When I left the hospital Friday evening Lina was still resisting the alternatives of dialysis or a “nephrostomy” apparatus. The latter appliance drains urine from the kidney into an external vessel, the notion carrying with it a high squick factor to her sensibilities. The following day a specialist came to explain, very patiently, that unless some measure was undertaken to relieve the stress on her kidneys she risked irreversible damage to the organs which, in tandem with the cancer (treatment of which cannot resume until and unless the kidneys can be kickstarted), made for an all but certain and rather imminent prospect of death. For a wonder, he wore down her resistance, and she consented, without enthusiasm, to be sure, to have the nephrostomy thingie installed—she was bumped to the head of the line, and went under the (whatever surgical instruments it was) today, and while the degree to which normal renal functions can be resumed is yet to be seen, there’s a good chance at least that this moves us out of “don’t buy green bananas” territory (she is, to her considerable irritation, on a severely circumscribed diet, with bananas green and otherwise very near the top of the list of proscribed foods).

Post-surgery she was groggy and demoralized this afternoon, and is still pissed-off (that would be literal piss offing) at being saddled with a heavy-gauge plastic bag that needs regular draining of urine, blood and sundry other fluids. I observed that “demoralized” is better than “dead by next weekend.”

At least—speaking selfishly—I am or may be granted a few weeks to prepare and address sundry housekeeping details, because death casts an American sinner into the hands of an angry Gov, that we imagined we had months more to sort out. Fortunately many of the “estate planning” details have been frontloaded.

cordially,