Hours to go after lunch. Too much time to think. Watching fifty-dollar bills dripping down the tubes, trying to save this life.

The thought that this disease could be fatal is too terrible for me to face. Corinne thinks about it daily. She weighs the loss of quality in her life each day against the possibility that she might die anyway. We make half-hearted plans about what we might do if we were to find that the treatments don't work.

It's easier for both of us to talk about money. Her health insurance (a time-limited COBRA policy from her former job) will run out in a year. I lost my "widower" health insurance when I married Corinne, and I, too, am on time-limited COBRA coverage. We're paying all the doctors, clinics and hospitals only $25 a month. What will happen when we have to bear the full cost? What will happen when we run out of savings entirely? To gain her immigration status, Corinne had to promise the INS she would take no public assistance. We develop contingency plans to sell our home.

Corinne's family in Germany – with European sensitivities about healthcare – are appalled that we have to face these financial pressures as we fight the cancer.