there was no treatment for LAM and that I would probably die within ten years. I had to get used to the idea that my life will be spent in increasing disability and breathlessness. That I will not be able to have children. That there is little point in making long-term plans. That I am unlikely to enjoy my pension. All the rules that governed my life until then have been radically broken and nothing, nothing, remained the same. I had to overhaul all my plans, expectations, goals, projects and horizons. Most importantly, I had to rethink my idea of a good life.

I was confronted with an objective fact: I was ill. My illness had no treatment. There was nothing for me to do but sit and watch. The possibility of being passive in the face of my own devastation was unreal to me at first. On hearing the news my first question was: so what do I do? I remember the radiologist's evasive answer: “I don't know. I only diagnose, I don't treat.” Did he know there was no treatment? Was he trying to get out of a sticky situation?