Life meaning death

Until becoming ill, I have always been a voracious reader, one or two books per week was normal for years, reading all the biographies in the school library in sixth grade, coming home from the town library with armloads of books, and being grateful for my Sony Reader where I have stored more than 300 books as my shelves are full, even with all the books given away over the years or resold (hundreds). But since becoming ill, reading is very difficult, as it is hard to focus, thanks to chemo-brain and the attendant fog, as if my brain was stewing in chemicals. Thus, I have read any two books on the last year, but am trying hard to get back on track, reading four books more recently and pushing to read another 4 in the last few weeks. One a week perhaps. I read fiction and non-fiction, history books always fascinating be they American or European history. I always can imagine life during those times and at times have wished I could have lived in certain eras but am always brought back to reality by being grateful that today people bath, that antibiotics exist, and most importantly for me now, that treatments exist for ovarian cancer. It may only extend my life a year or two, but that is more that people used to have only a few years ago. Perhaps in the future, it will all be different and life will beget more life. Now it only seems to mean death, particularly in the past and possibly in the present.