"You Are Going to Die"
The words didn’t feel real when I first heard them.
They hung in the air for a moment, as if suspended between two worlds—between the sterile reality I was trapped in and the surreal possibility that this could actually be it.
“Your intestines are so swollen, you are going to die from organ failure.”
The sentence came from a calm, collected physician at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, one of the most prestigious hospitals in America—doing over $7.3 billion in annual revenue.
The doctor said it as casually as you’d report the weather.
And speaking of weather, the ICU ward was freezing—unbearably cold, despite the three thin hospital blankets I was wrapped up in.
Time stood still for a moment, and all I could hear was the hum of fluorescent ceiling lights playing in the background in the background while an orchestra of LEDs blinked on monitors to my left.
Each screen told a story my body no longer could. Blood pressure. Oxygen. The EKG beside me beeped like a metronome that didn’t care if I died or lived.
The air reeked of disinfectant and despondency.
I hadn’t seen the sun in days. It was month three of a hospital stay that had slowly taken everything: my strength, my sleep, my sense of autonomy – and soon, almost my life.
And the most brutal part?
I was still trying to run a company from the hospital bed.