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FOUR MONTHS AGO, I was told I might have just a year to live. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.
I’ve been inundated with messages from acquaintances and readers, gone to countless medical appointments, my diagnosis has received a surprising amount of media attention, I’ve been hustling to organize my financial affairs, and Elaine and I have taken two trips.
Where do things stand today? Here’s what’s been going on.
Medical update. After three radiation treatments to zap the 10 cancerous lesions on my brain and an intense opening round of infusion sessions, I’ve now settled into an every-three-week chemotherapy and immunotherapy program.
I typically feel a little rough for the four or five days after each chemo session, and then things improve. There’s a fairly predictable series of side-effects, including insomnia, nausea, constipation, acne, cracking of the skin on my fingertips, hair thinning, mouth sores and feet swelling. I find the side-effects are eased by exercising every day and downing countless glasses of water, though—thanks to all that water—it also means I regularly feel like a four-year-old who suddenly screams, “I got to go.”
Is the treatment working? So far, so good. Two months ago, a brain MRI and abdomen scan showed the cancer has, for now, stopped spreading. I’m slated for another abdomen scan on Monday, and another brain MRI in early November. This happy state of affairs will eventually end, and I’ll need another treatment plan if I’m to keep my cancer at bay. Still, it seems I’ll get more than the year that was initially predicted.
Health insurance. In late May, over a 14-hour stretch starting Sunday lunchtime, I went from a local hospital system’s urgent care clinic to its emergency room to the intensive care unit. What was all this costing? Would my insurance cover it? I believe we should all strive to be smart consumers of medical services. But the truth is, these are not questions I could have got answered at the time, even if I’d thought to ask them.
Indeed, when I did start asking about insurance coverage, nobody seemed to know. Instead, I fell back on the assumption that my costs would likely be capped by my policy’s $5,800 annual out-of-pocket maximum. But I wasn’t 100% sure.
What if my hospitalization, along with the various tests and procedures, needed insurance pre-approval? What if one of the doctors who treated me was out of network? As it happens, all has been fine.
Still, I look at the insurance company’s explanations of benefits (EOB) and shake my head. For instance, there’s the 26-page EOB statement from June 12 for a $80,513.60 hospital bill. My health insurer deemed $15,024.65 to be allowable, with $2,552.63 owed by me and $12,472.02 paid by the insurer. Was I charged the right amount? Count me among the clueless.
Clearing out. I’ve been slowly working through a handful of boxes housing old tax returns, letters, financial statements, photos, mementos and more.
Along the way, I’ve tossed a bunch of letters from when I was in college. Glancing through those letters, I’m not sure I would have liked my 19-year-old self. I come across as self-absorbed and pretentious, and I’m glad my kids will no longer get the chance to see that side of my younger self. Want to present a carefully curated version of who you were to future generations? Maybe it’s time to clean out the basement.
In sorting through all this stuff, I have two guiding assumptions. First, if I leave behind too many personal papers, there’s a risk my family will give them a quick glance and then trash the lot. This is a case where less is more.
Second, if I don’t throw out unneeded financial documents, my family will assume they’re important. Ditto for personal possessions. If I don’t toss the stuff I don’t care about, there’s a risk my family will imagine these items had some value to me, sentimental or otherwise. Again, less is most definitely more.
As I plow through the boxes, I’ve been making snap decisions, but I doubt I’m being too hasty. Between 2011 and 2020, I moved four times. Each time, I shed a fair number of possessions. The good news: There’s nothing I’ve regretted throwing out, and I’m confident that’ll also be true this time around.
Tripping. Last year, before my diagnosis, Elaine and I started compiling a travel wish list—the Shetland Islands, an Alaska cruise, the Amalfi Coast, the Galapagos Islands, that sort of thing. All this daydreaming went out the window with my diagnosis.
What trips could we realistically take in the time I have remaining—trips that, ideally, wouldn’t be too taxing and, if necessary, could be cancelled at short notice? Before my diagnosis, we had three vacations booked. But none fit with my chemo schedule, plus I was concerned not to spend more than a week at a time away from home and hence away from my doctors.
The upshot: So far, Elaine and I have taken a weeklong trip to Ireland that had previously been scheduled for 12 days, and had a long weekend away with my two children and their families. We’re about to fly to Paris. We’ve also changed the dates for a previously scheduled London trip, swapped from an 11-day Caribbean cruise to a shorter one, and started making arrangements for a second trip to Ireland. There are more trips I’d like to take, including visiting my beloved Hope Cove, but that hinges on my health.
Two minds. When I first heard my diagnosis, I quickly made peace with my fate. It may not have been what I wanted, but it came with certainty—and we humans like certainty.
Today, I find myself more torn. On the one hand, I know the next brain MRI, or body scan, or blood test may show I’m starting to lose my battle with cancer. On the other hand, there’s a good chance I’ll be healthy enough to travel through at least late spring 2025, and I’m excited about the trips we’re planning. That excitement is putting a dent in my stoicism. Should I accept the finality of my diagnosis or allow myself to dream about a future that likely won’t happen? I find I’m struggling to do both.
Jonathan Clements is the founder and editor of HumbleDollar. Follow him on X @ClementsMoney and on Facebook, and check out his earlier articles.
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As perhaps the only commenter here who actually knew you in your college days, I must disagree with your characterisation of 19 year-old Jonathan. I recall a kind, hardworking young man who did overnighters at Stop Press (as Varsity was called back then) & powered through to attend lectures the following day. We were all finding out who we were – & a touch of self-absorption was just part of that exploration. I look back on my teenage self with a degree of awe – a young bundle of abilities, insecurities & aspirations somehow made it to the world’s best university (the University of Cambridge, in case American readers are wondering) & then went on to build a happy & successful life. Which is what you did too!
Just proves I got the hardworking bit right! 😁
Mark: Thanks for the kind words, but your memory is a little faulty. Yes, there was staying up all night every Thursday to get the weekly student newspaper ready to go, so it could be published on the presses of the Cambridge Evening News at 8 a.m. or so Friday morning. But my attendance at lectures grew increasingly spotty as time went on. In fact, in our penultimate term, I managed to attend a total of just four lectures, which is why I spent the five-week vacation that followed in college, studying like crazy for final exams. It was, incidentally, a wonderful five weeks, camped out in my rooms and enjoying the peacefulness of a beautiful-but-empty Cambridge college.
Just proves I got the hardworking bit right!😁
Jonathan – You are giving us much to consider. Thank you for sharing and taking us on your journey. I pray for you and your family and look forward to the next excerpt. All the best my friend.
If you ever doubt the hospital’s bill, ask them to audit your account. I had one that I worked very hard to reconcile between the hospital and my insurance. I paid what the insurance said I owed. I received a threatening note from the hospital who was turning me into a collection agency. I redid my figures, could not find the error, and asked them to show me where I went wrong. Next thing I know they had audited by account which resulted in them sending me a check for a few thousand dollars of over payment. A friend in the hospital billing department says it is not uncommon for them to make mistakes.
I understand both the appeal of stoicism as well as the struggle of adhering to it. Still, I hope you are able to restrain your thoughts about the future and enjoy the present moment without reservation.