The morning news opens with U.S. troops 20 miles outside of Baghdad. Will jokes that they were 20 miles outside of Baghdad last week.

The head of surgery came to see us in Will's hospital room. I am so tired from the worry and the overnight feedings---Chloe is only 6 weeks old. He asked why we wanted this operation. (Why?)   He pointed out that Will has a less than 4% chance of cure. Translation:  96 % chance of dying anyway.  Will looked at him and said today "Well, that's 4% more than I have right now.".  Will had pulled his hospital bed upright and I was half sitting, half lying down   next to him. Part of it was my fatigue. Part of it was to paint a personal portrait. Would the head of surgery at UCLA care that I love this man so much I wanted to sink in to the blankets with desire and hope?

He looked at us and for a moment I thought he was going to take the last shred of  my future away from me. "Okay, I'll authorize the operation".

The journalist in me took over. I lift my head off the hospital bed and asked "why?".

He looked grim. "Because you have the right attitude. Because you just had a baby. You have a lot to live for."