Five months ago, I was loath to take any sort of medication. Today, I have a pillbox.
In fact, the way things are going, I fear I’ll soon be declared a superfund site by the Environmental Protection Agency. A seemingly endless stream of chemicals pours into my body, most notably during my every-three-week chemo and immunotherapy sessions. What about the rest of the time? Depending on the day, I might down three or four pills in the morning and one or two in the afternoon.

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,

WE’VE ALL HEARD of the obscure relative—often a long-forgotten uncle or aunt—who leaves behind a surprise inheritance. This usually only happens in fairy tales, trashy novels and screwball comedy movies. I certainly never expected it to happen to me, especially at this late stage. But happen it did—from my lifelong friend Katie, who bequeathed me a generous sum.
I learned I was a beneficiary from the will’s executor and from a subsequent letter from the attorney handling the estate.

Happy Friday the 13th, everyone.
They say that one of the best financial decisions you can make, if you’re married, is to stay married. So I figure that gives me just enough of a hook to justify sharing on Humble Dollar why I celebrate today.
I met my wife Rosalinda for the first time…twice. In 1977, I was a 2nd year law student at the University of Texas in Austin. That spring I found myself spending another boring and tedious weekend studying at the UT law library.

MY FIRST REACTION ON hearing my cancer diagnosis: I’m okay with this. My reaction a few hours later: I’m being self-centered.
My time is short, though how short remains an open question. Still, my truncated life expectancy makes something of a mockery of my pre-diagnosis comments about how we should view retirement not as the finish line, but rather as the beginning of a journey that might last two or three decades and perhaps account for almost half of our adult life.

Looking up at the ceiling recovering from major surgery has this 70+ boomer rethinking life. Everyone on here has an intense interest in personal finance. Most of us are boomers.  Our parents were the Greatest Generation who lived the Depression and fought the war then shared their stories of sacrifice. We’ve read the Wall Street Journal, especially when Jonathan was there, financial papers, magazines and websites galore. My guess is that our playbook is pretty much the same:  get an education,

FIRST WAS THE VOICE of my father’s friend. Then a policeman came on the line. While riding his bicycle, my 75-year-old father had been struck and killed by a speeding driver.
That was 2009. There were no goodbyes. Instead, seared into my memory are the photograph I was shown at the hospital, so I could identify my father’s body, and the details in his final medical report, which I never should have read.
My death will be far different.

How much of our success is due to luck?
As HumbleDollar’s U.S. readers have occasionally noted, we’ve all been lucky in one crucial way: We live in 2024 in what’s arguably the most economically successful nation ever. That’s meant large swaths of the population have enjoyed financial success, even if they weren’t the best students, or the hardest workers, or the most talented employees.
But our luck doesn’t end there. Before we persuade ourselves that our success was solely due to our own talents and efforts,

WHEN I REACHED AGE 70, I felt a sense of accomplishment, a bit of weird pride. At 75, I had a similar feeling. But when I turned 80 last year, things felt different. It was like I was an overachiever. Suddenly, the future wasn’t as long.

For many years, I’d searched for a high school friend who’d been my navigator at sports car rallies, but with no luck. Then, recently, I stumbled across his obituary.

I am a Baptist pastor.  Significant moment #1.  One day I was in a leadership meeting and a fellow pastor commented that he had just met with his financial advisor and was told he would have to work to age 81 to retire.  I didn’t laugh.  I was his age and had just lost 40% of my retirement from the economic downturn that began in October, 2007.  After that meeting I did some serious soul searching and decided I would become a student of understanding “money”

TODAY’S FINANCIAL lesson: We can manage risk—but terrible stuff can still happen. This thought, of course, was prompted by my recent cancer diagnosis. But the notion is also all too relevant to money management.
But let’s start with health matters. In 1995, I began training for my first marathon, which I ran in May 1996 in Pittsburgh and finished in just under three hours. Ever since, I’ve been a bit of an exercise nut.

ON SUNDAY MORNING, May 19, I was enjoying croissants and coffee with Elaine at the kitchen table, while watching the neighborhood sparrows, finches, cardinals and squirrels have their way with the bird feeder. All was right in our little world, except I was a little wobbly when walking—the result, I suspected, of balance issues caused by an ear infection.
It was going to be a busy week, and I figured that it would be smart to get some antibiotics inside me,

“YOU’LL STILL HAVE a retirement. It just won’t be the one you planned on.”
I’ve had to share this sobering assessment with many patients who were hoping to be rewarded for a lifetime of hard work and responsible saving, only to have those hopes dashed by an unforeseen health crisis. The culprit may be an external event like a disabling car accident or crippling fall, or an internal one like stage-four cancer or early onset dementia.

THERE SEEM TO BE four subjects that folks are reluctant to discuss with acquaintances, friends, intimates and often themselves: money, sex, religion and death. A few months ago, I broached the subject of money, to wit, my investment history—territory well-trod by this readership.

I will now turn to the literal and figurative last item in the above lineup of forbidden subjects: death. As a physician, I have some knowledge about the death of others.

“I CAN’T GET DIVORCED.”
“But Randy, I thought you guys were moving toward one.”
“I mean, I can’t afford to. I just went to see my accountant and a lawyer.”
“And?”
“Remember, California is a community property state. Even though I made almost all our money, Sarah’s entitled to half of it. I know she was dedicated to raising Harris all those years, but wow, Steve, I’m cooked.”
“But you were such a sought-after internist.