My memoir, The Good Luck Cat: How a Cat Saved a Family, and a Family Saved a Cat (Lyons Press), pubbed on October 7. In the latter portion of the book, I discuss being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis last fall, and how my publishing colleagues rallied around me as only people in publishing would—giving me books about the disease, leaving articles from Nature about the latest therapies and medications on my desk, and sliding boxes of galleys away from my office door so that there are fewer things I can trip on (which is extra important since I stubbornly, stupidly refuse to give up wearing heels). I write especially about one of our editors who reminded me that, years ago, I publicized a book about a world-renowned MS doctor. Before I could even email her to say thanks, she contacted the book’s author, who contacted the doctor, who took me on as a patient, giving me one of his “reserved” appointment spots so that I could see him quickly. So my neurologist is now Howard Weiner, the subject of Susan Quinn’s remarkable Human Trials.

As for my own book, I was in the middle of writing it when I was diagnosed. Actually, that’s a lie. I was a mere 25,000 words in, and contractually bound to 65,000. So I did what authors do—I kept writing. I wrote the book with 17 lesions on my brain, through 14 infusions and four MRIs. Oh, and a publishing job that’s full-time plus (like all of them are these days). I blew my manuscript deadline and asked for an extension—then asked for another, and another. In short, I became one of those delinquent authors I’d always cursed as an editor and publicist. It was humbling.

Thanks to guidance from my (very patient) editor, a no-nonsense but bighearted project editor, and daily injections of glatiramer acetate that eventually sent me into remission, the book got done. The remission is temporary; the disease, incurable and progressive. But it’s a disease that affects your brain, not your mind. The gray part of your brain (your intellect) stays intact, even as the white part (the part that carries nerve impulses) nibbles away at itself. I take tremendous comfort in knowing that, even if I eventually lose the ability to walk, I’ll always have the ability to read and write. And, 20 years into my publishing career, I thank my lucky stars that I chose this crazy profession, where I’m surrounded by books and those who love them, and where it’s okay if your body is numb so long as your mind is sharp.

I think people in publishing (myself included) often forget how lucky we are to be in this business—a business in which we’re judged by our brainpower, not our brawn; a business in which we’re part of a community of like-minded souls; a business in which, on occasion, we get to edit or publicize or market or design something that will outlive us all.

I think my book isn’t that. It’s not a story for the ages. It’s a small story of a small life—but at least it’s one lived fully. At least it’s one lived with appreciation. My book is about a lucky cat—one who had a heart condition and got what she needed: a human pacemaker, skilled doctors to implant it, and two people who put their lives on hold to nurse her back to health. Lucky cat, indeed. But I can’t help feeling like the lucky one—lucky to have her in my life, lucky to have a job I love, lucky to work with so many people who care about the same things I do. Earlier this year, in a New York Times article, Pamela Druckerman wrote, “By your 40s, you don’t want to be with the cool people; you want to be with your people.” I think my people are the cool people. How fortunate is that?

As for MS, I believe it will be cured in my lifetime. Doctors right here in Boston are bathing stem cells in acid, turning them embryonic. Hope. And a biotech firm across the river in Cambridge is working to develop a drug that regenerates the myelin that MS eats away. You watch, it’ll happen—and when it does, I’ll acquire a book about it. Meanwhile, when I see those two letters on a page, the first thing I will think is “manuscript.”

Lissa Warren is v-p, senior director of publicity and acquiring editor, at Da Capo Press, part of the Perseus Books Group.