How long do you have to live?

Zach has a bulge “near his junk” as he puts it. At first, he thought his left testicle was growing. But it turned out to be a hernia: His intestines are getting out of line. According to Zach, it isn’t really painful, but it’s enlarged and annoying. So we met with his hernia guy–the doctor who repaired a small one on Zach's right side last year. 

After a quick exam, the doc sat down and was quiet for a moment. Then he laid out the options: Zach could put up with the hernia, knowing it would probably get bigger, and just monitor it. Interestingly, the bigger the hernia gets, the lower the risks of it becoming obstructed or painful. The other option: Schedule surgery to fix it, and hopefully reduce the annoyance. And if Zach chose surgery, we should do it sooner rather than later.

Then the doc leaned forward and asked, “How long do you have to live?”

The words landed like a punch to the hernia. We all know our time here is finite, but most of us have the luxury of ignoring that fact. The end is way, way out there somewhere in the distant future. If the end is near, we expect to get that news from a doctor. 

But here was the doc, asking Zach.

Over the course of Zach’s treatments we’ve heard ominous remarks like, “this pill could buy you a year,” or “this treatment extends life by a few months on average.” While disconcerting, these have always sounded like hypothetical estimates. And so far, Zach has exceeded them.

But the 5-year survival rate for stage 4 prostate cancer, according to Dr. Internet, is about 30%. At 10 years, it’s more like 15%. And in the dark of night, or the hush of a hospital waiting room, I’ve done the math. Zach was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer 8 years ago. He’s definitely bucking the odds.

Still, none of his doctors has ever given him a specific life expectancy. I suspect there are 2 reasons for that: they don’t really know, and Zach hasn’t asked. Part of me wants a timeline. But another part wants to let it be. After all, statistics don’t tell the whole story, and who wants to live with a countdown clock.

So when the doc asked, “How long do you have to live?” it shocked me. 

But Zach answered with a wink: “Not as long as I thought.” 

The doc nodded, and didn’t probe. “Ok. Let’s fix it.”

And just like that, Zach is scheduled for hernia surgery later this month.

The whole thing got me thinking: What do you do when the stats are against you? When the answer to “how long do you have to live” might be closer to months than years?

What does Zach want to do with the time he has left?

What do I want to do with the time I have left with him?

Do we sink into the couch in a puddle of despair watching reruns of Judy Justice?

Do we ignore the prognosis and just keep chugging along like everything’s Jake?

Do we try to live each moment like it’s our last? And what does that even mean?

Do we make a bucket list and work like hell to cross everything off before time runs out?

For now, I’ll let Zach’s note in our anniversary card be my guide:

“It’s been a fun ride. Let’s see how long we can keep it up.”