Jules Gaillard

The mornings are quiet here in our small village near Grenoble, France. I like to sit in the garden with my herbal tea, watching the sunlight make its way through the trees, feeling the cool air on my face. I take my time; there’s no rush anymore. At 76, life has a different rhythm.

I think back sometimes to when I was 48 and was told I wouldn’t live much longer. The doctor’s words were so final, the kind that turn your world upside down. I remember the weight of my wife’s hand gripping mine, her knuckles white, her face pale. And our daughter—she was only five then. The thought of her growing up without me was unbearable.

I didn’t know what to do at first, only that I wanted more time. Not for myself, really, but for them. For the birthdays and school recitals, for the late-night stories and morning cuddles. I started reading, searching for anything that might help. That’s when I stumbled upon an ad for a clinic offering unconventional treatment. I didn’t think it would work, but I was desperate. What did I have to lose?

The clinic was nearby, so I went. They spoke about fever therapy, a way to awaken the body’s defenses by inducing a high fever. The first sessions were terrible. I felt worse than ever, my body wracked with chills, the cancer seemingly everywhere. But then, a change. The tumors started to soften, and by the sixth session, they were gone. Just like that. I stayed in that clinic for three more weeks, and when I left, the doctors said I was cured.

My family was stunned. The doctors, too. They couldn’t explain it, and frankly, neither could I. All I knew was that I had been given another chance. Since then, life has been a gift. We moved to the countryside, away from the city’s chaos. I took up gardening, planted vegetables, and wrote a few books. I even give talks sometimes, sharing my story with those who might find hope in it.

Today, as I sit in my garden, I’m reminded of how fragile life is, how it can turn in an instant. I’m grateful for each day I have now, for the chance to watch my daughter grow, to grow old with my wife, and to find joy in the simple things. Sometimes, you just have to live the life you have.