Your money or your life

flash fiction about the expense of cancer on your wallet health and relationships

Your money or your life

I am dying.  And I am bankrupt.

I cringe every time my wife with hands on hips, jutting jaw and glinting eyes demands “how much longer do you think doctor?”   Why does she ask that question? What has happened to all the hope we shared? 

They said I had months and then weeks and now I think I am down to days.  Once I thought I’d like to live to be 50, now I will be happy to die at 49.   And it all comes down to the dollar.

I am weak.  I cannot eat even though I am starving.  Colorectal cancer has to be the worst way to die. 

The twins are home from middle school.

“Hey Dad.  How’s it going?” said Zack.

“Feeling better, Daddy-o?” sang Zoe.

I wave and don’t trust my voice. 

“Did you get a nice letter?” said Zoe glancing at the paper that has traces of tears smudging the toughest paragraphs.

No its not a nice letter.  It tells me that the drug that might promise me two extra weeks costs $18,000 for a ten day supply.  There is no more money.  Cheap options that might save my life are not FDA approved.  I want to go to Greece or Israel or Mexico but I don’t have the strength any more.

I adjust the flow of oxygen and try to smile at my children.  Zoe is texting one of her many friends who I know will be there with their texts and smiley faces when I am gone.  But Zack slams his palm on the table.  He knows money is the deciding factor in how many days we are still a family. 

A tear trickles from my eye and I would rub it away but I cannot raise my hand.  So instead I close my eyes and wait.