Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before: Morrissey, the king of maudlin (but hilarious) gloom, has had to cancel the remainder of his U.S. tour in recent weeks because of multiple serious illnesses. He recounted his recent experiences during an interview on Mexican radio station Reactor 105.7, revealing that doctors have advised him to give up his career as a touring musician. But you can't just take the hand out of the glove: "I have been cautioned to, but it's difficult for me because it's very ingrained in me."

Morrissey, 53, has been here before—after The Smiths broke up, after Kill Uncle, and after the relative career lows of Southpaw Grammar (super underrated!) and Maladjusted, people clamored for him to give it all up. And both times, he returned refreshed, with career highlights including Your Arsenal and You Are The Quarry.

During the interview, Morrissey opened up in detail about suffering from a bleeding ulcer, double pneumonia, and Barrett's esophagus, a condition in which the patient's esophagus takes on an acidic lining similar to the one found in the stomach.

I had a very bad time. I had internal bleeding and I was rushed into hospital and I had lost a lot of blood. They tried to patch me together over the following five weeks but it didn't work. ... I was on lots of IV drips for almost five weeks, and each time it seemed as though I was back to robust health I would decline ... I had lost so much blood I had become anemic, but I'm still receiving ongoing treatment and I am very optimistic now.

It almost became absurd the number of things that happened to me, but everything just attacked me at once. The double pneumonia -- everything was really a result of the fact I had lost so much blood, so the immune defenses were very, very low and couldn't cope with anything, so therefore the slightest gust of wind and I would have a terrible cold.

Having seen him on the earlier leg of his tour, we're very pleased Morrissey has seemingly no intentions of heeding his doctors' warnings. While we, of course, don't want anything bad to happen to Morrissey—nor do we want him to die onstage while singing "You Have Killed Me" with a thousand orgiastic hands shoved toward his slightly unbuttoned shirt—we can't quite imagine a world without Morrissey around.

As he sang not so long, "You don't like me but you love me/Either way you're wrong/You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." For now, Morrissey is just going to have to stretch out and wait until he's not still ill. Is it really so strange to say that these things take time to heal? Keep working on those fabled memoirs—don't look back in ten years and say you started something you couldn't finish! Next thing you know, everyone will ask, 'well, I wonder where that charming man went?' The golden lights will shine once again, and then everyday really will be like Sunday.