Yesterday I was removed from the clinical trial.
My largest tumour has grown too much since I enrolled in November. I exceeded the safety protocols. Tomorrow — Friday, May 1st — I meet with my standard care oncologist to figure out what comes next.
The conversation yesterday was hard. Not because I fell apart, but because the questions I asked had real answers, and the oncologist gave them to me straight.
I don’t feel sick right now. The cancer isn’t what knocks me down — the chemo does. But I asked when that would change. When would the disease itself start limiting what I can do?
Six months to a year.
Then I asked the harder question.
How long do I have?
Twenty-six to thirty-six months.
As I’ve written before, these are medians. Half the people with my diagnosis do worse. Half do better. I intend to be in the better half — deep in the long tail of that distribution. I want to be an outlier.
Here’s why twenty months is the number I’m focused on.
In December 2027, my long-term disability coverage hits a threshold. For the first two years on LTD, Manulife asks one question: can you do your old job? My oncologist confirmed I cannot, and Manulife agreed.
After that two-year mark, the question changes: can you do any job?
I want to be healthy enough to answer yes.
Not because I need the income. Because saying yes means the disease hasn’t taken my capacity. It means I’m still functional, still sharp, still here in a way that counts. It means I’m living in the long tail.
December 2027. Twenty months. One clear target.
Between now and then, I’m doing everything within my control — diet, exercise, sleep — applied with the same rigour I’d bring to any hard problem. I’ll be writing about each of these in detail: the specific choices, the trade-offs, and the evidence behind them.
The tumour gets a vote. But so do I.