Extra Innings

More than 13 months ago, I was given 12 months to live.

I like to think I took my diagnosis in stride. I moved quickly to simplify my financial affairs, toss unwanted possessions, get new estate-planning documents and change HumbleDollar’s direction so the site could live on after my death.

I also focused on getting the most out of each day. Partly, that meant taking some special trips and spending more time with family. But it also meant continuing to do the work I love and relishing the joys of everyday life.

For me, at least, the prospect of a short life brought a feeling of urgency, greater gratitude for each day and a stronger sense for what’s important. Over the past year, I’ve never been more aware of the finiteness of time. It might sound odd, but that has struck me as a privilege. It’s made me think harder about what I do each day, and it’s heightened my appreciation for the world’s beauty and the goodness of others.

Problem is, my 12-month “deadline” has passed—and I’m still here.

Don’t read too much into that. My prognosis remains poor. Right now, I’m dealing with my four horsemen of the Apocalypse: back pain, fatigue, constipation and loss of appetite, plus some nasty mouth sores. The cancer has spread to my spine and continues to attack my brain, requiring multiple rounds of radiation, as well as the insertion of bone cement to shore up my back. The spreading cancer means my initial treatment plan is no longer working, and I’m now on a new set of meds. I’ve also been trying various medical marijuana products—not something I ever imagined doing—and my hair has all fallen out.

It isn’t clear how much extra time the new treatment plan will buy me. But it is clear I’m not disappearing on schedule.

What should I do with the extra months? Time—which 12 months ago seemed so precious—no longer feels quite so precious. Over the past year, spurred on by my diagnosis, I wrote a slew of articles for both HumbleDollar and a handful of major publications, helped with a book that compiles some of my best Wall Street Journal articles and drafted another book that I hope will appear after my death. With major help from my wife Elaine, I’ve also continued to spend time every day both keeping HumbleDollar going and preparing the site for life without me.

But what now? What should I do with the additional months that I’ve been given? Is it time for new goals?

All this may seem a little manic, and perhaps it is. But I can’t see myself spending my remaining time reading novels and binge-watching Netflix, while I await the final deterioration in my health. At the same time, because of the fatigue, I don’t have much energy for anything else.

For now, I’m hoping the fatigue will pass, as the effects of my recent 10 consecutive weekdays of total brain radiation fade. It would be great to feel like my old self, or somewhat close, for at least a few months. But as I sit here at the breakfast table, my brain sluggish from the radiation and the chemo, it feels like relief is still weeks away.