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Cancer, Gratitude and Ricky Gervais

By Michael Ertel Story by Michelle Ertel

February 16^th, 2026

What led to this joy

Several years ago, my husband Michael and I binge-watched Ricky Gervais’ After Life on Netflix. It became my absolute favorite show of all time. It’s raw, hilarious, and devastatingly honest about grief and about losing the person you love most to cancer and trying to keep breathing in a world that feels empty without them. If you haven’t seen it, stop scrolling and start it today. It will change you.

The illusion of dread

Fast-forward a couple of years, and life imitated art in the worst way. I got sick. Tests piled up. First tests for long COVID, mono, lupus, etc. Finally, I pushed for an abdominal scan and biopsy. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

The appointment was a Thursday at 3 p.m. That day stretched forever. Michael and I paced, drank endless tea, wore grooves in the floor. In my heart, I already knew: this was terminal/incurable. All I could think about was how to tell our kiddos: Zane, Gillian, and Mallory. I wouldn’t be there to watch them grow, to tell them how insanely proud I am, to cook Sunday dinners, to hold them when their hearts break (because when theirs break, mine shatters too). That fierce, God-given love I have for them? I poured everything into it. And now it felt like time was running out before I could see them build their own families with that same depth.

Then there was Michael, my Saint Michael. We breathe the same breath, finish each other’s sentences, rely on each other for everything. How would he remember his meds? Who would make sure he ate? Who would be there to hug him when he is lonely? The thought of him facing life without me was crushing. The worry was, and is, suffocating.

“In my heart, I already knew: this was terminal/incurable. All I could think about was how to tell our kiddos: Zane, Gillian, and Mallory.”

The medical reality

The diagnosis came over video conference at 3:15. Neuroendocrine cancer; something I’d never even heard of. Primary tumor in my small intestine, countless metastatic spots on my liver and beyond. The first doctor mentioned consulting Mayo Clinic about a possible liver transplant. The treatment would begin immediately.

Dr. Google was grim, yet something strange happened: a weight lifted. I had cancer that would eventually take me. I expected tears, panic. Instead, I felt… calm. Relieved, even. No fear. None. I still don’t have any. Everyone around me was reeling, but I was steady. I’m still steady.

Why? Because the constant, background dread most people carry about death—just vanished. I want more time, of course, who doesn’t? But I have zero control over that. Worrying won’t buy me a single extra day.

“I expected tears, panic. Instead, I felt… calm. Relieved, even. No fear. None.”

Stop whining and start living

So here’s why I’m sharing this long ramble:

1. Watch After Life on Netflix. It’s life-changing. It shows grief and hope in a way that sticks.

2. Love people really, really hard. Forgive anyone who’s hurt you — this is HUGE. We’re all going to eat our last bag of chips, pet our dog one final time, say our last goodnight.

Don’t wait. Buy the RV. Take the trip. Write the book. Reconcile with that person you’ve been dodging. Stop letting “what if” paralyze you. Fear lies. Worry steals time. Your dreams wither and die inside you before they ever get a chance if you keep feeding the fear.

“I’m scared to travel.”

“I’ll fail if I go back to school.”

“I’d be a terrible parent.”

STOP THAT SHIT. Punch fear in the face. It gets you nowhere and it takes pieces of your life.

You get one life. Living it scared is a slap in the face to the God (or the universe, or whatever you believe) who gave it to you: beautiful, fragile, and finite.

If worry has you in a chokehold and you can’t break free alone, get help. Therapy, support groups, whatever it takes. Don’t waste what you have.

Preaching over.

Go watch After Life. Then go live.

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