I attend both meetings and conferences infrequently enough that I still get a kick out of what is most certainly ho-hum to the regulars. Such as, starting off a presentation with ‘first a little housekeeping’; which, according to cheesycorporatelingo.com means: (1). Something that needs to be done that absolutely no one cares about.
My own observation is that it can also function as an excuse of sorts; a preamble to this should have all been taken care of earlier but it wasn’t so now that we’re all assembled, time to tidy up.
When it comes to blogging, for the last couple of weeks I have been perfecting the art of procrastination and have produced only radio silence (Joan, thanks for delicately pointing that out while also checking up on me). I also started drinking again. Not heavily, but after a year and a half of total abstinence, I’ve been having a bit of a party. Or, as I said to my editor at Everydayhealth.com a little over a week ago, ‘a good glass of wine got between me and my stated deadline.’
The combination of lack of motivation post happy hour and puffy eyes in the morning shall keep me from going on any major benders. And, alas, the return of my cough in the evening has necessitated the moving up of my next scan, so the party may be winding down.
In the meantime, the past few weeks have been blissfully busy; I have been rushing from one activity to another with all the energy that this break from treatment has afforded me. Now that I’ve gotten the (ahem) housekeeping out of the way, I shall begin to recount some of these adventures.
CHAPTER ONE: IN WHICH I COME UP SHORT
That title was in reference to a mishap involving my wallet, but as I typed it I realized that it was actually perfect for something else:
Photo by Peter with his NEXUS
I have continued to swim my (almost) daily laps, although after I made it to ninety-five lengths I had to dial it back a bit. Fifty, or a third of a mile, is much more doable. Anyway, I had just suited up (old red speedo, sunglasses, giant sun hat) and was acclimating myself to the water. Peter and his friend Miggles (that’s what they call him) were enjoying breakfast poolside. As I stood there I noticed that they were looking at me and laughing. I couldn’t understand what they found so funny (although I was afraid that if I thought long enough I might figure it out), so Peter took a picture and brought it over to show me.
Well, the lower half of my body had been optically distorted so that I now appeared to be a woman with fantastically stubby legs. It was fairly amusing, and only a tiny bit alarming when Miggles asked Peter to send him a copy. If I end up in one of those pop-up ads on the internet, they’re both in trouble.
life and breath: outliving lung cancer 
That is so cute! You look GREAT, btw!
Blessings,
Carol Ann
Thanks Carol Ann. Not very high resolution on that phone camera 🙂
Linnea
I love the pic! Laugh?! Enjoy! ..the wine too! Best wishes on the upcoming scan too!
sandye
Thanks Sandye. If it wasn’t the legs, it could have been my ‘outfit’.
Linnea
In writing this morning, I was inches….inches!! away from stating on my blog that you had fallen down on the job due to drinking. We certainly think alike. Wasn’t really afraid of a libel suit, but hey.
I will insist that my first grandchild be named Miggles.
Love love
J
Joan dear, as long as it wasn’t centimeters, we’re still friends 🙂 We do know each other quite well, methinks (which according to the urban dictionary, my new best friend, is a really annoying and pretentious way to say “I think’.) Nailed it. Miggles is a fantastic name for a first grandchild. Demand; no negotiation.
lovelovelove
L
You look lovely, Linnea, stubby legs and all, in you red suit and hat. A bit of wine can’t hurt, I say. Have a bit more after that scan. I have to share my bad news, hopefully not stealing that sunny smile; we lost Steve a week ago today. He developed ParaNeoPlastic Syndrome and only lasted two weeks. The doctor told him it is rare, only 1% of lung cancer patients acquire it. No treatment, but quick. He told her, ” If you can’t do anything for it, I want it to be quick”. The hormones were attacked by an extract from the cancer and his systems shut down, one by one. We kept him here at home, surrounded by those he loved each day and night. It was a good death. I followed his wishes to be cremated and spread over his family farm, as we’re his parents. His battle is over, I begin a new one.
I will continue to follow you and cheer you on for Steve and all the rest. Best wishes. Stand Strong. Hedy
Ah Hedy, I had a strong feeling about this today. I am so sorry but glad about the quick and doing it his way. I found Steve’s obituary online. I love the picture in the overalls. Interesting to find out that he was a muzzle loader and I have never seen such a wonderful collection of names. I will continue to cheer you on in your battle my friend—you are most awfully special.
love, Linnea
I have been checking your blog, albeit sporadically this month Linnea. I was hopeful that you were enjoying the good weather and swimming. I didn’t know about the alcohol too! Enjoy these later summer days with blue skies, sunshine and low humidity. I am still an English girl at heart and nothing beats a gin and tonic on a summer day. All my good wishes being sent your way that the scan is a good one.
love, Beryl
You may have seen this PowerPoint presentation by Dr. Shaw, if not here is the link. – The future looks bright for us ALKers.
http://www.peervoice.com/closer-look-alk-positive-nsclc?pres=2&person_id=5075234&specialty=Oncology#