One day in 1976, Moraitis felt short of breath. Climbing stairs was a chore; he had to quit working midday. After X-rays, his doctor concluded that Moraitis had lung cancer. As he recalls, nine other doctors confirmed the diagnosis. They gave him nine months to live. He was in his mid-60s.
So he moved back to The Island Where People Forget to Die. And his cancer went away. Today, he’s 97 years old.
How does he think he recovered from lung cancer?
“It just went away,” he said. “I actually went back to America about 25 years after moving here to see if the doctors could explain it to me.”
I asked him, “What happened?”
“My doctors were all dead.”
Reminds me a bit of the good ole' Willie Nelson song, I Gotta Get Drunk:
There’s a lot of doctors that tell me
That I’d better start slowin’ it down
But there’s more old drunks
Than there are old doctors
So I guess we’d better have another round