I have a friend who gets a chemotherapy infusion every month to keep her cancer at bay. That’s one week out of every four that she feels like the worst nauseating hangover of your life.

In the parking lot, saying goodbye at the end of an early evening glass of wine after not seeing each other for a few years—I told her I was happy she was still here. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “You know me. I always get what I want. And I want to live.”

Absolutely, goddamn right.