Incompatible With Life gives the reader what the title promises:  A Memoir of Grave Illness, Great Love, and Survival. In early 2015, I was living my dream as a writer in the stunning Spanish Colonial city of Antigua, Guatemala — then life fell to pieces. I was overwhelmed by sudden weight gain and inescapable exhaustion. At first, I blamed it on age, imagining that the middle years were finally catching up. But the predator moved too swiftly for that. When I could not climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment, I knew something was deeply wrong inside my body.  

A first visit to the doctor revealed diabetes. A second visit showed liver cirrhosis. On the third, I was told to return to the United States or die 2000 miles from home. There was nothing she could do to help.  

Shortly after arriving in New York, I collapsed and was rushed to the hospital, where doctors discovered the mysterious cause of my illness: A rare genetic disorder called Hereditary Hemochromatosis. My heart, liver, pancreas, and glandular system were in freefall, and the medical team considered me to be “incompatible with life.”

That galloping collapse to the brink of death forms the arc of Act I. In Act II, the tempo changes, with each chapter telling the story of a single day on the cardiac ward, intertwining narratives of the physical, emotional, and spiritual transformations undergone as I prepare to die. In these pages, I come to terms with the inevitability of death and accept the wisdom of surrendering the need to live forever while embracing the beauty inherent to the transient now. That transformation leads to the unexpected discovery of a tranquil, healing oasis in which I experience visions, heightened awareness, and a sense of all life’s grand interconnections. That awareness, combined with a radical, risk-filled decision by my medical team to attempt a life-saving procedure by removing half the blood from my body, fueled a dramatic change in fortune. Within two days, my doctors began to see hope where there was only darkness before. With a corner turned, I was soon discharged from the hospital and back into the world.  

Act III begins with a false peak and fresh disaster. After the elation of release, reality sinks in. I am alive, but barely. I cannot stand without help. I cannot bathe myself without assistance. I have no sexuality, identity, light, or hope of joy. The nadir of the memoir finds me alone, naked, lost, and suicidal in my parents’ bathtub — a choice to end my life interrupted by a serendipitous knock at the bathroom door by my best friend and partner. Without her, that would have been the final scene in a book forever unwritten.

Yet, salvation is there, love gives birth to hope — and the story begins its final rise. While twists and mysteries remain, the home stretch of Incompatible With Life is a celebration to leave readers uplifted, grateful for the day, and aching to discuss what they have learned.