No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality

by Michael J. Fox

I make the decision, right then. “We’re going to go through with it.” Nina comes in and talks to the doctor about logistics, and we all agree on a surgical date. From now on, she will coordinate and troubleshoot. Nina is a combination of fierce efficiency and good-natured affability; so integral to my day-to-day existence, I refer to her as “my frontal lobe.” Pausing for a moment, she turns to make a quick, discreet transaction between us. From her bag she produces a small Altoids canister and pops it open with a practiced thumb. I take two tablets. “I knew right then she was good,” Dr. Theodore tells me later. “She intuited that you wanted a mint, from across the room.” “Actually, it was a mix of PD meds,” I explain. “She could tell I needed some before I even started to tremor.” Nina is my Radar O’Reilly. Her uncanny ability to anticipate whatever is required is just one reason why she’s so invaluable. In less than a week, we all return to Johns Hopkins. Having resolved to proceed, there is no time to waste. Each day’s losses cannot be reclaimed.