Death in the family

I've been thinking much about Death lately for two reasons: a failed attempt on my life and the deaths of my friends and acquaintances from cancers and heart attacks. I suppose I have to be more careful with my mouth from now on if I wish to live past male actuarial age of 74 or so. My father didn't make it past 60. His roommate at the hospital was a young medical student who was admitted for some heart ailment. He was brash and arrogant and talkative even though he looked like shit. He died two weeks after getting to the hospital. His beautiful girlfriend wailed and cried her heart out. I felt sorry for her, but not her prick boyfriend. I hated the fucker. He acted as if he was a little god, bragging and boasting that he would beat this ailment of his and all the false braggadocio. I personally know quite a number of doctors and hate most of them. I am often accused of harboring an inferiority complex towards doctors. I, of course, don't share that belief. I am working hard to read about the body and general knowledge. I want to know as much as I can before I die. The more I know, the more arrogant I get. That's bad. I must hide my contempt.