Life is a twisty road, each curve full of surprises. Some of the turns bring a feeling of delight; others — well, they just make you wonder.

In the “delightful” category, our eldest daughter Kate, 26, has decided that some day she wants to manage a mutual fund. Perhaps influenced by the AIM Funds Management Inc. television commercial in which the wise money managers realize that populous Russia is just over the hill, she wants to go out and “kick the tires.”

So, she has signed up for the chartered financial analyst course.

I have warned her this will be a tough go. There are many stories about the students that don’t make it through level one, or that have to repeat the exam. And her background is history, not business.

But she is undeterred. She has just completed her masters in military history in less than ideal circumstances; and, as she points out, it was all about research and analysis. How is preparing for the CFA going to be different?

So, she put up her money and last week her box of books arrived. Included in the package is a set of postcards with their own sentiments. The postcards are, in a word, delightful.

For example, one shows a young man in a suit, asleep on a park bench with a newspaper over his face; the caption reads “I am the worst date ever.” Another shows a dog with a ball and a caption that says: “No time to play anymore.” Kate’s favourite is a cup of coffee bearing the caption, “Coffee is a food group.”

And they get the point across in a way I probably hadn’t about the dedication and determination it is going to take to get her CFA. The postcards provide a gently humorous twist on a serious subject.

In the “makes you wonder” category are the vagaries of the health-care system. I am sure anyone who has faced a serious illness has a tale to tell about the oddities of health-care coverage.

In my case, it is my chemotherapy treatment for colorectal cancer. It is about a year ago now that my battle against cancer began in earnest and it hasn’t been a straightforward process. I feel like I am running a marathon and someone keeps moving the finish line.

To give you the broad outline, I started with six weeks of combined chemotherapy and radiation to shrink the tumour, had surgery to remove it and after a period of convalescence started another round of chemotherapy.

That involved me going to the hospital every day for five days. I would go to the chemo daycare unit, get weighed, the unit’s pharmacist would prepare my drugs. I would go see Manny, the nurse, who would give me a popsicle and administer my injection. This was a time-consuming process for all of us.

But this didn’t go so well. I ended up with an infection, more surgery and a two-month delay before I was ready to start chemo again. This time, my oncologist wanted to try a different drug — a pill. I would get the pills from our local pharmacist, take 10 or 11 with breakfast and another batch with dinner for 14 days. Then I get a week off.

No trips to the hospital, no injections, no waiting in an overcrowded daycare unit. But here’s the catch — the pills aren’t covered by OHIP. Each series of treatment carries a pricetag of about $650. And, if all goes well, I will have six series of treatments.

Fortunately, my group benefits plan at work covers the cost of 80% of my pills. But the treatment not being covering by OHIP strikes me as absurd. This type of treatment obviously costs the health-care system less. I am not sitting in a hospital waiting room, taking up the time of various nurses and support staff.

Some bureaucrat somewhere probably has an explanation of why this is so — but it does make you wonder.

TESSA WILMOTT, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF