Well, the good people at Cedars-Sinai in West Hollywood unsheathed their scalpels and gutted Lina like a trout last week, and there was much rejoicing. The attending surgeon told me “We could see where the tumors were, but no trace of where they are” (this with reference to what appears to have been a highly efficacious course of chemotherapy—her blood “cancer markers,” measured pre-op, were down 95%+). Does this mean she’s “cured?” I have heard her telling friends on the phone that she’s “cancer-free,” and I am not disposed to gainsay her. Everything I’ve read about her condition suggests that it’s invariably terminal, but the therapeutic approach that has been here essayed is a relatively new one—or rather, a newish variation administered in the belief that hyperthermic treatment should be administered at the front-end of the regimen rather than as a holding action on the outskirts of Berlin. We’ll see. There are grounds for hoping, however, that we may have purchased a couple of years of remission.

L is still feeling pretty rocky nine days on, but reports that each passing day is less dire. We’re hoping to quit SoCal (where the weather has finally turned clement) on Sunday, returning at month’s end for the first of two follow-up chemo sessions.

cordially,