Well, it's time to bring you an update.

When you last checked in with me, I was playing golf, (which I still do, just not so much anymore), listening to jazz and Rush Limbaugh. I still listen to jazz and Rush. But more often nowadays, it's Dora the Explorer (a quite independent Spanish speaking 6 year old and her best friend Boots the monkey) or Angelina Ballerina (an extremely talented British ballet dancing mouse and her best friend Alice, also a mouse and their ballet teacher Miss Lilly, also... a mouse) or Kipper (...Kipper the dog with his friends Tiger, also a dog; Pig, a pig; and Arnold, a baby pig.) Why, you ask, would I be watching such fare when there are so many other things to watch that would be, let's say, more age-appropriate? That would be something you would have to ask our three year old Princess, Isabella Jude. Born on March 8, 2002, she has made our lives complete. She is truly our own little family's miracle and the most engaging and important news that I have to report.

After the birth of our daughter, another significant event was my "coming out," telling my own story about what happened to me between the months September 1994 and March 1995. If you haven't heard the story yet, I will explain briefly.

During the month of August 1994, I was in Madrid to perform Lindoro in L'Italiana in Algeri at the Zarzuela. During that time, I realized that something was not right and I asked Linda to make an appointment with the doctor when I arrived home. That was late August. By the first week of September, I had had surgery to remove a cancerous tumor and was beginning what was to be five and a half months of chemotherapy. After two more surgeries and a lot of prayers, on February 18, 1995, the doctors pronounced me "cancer free" and we began what was to become an equally daunting challenge: returning to singing. What can I say? Without my faith in God, my family's incredible and unfailing support, and most of all, the steadfast and totally devoted love of the greatest person I know, my wife Linda, I would not be writing this today. That support gave me the strength I needed to combat the fatigue and frustration I faced every day, especially at the end of my cancer treatment. That support and encouragement gave me the ability to overcome the doubts I had, the fears that rumors can create, and the people who said I might not return to work. And certainly not in only a few weeks.

But, contrary to all obstacles, I did return to my work. My first return engagement, Linda and I celebrated Palm Sunday and Easter in Madrid in March, 1995. I returned to performing in only one month after getting the good news of my remission. Yes, I was bald and I was not the picture of health, either. But I was in Madrid - ironically -- and singing Don Pasquale. After that, there was no rest for me, with a full and challenging calendar ahead. I went directly to New York where I sang I Puritani in concert with OONY at Carnegie Hall. Everyone wondered what had happened to my hair and unfortunately, I could not tell them. I chose to keep my illness and recovery private.

Why didn't I tell anyone? I didn't tell anyone because of the prejudice I would have faced having had cancer, even though I didn't have it anymore. In 1995, the "C" word still brought with it a sentence of death: Has cancer = is going to die = no future work.

I hated to be secretive about it. It was a business decision and one with which I was never completely comfortable. However, it became essential in my mind to continue working, so that over time, I could tell my story. My work would be all the proof needed that a cancer survivor could, in fact, return to work in any field and continue a career. I hoped my worries were unfounded, but unfortunately, they were right on the mark. A few General Directors actually admitted to me that, in conversations with colleagues, they were advised not to consider me for future projects because "he has cancer, you know." I never confirmed nor denied the rumors that circulated about my illness. I just continued to work.

In the spring of 2002 and three months after Isabella was born, I required emergency surgery to remove my gall bladder. It unfortunately happened the very day I was to go to New York for the start of rehearsals for Marino Falliero of Donizetti with OONY. After having the surgery, I thought it best to cancel since it could be risky to sing so soon after abdominal surgery. As you might guess, the rumors really flared up again.

Several months later, I consulted my family and business associates, deciding enough was enough. I wanted to tell my story. I needed to speak of my illness openly, so that the rumors would end and I could get on with trying to make this recovery experience a positive example for those who know me. I needed to help others who were perhaps in a similar situation.

It's imperative that we allow those with a critical illness to recover. Our acceptance and belief in recovery will allow people like me to tell colleagues about an illness without the fear that you might lose your job or entirely jeopardize your career. All of us need to make it possible to talk about cancer or any malady like heart disease or AIDS openly and without prejudice, just as we talk about arthritis or a broken leg. People do get well and lead productive lives. My work speaks for itself. And the birth of our daughter Isabella is further proof that cancer survivors do carry on, leading happy and full lives.

It has been ten years since my "good news" and I am happy to report I am still "cancer free". God has given me the privilege to continue singing. And I will continue, with your help and support. I know this is such a cliche, but getting cancer really was the best thing that happened to me, a huge, life-changing experience.

The doctors say I am cured. In my opinion, I have been liberated. I beat cancer...and now I can tell you.