An Apology to my Readers for my Silence

The most important miracle in my new life, my marriage with Ivonne, I've talked about. The second miracle, the medical miracle I discovered that may yet save my life, I have talked about. What I haven't talked about is the terrifying, confusing, hostile, dangerous process of bringing her to live with me in America. I have written a substantial post on the subject, or at least a crackling-good first draft of it, that I had intended to post this week now that the seemingly more dangerous phases have passed.

On the other hand, I have become afraid of my own government and feel caught up in an American system that I truly believe is as hostile to Americans as it is to foreigners and is perfectly capable of doing anything they want to do to me and my family including destroy us. So I can't post about our experience until I feel perfectly free from personal retribution from my own government. If you're thinking I've taken a paranoid turn, believe me, if and when I can tell you about what has happened, and the risks involved, you will understand why this rare condescension to madness is necessary.

So I will remain silent, and I ask for your patience, for one day this year all of the issues will have been settled. Then PERHAPS I will feel free to lay the whole terrifying story out for you.

But the silence just kills me because this blog is about telling the complete and utter truth about everything I write about, and to write about everything of importance relating to battles with cancer and my struggle to gain peace of mind and hold on to it come what may. The struggle I can't write about has done more to undermine my sense of peace than even the cancer, and I want to explain why, because that's what I do: I explain. Without exaggeration. As clearly as I possibly can.

Lately, I have learned the four key answers to all questions from authority: Yes, No, I don't know, or I don't remember. If none of those work, I try, May I have a glass of water?

I chafe at the muzzle. One day, I hope I will feel that Ivonne and I and the children are sufficiently safe that I can talk. Not yet. I am sorry for my lack of courage at this point. This may be the first time in my life I've caved in to fear.