The doctors came in for their daily consultation yesterday with a much more positive report. No more talk of "a few weeks left." While there is no mention of a long term or "survival", they spoke of a possible discharge from the hospital next week. I have apparently responded well to the new chemo I am on -- my blood numbers are good and my enlarged liver has shrunk a little. The result: I feel good, genuinely good -- no pain at all, modest energy, at what I call at ease in my body. Some of this is the steroid, I am sure, and some the Ritalin I am taking. But from whatever the source, I will take the good physical sense of well-being.
I am having a ball writing my letter to my grandkids. The discovery that (a) I can dictate text pretty well, especially stories/memories, and (b) Becky types @90 words a minute, almost without error, has meant that much more gets written each day: I have written 27,000 words over the past five days, while between August and the end of November I wrote about 55,000. This has made possible a delightful entertainment when we have visitors. They sit around informally, I tell stories from the 1960s and 1970s, and Becky types like a maniac. The other day I recounted the story of falling in love with Marcia, surrounded by people -- friends, students, family -- who love me. I found it wonderfully moving and fanciful.
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