The £3,000 Sunbed: How Beating Cancer Now Costs More Than a Week in Marbella
Survive chemo? Congratulations! Now hand over a small fortune just to sip lukewarm sangria by the sea — because apparently, remission comes with a surcharge.
There are things in life that make you question whether the entire planet has been quietly taken over by lunatics. People who buy designer water for their dogs. People who clap when a plane lands. Now apparently, people who think it’s perfectly reasonable to charge three thousand pounds for travel insurance; simply because you once had the audacity to get cancer.
Yes. You read that correctly. While the average cost of a single trip’s travel insurance for your standard, non-mutated citizen is about £25, anyone with the words “cancer history” attached to their name is handed a quote that looks more like a small mortgage application.
A week in Spain? A short hop to France? A family reunion in Portugal? These aren’t trips up Mount Everest carrying a yak. These are normal holidays to eat chips, drink questionable cocktails and burn yourself on unfamiliar sun loungers. But apparently, for cancer patients this simple pleasure is now a financial Everest in itself.
Now, let’s just clarify something. We’re not talking about people who are currently hospitalised, hooked up to machines and debating the merits of morphine versus meditation. These are people who’ve done the hard bit. They’ve faced the treatment, the fear, the weeks that blur into a chemotherapy-scented hellscape. Now they’re in remission, cleared to fly, ready to live again.
But the moment they try to book a trip, they’re hit with a travel insurance quote so enormous it may as well come with a complimentary blood pressure monitor and a personal apology from the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
It gets worse. Most insurers won’t even bother offering a policy. The moment the word “cancer” is mentioned, the shutters come down like you’re trying to smuggle a live goat onto the plane. And for the ‘brave’ few companies that do offer something, the quote comes back with enough zeros to trigger another national budget debate.
Yet we’re constantly told how important it is for people recovering from serious illness to regain a sense of normality. Holidays aren’t frivolous. They’re restorative. They’re a symbol that life can go on; that there’s more to existence than hospital gowns, PET scans and waiting for someone called “Jane” to call you into Room 7 for your bloods.
But that healing moment? That little slice of joy? Sorry. That’ll be three grand, please. Or you can take your chances and travel uninsured, which is basically the same as going skydiving with a parachute you bought off eBay.
The insurance industry, of course will tell you this is all about risk. “People with medical histories might cost more if something goes wrong abroad,” they’ll say. Well yes, but so might people with nut allergies, bad knees, or an addiction to hotel buffet prawns. Where are their £3,000 premiums?
Let’s not forget the delightful bit of small print known as “signposting.” That’s when an insurer gently nudges you towards some “specialist provider,” which in reality means another firm with slightly fancier fonts but exactly the same eye-watering price tag.
It’s insulting. It’s absurd. It’s like being told you’re fit enough to climb a mountain, but only if you carry a gold-plated backpack full of bricks. It’s punishing people not for being ill, but for daring to survive. For having the gall to say, “Yes, I’ve had cancer. But now I’d quite like a tan that isn’t hospital lighting.”
The truth is, we’re looking at a system where surviving cancer is only half the battle. The next challenge is navigating a labyrinth of risk assessments, inflated costs and travel policies written in a dialect of Legalese so dense you’d need a UN interpreter to book a flight.
This isn’t just unfair. It’s cruel. Because when someone has been to hell and back, the very least we can do is not charge them three grand to visit the Costa del Anywhere.
So here’s a thought. Maybe, just maybe, instead of treating these people like a risk to be avoided, we could treat them like human beings who deserve a break. Not an invoice.
If not? Well, I hope those insurers enjoy their beach holidays. Because for everyone else, it’s looking like another summer of sitting in the garden, drinking flat lemonade and pretending the dog paddling pool is the Aegean Sea
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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