For as long as Morgan could remember, he had dreamt of telling the story of his struggle with chronic illness. He desperately wanted to write a book about how he had lived through decades of constant suffering—tell the tales of endless hospital visits, followed by lengthy periods of partial-recoveries, where time inched forward at a snail’s pace with intolerable pain.
The work would not only describe the physical torment of long-term infirmity, but also shed a light on the mental stress and nagging uncertainty that constantly loomed over him and his closest family like a black storm cloud. He would open up about how his wife Belinda broke under the pressure of his sickness and how their marriage was torn apart in the process—leaving their innocent children, Matt and Mandy, split between multiple homes.
Last but not least, Morgan wanted to expose the malicious practices of a corrupt and immoral health care system where hard-working but feeble people like himself were metaphorically trodden into the ground and left to bleed to death in the streets while the capitalist elite was treated with the utmost care.
However—as fate would have it—the opportunity never presented itself for Morgan to make his dream come true. He was always as fit as a fiddle.
