One of the most common questions I get, especially from readers in the US, is: “How do you afford cancer treatment?” And honestly, it’s a fair question. In the US, a cancer diagnosis doesn’t just affect your health, it can financially destroy you. Medical debt can lead one to bankruptcy there (I heard, I don’t know if it’s true). So I want to give a complete and honest picture of what it’s actually like to go through cancer in Norway from a financial and practical support perspective.

Spoiler: Norway takes care of you pretty well. But it’s not perfect, and no one hands you a welcome package on day one explaining everything.

Note: this post focuses on financial and practical support. There’s a whole other side to this, like access to psychologists, sexologists, nutritionists, and more, and I’ll cover that in a separate post.

How I found out about all of this

No one sat me down and walked me through all the support available to me. What happened was more organic. My kreftkoordinator (cancer coordinator) mentioned there was a “sosionom” at the hospital who could help me get a full picture of financial support and practical help. I never contacted her, because I already knew that cancer treatment in Norway is free and that my employer has a generous sick pay policy. So I felt covered.

For the rest, I pieced it together from nurses, my oncologist, my GP, information flyers at the hospital, and HR at my company. It works, but it does require you to be proactive. If you’re going through treatment in Norway right now, I hope this post saves you some of that legwork.

Hospital treatment: completely free

Let’s start with the big one. All hospital treatment is covered by the state. Chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, specialist consultations, none of it costs you anything. I went through EC chemotherapy, Taxol, surgery, 17 Phesgo sessions, and everything in between, all at Radiumhospitalet and Ullevål. Zero bills.

Although Norway is not the only country in the world where healthcare is free, this could feel unreal to people from many other countries. And it should. It’s genuinely remarkable.

Frikort: the free card that kicks in fast

For outpatient appointments (GP visits, some specialist consultations, certain tests) you normally pay an egenandel, a co-pay of around 300-400 NOK each time. But there’s a yearly ceiling. Once you’ve paid that total amount across all your appointments, you get a frikort (free card) and everything is free for the rest of the year.

With cancer, you hit that ceiling fast. I don’t remember the exact amount in 2024, but with how many appointments I had in the first weeks after diagnosis, it didn’t take long at all. After that, the frikort takes care of itself. It’s digital now, linked to your personal number, so you don’t need to carry a physical card.

Sykepenger: sick pay that actually replaces your income

If you can’t work due to illness, you’re entitled to sykepenger (sick pay). NAV, which is Norway’s national welfare and employment authority (think of it as a combination of Social Security, unemployment insurance, and social services all in one), covers up to 100% of your salary for up to 52 weeks. Your employer covers the first 16 days, then NAV takes over up to a ceiling of 6G (roughly 750,000 NOK in 2024).

My employer has a more generous policy and covers my full salary regardless of the 6G cap, which made a big difference in not having to worry financially on top of everything else. But even the standard NAV rate is far better than what most countries offer.

Practically, the process was easier than I expected. My doctor gives sick leave in 28-day periods (it’s roughly a month, and if it’s longer than that, NAV splits it into two or more periods anyway, meaning twice the paperwork). The reason that NAV splits periods which are more than 28 days is because they don’t want people who get sick pay directly from NAV have to wait too long between each payment. After each period ends, I get an SMS from NAV, log in to their website with my personal number, answer a few simple questions, and that’s it. My employer and NAV sort out the rest between themselves.

One thing that did surprise me: if you want to travel outside the EU/EEA while on sick leave, you’re allowed up to 5 weeks per year without losing your sykepenger, but you have to apply and get approval before you travel. I found this out when I wanted to visit my family in a country outside the EU. Fine, I thought, I’ll apply. Less fine: the application has to be sent by post. Physical paper, envelope, stamp. In 2024. I don’t have a printer at home, so I went to my local NAV office to print it out, and luckily the people there were kind enough to send it for me so I didn’t have to find a post office and buy a stamp. A small thing, but a funny contrast to how smooth everything else was digitally.

I’ll write a separate post about what it was actually like to work during treatment, but I’ll mention it briefly here: I tried to work as much as I could throughout treatment. So my sick leave periods were often partial, not full. Either way, the sykepenger system handled it.

Pasientreiser: patient transport (in theory)

If you can’t use public transport to get to your appointments, you’re entitled to covered transport through Pasientreiser. This can mean a taxi, or reimbursement if you drive yourself or take public transport.

I live in Oslo and all my treatment was at hospitals in Oslo, mostly Radiumhospitalet with some appointments at Ullevål. So I traveled by public transport for almost everything. Even after my egg harvesting, which, in hindsight, was not a smart decision.

I only used Pasientreiser twice, and both times were underwhelming. The first was the day after my mastectomy. I had a drain still in, I’d had surgery less than 24 hours before, and I waited 1.5 hours for a taxi that already had two other patients in it. A shared ride. After major surgery. I also had to pay a co-pay of around 120 NOK. I remember thinking I could have just taken a Bolt or Uber, probably the same price, definitely private, definitely faster.

The second time was after a small procedure under anesthesia. The nurse assured me it would be faster this time. It wasn’t. Exact same experience.

The system exists and it’s good in principle, especially for people who live far from the hospital. But if you’re in a city and the timing matters, a private taxi might genuinely be the better choice.

Wig support: yes, NAV covers this too

Hair loss is one of the most visible side effects of chemo, and NAV covers wig costs. For people over 30, the support is up to 6,265 NOK per year for a standard wig, or up to 16,220 NOK (I’m not sure what is the amount now) if you need a custom fit or real hair due to head shape or allergies.

My tip: go to a wig shop that has an agreement with NAV. That way, you don’t pay the full price and wait ~11 weeks for reimbursement. You just pay the difference if the wig costs more than the NAV amount. Much simpler.

I have a whole post coming about the wig experience, so I’ll leave it there for now.

Egg freezing: fully covered

This one surprises a lot of people. Egg freezing before chemotherapy, to preserve fertility, is fully covered by the Norwegian health system when it’s medically necessary. I didn’t pay anything for it. I’ve written two posts about that experience if you want the full story.

Montebellosenteret: cancer rehabilitation center

Montebellosenteret is a rehabilitation center for cancer patients who have finished primary treatment. They offer week-long stays with yoga, a heated pool, psychological support, group discussions, nutrition guidance, and mindfulness programs. You need a doctor’s referral, and there’s a co-pay of around 1,232 NOK per week. Travel is reimbursed by Helfo. You can go up to two weeks per year.

I didn’t go. My honest reason: I was a little afraid of being surrounded by sick and depressed people, even though I was also sick, which I’m fully aware is both ironic and a little unfair to say. But that was my gut feeling, and I think a lot of people feel the same way even if they don’t say it out loud. It doesn’t mean it’s the wrong choice for everyone. For people who feel isolated or who need structured support after treatment, it sounds genuinely valuable.

Grunnstønad and Hjelpestønad: extra allowances

Two more NAV allowances worth knowing about, even though I didn’t use either.

Grunnstønad covers extra expenses caused by your illness that a healthy person wouldn’t have, things like transport costs, special skin care products needed due to treatment, or dietary needs. It’s paid as a fixed monthly amount.

Hjelpestønad is for people who need personal care or assistance from someone else because of their illness, help with everyday tasks like washing, dressing, cooking.

I heard about both but never applied. I was managing on my own and working through treatment. I was also told that someone from NAV or the local bydel would contact me to check if I needed any help at home. That call never came. So if you think you might need either of these, don’t wait for someone to reach out. Look into it yourself or ask the sosionom at the hospital.

Kreftforeningen: the Norwegian Cancer Society

Kreftforeningen offers free counseling, support groups, practical help, and in some cases emergency financial support for cancer patients. I didn’t use their services directly, but I joined a Facebook group run by the community and found it really useful to read about other people’s experiences. It normalized a lot of what I was going through.

If you need someone to talk to, or practical help I haven’t covered here, they’re worth reaching out to.

The full picture

Norway takes care of its cancer patients. The treatment is free, the sick pay is solid, and the practical supports exist. If you’re reading this from the US or another country and going through cancer treatment, I genuinely wish you had access to what I have here.

It’s not seamless. The pasientreiser taxi after surgery, the paper form I had to send by post, the NAV call that never came. But overall, I’ve been able to focus on getting through treatment without the financial panic that so many people have to deal with on top of everything else. That’s not nothing. That’s actually enormous.

I’m not a doctor and I won’t give any medical advice. All I share is my personal experience based on my own treatment plan.

If you’re going through treatment in Norway or somewhere else, what has surprised you most about the support (or lack of it) available to you? I’d love to hear in the comments. 👇