I died, but I'm better now

About a death so absurd it could be a comedy

Petr Laštovka has written a story about cancer, but it’s not sad. It’s a story about dying, but it’s full of life. A tragicomic stand-up on paper that will remind you that humour is the only way to survive even the worst moments. And once you stop laughing, you might just find yourself looking at your own life a little differently.

Illustrated by Mia Laštovková.

About the author:

He could be a stand-up comedian, if he wasn’t lying in the ICU. A dad to two princesses, husband to a water nymph, a marketer, a journalist, an animal keeper, a photographer, and now also a storyteller of tales about cancer, life, death and all the absurdities in between. His style is tragicomic, ironic, and determined to see the light in even the darkest of places. He lives with the unshakable belief that laughter is truly the best medicine, even if it sometimes stings your heart a little.

“I’m telling you now, don’t even start this book unless you have at least two, but ideally four, hours free. You won’t be able to put it down. You’ll laugh, you’ll worry about him, you’ll feel awkward with him, and you’ll find yourself in it a hundred times over. Because Petr has written a book on two levels, you get to know both Petrs—the one before the diagnosis and the one after.

Petr has a wonderful gift for telling ultra-difficult stories with a lightness that allows many to experience them with him, right up to the point where we would otherwise hardly dare to go. It shows Petr’s life in the nakedness of a hospital gown in the ICU, where they repeatedly save his life, and accompanies it with humour so raw that even Ricky Gervais could learn from him.

You can tell the good things because they look simple, and you can’t see how difficult they were. I have no doubt that Petr worked hard for every sentence, especially those from a time whose smells he still can’t stand even after all these years. But you wouldn’t know it from the book’s brisk pace. That’s what’s so incredibly valuable to me about Petr’s book. I can feel his pain, but he doesn’t force me to; he makes fun of himself and the illness, and with the concise style of an advertising copywriter, he lets me glimpse the depths of his fears, while still looking out for me with a joke so I don’t get too sad.

Anyone who has experienced a fatal illness themselves, or with a loved one, will find familiar moments in the book, like the one where ‘chemotherapy is boring’. For us, Husák’s children, the mention of a few realia will also evoke nostalgia for an era that only we understand. Finally something.

Some people suffer inwardly and alone; others need to talk about their pain with others. Luckily, Petr Laštovka is the second type. As he writes, his story is like a beer after a long day – bitter, but refreshing. And it reminds you how good it is to be alive.”

Jana Ciglerová, journalist