Rodney Sheldon
New member
I am an aficionado of Leica, all kinds of Leicas. Presently I am shooting with an R7 and an R8, but not over the last few weeks. On December 19, 2006, I was diagnosed with cancer, cancer of the tonsil, a form, obviously, of throat cancer. I earmarked this for you just in case you're not aware that your tonsils are in your throat. Believe it or not, a friend of mine was convinced that they were up my ass.
After checking out all of my reasonable options, in La, I came to the conclusion that to stay in LA, for treatment, was not reasonable. Compared to the University of Texas' MD Anderson, Cedars, UCLA, and the rest of LA's cancer care is in the dark ages. I'll tell you the whole story of how I got here another time, but I'm at the right place, in Houston, Texas, at MD Anderson–arguably the best cancer facility in the world–and staying in the hotel that is owned by the institution, but operated by Marriott. It is very comfortable, and, geographically, since it is attached to the hospital, it makes it much easier to get to and from treatment.
People from all over the world come here to get well, many of them billionaire mid-easterners, with their burka clad wives and daughters; so many of them that I've temporarily renamed Houston: Baghdad On The Bayou.
Funny thing: when people get sick, real sick, politics and religious intolerance suddenly take a rumble seat to American medicine.
Without question, cigarettes and booze–the deadly combo–caused this interruption from my good life of disorder and debauchery, but I have a better then 50-50 shot of beating it, so they say, and when I do I’m afraid I shall have to replace the old deadly habits with something new, something less life threatening; I'm leaning towards volunteering to go into the Pakistani mountains to bring in Osama.
Throw the cigarettes away, chums; take it from me; it ain't worth the price.
RS
After checking out all of my reasonable options, in La, I came to the conclusion that to stay in LA, for treatment, was not reasonable. Compared to the University of Texas' MD Anderson, Cedars, UCLA, and the rest of LA's cancer care is in the dark ages. I'll tell you the whole story of how I got here another time, but I'm at the right place, in Houston, Texas, at MD Anderson–arguably the best cancer facility in the world–and staying in the hotel that is owned by the institution, but operated by Marriott. It is very comfortable, and, geographically, since it is attached to the hospital, it makes it much easier to get to and from treatment.
People from all over the world come here to get well, many of them billionaire mid-easterners, with their burka clad wives and daughters; so many of them that I've temporarily renamed Houston: Baghdad On The Bayou.
Funny thing: when people get sick, real sick, politics and religious intolerance suddenly take a rumble seat to American medicine.
Without question, cigarettes and booze–the deadly combo–caused this interruption from my good life of disorder and debauchery, but I have a better then 50-50 shot of beating it, so they say, and when I do I’m afraid I shall have to replace the old deadly habits with something new, something less life threatening; I'm leaning towards volunteering to go into the Pakistani mountains to bring in Osama.
Throw the cigarettes away, chums; take it from me; it ain't worth the price.
RS