Some people who write me are sad for me. Thanks, but I started this blog to have fun. I’m still smiling and you should too. Besides, when the going gets tough, the tough get morphine.
I took my family to Victoria B.C. last week. It was a lot of things: a final holiday, a chance to see the ocean one more time, to stay at a hotel I had admired for thirty years, and to ride in a plane for the last time (thanks WestJet, for the complimentary bump-up to the big seats).
Anyway, we left our hotel our first morning, and within five minutes, this happened. (And, to be clear, this was absolutely random. The reporter Adam Sawatzky spotted Will and I while we were walking by the ocean.)
They sent the story out on the CTV national story wire, so people across the country saw it, including a friend in Newfoundland.
Good thing I went when I did. On the last day of the trip, my breathing became very laboured. The first day home, I awoke to find I can no longer walk across a room without becoming completely winded. A trip upstairs requires five minutes of huffing and puffing on my bed. Some days are better than others but I am now living life as a true shut-in with a permanent cough and long stretches of immobility. I get to see what my 80s would have been like.
My life is veering between one terrible band and one great song: Air Supply vs. Aqualung. I never thought I would cheer for Air Supply.