We are all going to die, but you have been given the blessing of not being afforded a slow death by atrophy and sloth on a death bed, surrounded by family who are both confused and unsure of how to proceed.
If I were you, I would choose to die tomorrow (as in, on your own accord) with gun in hand and taking as many communists with me as possible. I would want to die before the cancer in my body kills me, and would make it an objective to clear at least a single floor of my governer's office before readying myself for death. Die a warrior, not as a shriveled husk of a man that you once were, lying on a death bed and praying for just one more day of agony.
To that, I say Ave Nex Alea,