Well over half of the people diagnosed with lung cancer in November 2016 are now dead.
A tiny proportion of them, including me, have the EGFR19 mutation in their tumours. I haven’t really got a clue what that means, other than I’m able to take a drug (one of four drugs) that gives me an average life expectancy of 32 months.
Better than those who have already gone.
But even in my group of “lucky” victims, many are now dead. By July 2019 that death toll of us lucky ones will be 50%. If I hit “average” I’ve already used up a quarter of my time. That’s a pause for thought before continuing on my mad travel binge!
Obviously I’d prefer not to be in the dead category. But fast forward to November 2021, even with the help of my wonder drug, and 86% of us will be certified stiffs.
It isn’t a great place to be. While I’ve managed to fast forward my retirement travel aspirations the (accurate) saying that men think about sex every ten seconds is now interspersed with thoughts of dying young at similar intervals.
Not morbid thoughts. Not depressing thoughts. But it’s always there.
Equally, there’s a slight fear of survival. I’m blowing large chunks of my cash now. If the miracle happens I’ll be pish poor in retirement. Well, not quite true, but the long haul flights will have to stop!
It’s not exactly a worry that’s eating away at me. But it is a reality. And I’ve still no desire for this fun to stop.
Looking at things another way, I’ve probably already lived 96% of my life.