Four More Years -- Or Something

A friend sent me a link to a Twitter feed that lead me to this article from MD Anderson. It tells the story of a woman who was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer (familiar), underwent multiple surgeries (sort of familiar), declined radiation treatments (not familiar -- radiation has never been presented as an option for me), put on an oral chemotherapy drug (familiar, as I've got to believe it's the same drug I'm on) and has so far survived for four years.

On the one hand, this is good news. Four years would put me well past the release date for the new Star Wars movie, would give me ample time to drag my nephews some place cool, and might even get me to the last episode of Game of Thrones. 

On the other hand, it's sort of bad news. I've spent the last nine months writing blog posts lamenting that I'm dying of cancer, but if it takes four plus years for this to actually start happening I may have to change the name of my blog to the Boy Who Cried Wolf. 

It's also sort of weird in that the best thing about cancer is that it created certainty where before there had only been uncertainty. Until last July, nearly every financial decision I made was rooted in uncertainty over my potential needs as a retiree. The cancer diagnosis changed all that. Suddenly, I only had to worry about the next year or so, so the decisions became much easier. 

It would be sort of embarrassing -- not to mention financially troubling -- to actually live long enough where retirement once again came into the picture.

Still seems unlikely, though, and certainly not likely enough to warrant changing my current approach to life. There are still too many places left to see.