The Sweat of the Brow (xii)

I want my second chance.

It’s simple. It’s not magic. It’s money. It’s not hard. Anyone can get it. Anyone who can afford it.

I can’t afford it.

But I try.

I assemble all my finances. $1,800,000 in the markets. Options mostly. That goes up and down. $230,000 in cash. Not much of a retirement fund. A forty-year pension – not as good as the fifty, not nearly as good as the seventy-five – but not bad. With cash and stock, enough to live the rest of my life. Live it in comfort. Live it till its end.

I could probably bring together about two million in cash. That’s twelve million shy of a first treatment.

I can’t afford it. But I try. I try a dozen times. As I have a thousand before.

Let’s say I sell the stocks at two million. They could get that high, they’ve come close before. I live off my pension. I shut down the house. I drain the pool, I let the garden go fallow, I live in half the house, I do laundry on alternate leap years. Better than that I sell the house. I live in a coffin like a twenty-year-old roam addict. I live on bread and water. I barely live at all.

Maybe I save fifty thousand a year. Maybe I save until I’m ninety. Maybe I’m well enough at ninety that I can still get treatment. Maybe.

I might get up to six million. That’s almost halfway there. That’s as close as I can get.

And I’d have nothing. I’d live with nothing, for however long I could stay alive living like that. Even if it would raise me the whole amount, even if it would get me treatment, I’d come out of it with nothing. I’d be young and I’d be new and I’d have nothing. Nothing of my old life. Nothing with which to start anew. Nothing at all.

Would it be worth it?

Yes, it would.

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~ by davekov on 5 October 2011.

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