His voice doesn’t tremble from nerves. It trembles from thirty years of brutal war waged inside his own skin. Michael J. Fox is running out of room to hide from the truth—and this time, he doesn’t try. He speaks of falls, shattered bones, surgeries that never seem to end. He admits he may never see eig…
He has outlived every prediction, every quiet conversation held just out of earshot, as if he were already halfway gone. Decades after his diagnosis, Michael J. Fox moves through the world in a body that has been broken and rebuilt, cut open and stitched back together. Each scar is a tally mark of survival. Each fall is a reminder that gravity, like disease, is merciless. When he confesses that life is “getting tougher,” it isn’t self-pity. It’s testimony.
