My dad recently discovered he had prostate cancer. It was “low grade” and slow-growing. More men die with this sort of thing than of it. Among his choices: watch and wait, or get radiation treatment, or just cut the whole thing out. He chose the latter, and on Monday afternoon, he had his prostate removed. Five little incisions, and a robot cuts the gland up and removes it. Sounds like science fiction. The surgery went smoothly, but the blizzard and some car trouble almost kept him from getting home yesterday. He made it eventually thanks to my brother-in-law. I just talked to Dad on the phone, and he said he’s hobbling around like a 105-year-old man and he looks terrible and the pain is starting to kick in — but in spite of all that he seemed in pretty good spirits. The flowers we sent arrived, just in time for Valentine’s Day. Get well soon, Dad!