Cheating death

You might think that hav­ing cheat­ed death twice now I’d have some sort of deep­er under­stand­ing of the world, or life or some­thing. But I don’t. I have realised the impor­tance of life. But there has been no epiphany. Non of those ‘Hol­ly­wood’ style moments of true rev­e­la­tion. Most like­ly these things don’t hap­pen as often as the movies would have us believe.
A lit­tle over 27 years ago I was born. Just. Very almost dead. There is a scale out of ten, things like pulse, ten fin­ger and ten toes, breath­ing score a point each. I think I scored 2. How­ev­er thanks to the improve­ments in med­ical tech­nol­o­gy over the past 100 years or so I was fine.
The sec­ond inci­dent was in late March this year. A sud­den infec­tion of unknown ori­gin result­ed in the nec­es­sary remove of the two upper lobes of my right lung. A hun­dred years ago I would sim­ply have died of “con­sump­tion”.
Has my expe­ri­ence ear­li­er this year changed the fun­da­men­tal way I look at thing? No. And while it is easy to fall into the cliche of ask­ing the big ques­tions (the “what does life all mean any­way?” ones) I don’t think there’s much point. We are here. Best make the most of it.