There’s no really easy or fun way to say this, so I’ll just say it: I have cancer.
Now, there’s cancer and there’s cancer, and what I have appears to be totally treatable. The story is intermittently amusing and when this is over I’ll probably write it all up. I’ll be fine, in the long run. In the short run, I am going to need surgery and then chemotherapy. There are going to be times when I’m not around for awhile. If it happens during the season, I’ll scare up someone to fill in while I’m out.
I’ll repeat — I’ll be fine. In the long run. In the short run, if I disappear for a week, or if I seem snappish, just assume that’s why. At any rate, this is all Francoeur’s fault.