- I didn’t arrive at this chapter of my life through inspiration.
- I arrived through arithmetic.
794 days.
That’s what 30ty months looks like when you stop rounding it away. It’s not a deadline, and it’s not a prophecy. It’s a median—an expression of probability given to me by my oncologist. A number that exists whether I like it or not.
So instead of pretending it wasn’t there, I decided to look directly at it.
When I broke those 794 days down into something usable—something real—I landed on 113 weeks. For planning purposes, weeks make more sense than days. They hold rhythm. They hold repetition. They allow for rest and momentum in the same container.
Assuming roughly 9 hours a day when I’m awake, functional, and present, and that the side effects of chemo are not in control, that gives me just over 7,100 conscious hours to work with.
- That’s not poetry.
- That’s inventory.
And this chapter of my life is about knowing what I actually have.
Where Time Goes When You’re Paying Attention
Once you start accounting for time honestly, the fantasy version of life disappears quickly.
Twice a week, I train. Door-to-door, that’s eight hours a week. Over 113 weeks, that’s more than 900 hours already spoken for. That is 13 percent of my remaining life.
Eating—buying food, preparing it, and consuming it—takes about 2 hours a day, 6 days a week. Another 1,356 hours, or 19 percent.
Doctor visits, bloodwork, ECGs, infusions, and the commute that comes with cancer care average out to about 5 hours a week. That’s another 565 hours, or 8 percent.
And then there’s Sunday.
My cheat day. The day I protect. Nine hours a week where I do nothing productive on paper, and everything necessary in practice. Time spent with people. With food. With no expectations attached. That’s 1,017 hours, or 14 percent.
When you add it all up, that’s 54 percent of my remaining time is already allocated—not wasted, not negotiable. Just real.
That leaves about 46 percent. Roughly 28 hours a week.
That’s where my choices live.
What I’m Choosing to Build
Those remaining hours are where my work happens.
- 7 hours a week producing YouTube videos.
- 9 hours a week walking the city with a camera.
- 12 hours a week writing.
It’s not elegant. The math technically comes out a little over 100 percent. But life doesn’t run on perfect spreadsheets. It runs on drafts and revisions.
Over these 113 weeks, I plan to visit my daughter four times. I plan to travel—four trips, at least—while I still can. That takes eight weeks off the table immediately.
Which leaves 105 weeks. About 2,940 hours.
That’s the real number I’m working with.
In that time, I want to publish 500 blog posts across my platforms—roughly 1,500 pages of writing. Enough material for 3 books if I choose to go that way.
I want to produce 100 YouTube videos across both my channels.
And I want to build 2 to 4 photographic portfolios—real bodies of work. Not collections of one-offs.
I shoot three times a week. If I come back with one strong image per session, that’s 315 images over this time span. A portfolio needs 15 to 20 strong images that tell a story.
The math works—if I show up.
What This Is (And Isn’t)
This isn’t a countdown.
It isn’t a bucket list.
And it isn’t an attempt to out-optimize cancer.
It’s a refusal to drift.
Cancer compresses time in a way that makes avoidance impossible. You stop saying “someday” because someday suddenly has a shape. You can see it. You can measure it.
This chapter of my cancer journey—Chapter Four, as I like to call it—isn’t about fighting harder or thinking more positively. It’s about structure. About intention. About deciding what deserves space inside the hours I still have.
The YouTube channels. This writing. This work.
They exist inside that decision.
Moving Forward Without Illusions
Thirty months was the median when they told me. That was 3 months ago. My 60th birthday is now about 26 months away—March 5, 2028.
I plan to be there.
But more than that, I plan to use the time between now and then.
- This isn’t optimism.
- It’s agency.
These are the next 113 weeks.
This is what I’m building inside them.