My cancer metaphor

People love metaphors for things both good and bad. They've been a way of simplifying complex ideas for centuries, e.g., "All the world's a stage." 
The most common metaphor for cancer and other illnesses and addictions is one of war. Person A has been battling cancer for three years, Person B lost his fight with cancer last week, surrounded by family and friends ...
Fine with me, but it's not a metaphor I like. (I'm not the only one who feels this way.) If I had to choose a metaphor for any life-threatening ailment, I'd go with one that for no reason popped into my head this morning, while I was still half asleep. 

My metaphor is of a sailboat. Think of yourself, your life, as a sailboat headed toward a distant horizon. There are storms at some points and at others you're becalmed. Much of your voyage, if you're fortunate, is one of smooth sailing. The wind is at your back, and as you progress you get better at weathering the storms and using the good weather. But at some point an ill wind or current will alter your course, forcing you into a reef and your ship will sink. For some, sadly, those times come in childhood. For others, they don't come for over a century. Doctors, nurses, counselors and other professionals are your shipmates. They can often compensate for the winds and currents. They can slow your progress toward the reef and even make you avoid it completely. But there will be a time for us all when even they can't save you, and you sink.
We all have our exits and our entrances and we will all exit sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.