I was told I had cancer and had 18 months to live—'almost dying' taught me the 'closest secret to human happiness'

In 2002, I twisted my hip leaving my office after work. It didn’t stop hurting for months, but I mostly ignored it. After a year passed and it had only gotten worse, I finally saw my doctor.

When I went back for the MRI results, he closed the door to the examining room, sat directly across from me, and said, as professionally as he could, “There is a lesion on your hip.”

“A lesion?” I said. “You mean a tumor?”

“Yes,” he said.

I was 38 years old, pursuing a promising career in journalism, married to a woman I loved, and the first-time father of a 7-month-old daughter. And with that single syllable, I was diagnosed with an incurable form of blood cancer called multiple myeloma — and was told I had 18 months left to live.