Just like money, time is a finite commodity and how people spend it reveals what they value.

Over the last six to 12 months, my husband, Bill, and I have been challenged to think about how we’re spending our time and what’s most important to us about that time.

Helping put a focus on time was our 30th anniversary this year, three days after a major milestone birthday for Bill in May. Back in December, both were on my mind when I stumbled upon an ad for a cruise ship itinerary, “Jewels of the Aegean.”

The Holland America ship Oosterdam would sail from Athens, Greece on May 14, 2024 and return on May 21, after stops at Rhodes, Turkey, Cyprus, Santorini–on Bill’s birthday, and Mykonos. The next day, May 22, would be our anniversary, and we could celebrate it in Athens, Greece.

Athens. Greece.

There was a modest discount for committing early. Putting a deposit down qualified. The balance would be due around Valentine’s Day. Not a bargain trip, by any means but, I rationalized, it might be justifiable for a big anniversary and birthday that would both occur on the trip.

I decided to run the idea past Bill. Before I could, he learned that his latest quarterly blood test as routine follow-up to treatment for prostate cancer in 2021 was not routine. A slow but steady increase in indicators of a potential problem had crossed the threshold to requiring a more involved PET scan. I was stunned. Bill was upset and frustrated.

He’d undergone complete removal of the prostate on the belief that doing so would take the cancer with it. How could a problem be showing up again? In many cases, prostate cancer is said to be “slow-growing” enough that not having treatment can be an option and one that doesn’t affect life span, Bill pointed out. I told him we should go ahead with the PET scan and see what it showed.

In early January, I went with him to the urologist for the report on the PET scan. When the doctor walked in, he got right to the point: “The scan was completely clear, and that’s the very best we could hope.” He would refer Bill to a radiation oncologist for “a short course of treatment–about two weeks.”

Bill mentioned our 30th anniversary coming up and the possibility of celebrating with a trip. He asked if that could still happen after radiation. “Absolutely,” the doctor said. “This treatment is just to keep anything further from developing. Take the trip. You’ll be good to go by then.”

Never mind the “short course” of radiation ended up being 38 treatments–one a day, Monday through Friday–over seven and a half weeks. The radiation oncologist told Bill, “I don’t do ‘short courses’ of treatment. I do complete courses of treatment.”

OK, then let’s complete it, I said when Bill complained.

Never mind that he had exactly three treatments under his belt when the radiation oncologist was taking Bill’s vital signs and told him his pulse appeared to be in the low 40s. I met Bill at the ER. He’d already been triaged when I arrived about 5 p.m., and we spent the next five hours with our new best friends in the standing-room-only ER lobby. He was admitted that night and kept for another, wired up to a cardiovascular monitoring setup that looked like the cockpit of a fighter jet.

The docs determined Bill had a little ventricular flutter that would give inaccurate pulse readings. It needed to be medicated to help him with some resulting weakness and lightheadedness he’d been experiencing.

Right at the start of seven weeks of radiation treatments, too. The experience was among many since January in which I would think, “We shouldn’t be trying to make this trip,” or “We’re never going to make this trip.”

Other times, I would think about how this would be the only 30th anniversary we would ever have. How both of us were beyond excited that visiting Greece and sailing around on the Aegean Sea was thiiiiis close. Considering what Bill was going through, I also thought about how we couldn’t be sure how many more opportunities he might feel like making such a trip.

Of course, the whole point of this post is to share that we did get to make that trip because Bill hung in through all 38 radiation treatments, in addition to wearing a heart monitor for two weeks of those radiation treatments. I have trip pictures to share, but to the right is my favorite picture of the last six months–Bill getting to ring the bell upon completing his last radiation treatment, a joyous milestone for all cancer survivors.

On the left, Bill sits after he and I climbed Lycobettus Hill, the highest natural feature in Athens, and took a break outside St. George’s Greek Orthodox Church. Where–can you believe our timing?–we got to hear the bells calling to worship. More joyful ringing.

The trip was an incredible epic wonder. Nobody deserves more than Bill to celebrate a big birthday on the Greek island of Santorini. And as long as I live, I’ll cherish getting to say “Happy 30th Anniversary” to Bill as we woke in a hotel room in Athens, Greece.

Athens. Greece.

A long way from where I woke in Knoxville on our wedding day in 1994.

I’ll have another post soon on all the sights we got to see. This one, here, is about how very, very proud I am of Bill for persevering. And to emphasize what I gained from the experience–a new clarity about the value of my time, especially as it relates to the quality of time Bill and I get to spend together on our road ahead.