Lifestyle
'I wanted to buy her time': A mother looks back on her daughter's terminal cancer
Sarah Wildman and Orli, photographed in early summer 2021. Orli was finishing a second round of chemotherapy after her liver cancer had metastasized when she was asked to participate in a project chronicling the beauty of baldness.
Abby Greenawalt/Sarah Wildman
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Abby Greenawalt/Sarah Wildman
In 2019, Sarah Wildman’s daughter, Orli, was just 10 when she was diagnosed with hepatoblastoma, a rare form a liver cancer. Over the next few years, Wildman chronicled Orli’s illness for The New York Times, where she is a staff writer and editor for the Opinion section.
Wildman’s articles detailed Orli’s bout with several rounds of chemo, a liver transplant, two brain surgeries and a tumor that pinched her spine, leaving her unable to walk. Orli died in March 2023, at the age of 14.
“I thought I understood pain, but she was facing a kind of pain I realized I really had never encountered,” Wildman says. “She would sometimes ask me, ‘What do you think I did to deserve this?’ And of course, that’s not an answerable question.”
Wildman also wrote about the expert medical care Orli received — and the unwillingness of some doctors and nurses to speak openly and realistically about what she was facing. Wildman believes the medical establishment tends to view the death of a child as a failure. As a result, she says, “there is a reluctance to face the idea that medicine has limits. … Children’s hospitals really are always advertising that they will cure children.”
Wildman says that Orli’s illness and death made her question her own Jewish faith: “I had to redefine what God meant to me. It couldn’t be waking up and saying a prayer in the morning or praying for something specific. … I had to really see it in the divinity of people who went out of their way to help us and that weren’t afraid of us.”
Orli would have turned 16 on Jan. 13. To mark the occasion, Wildman and her younger daughter, Hana, spent the weekend doing things that they thought Orli would have enjoyed doing.

“I think one of the really difficult things about facing a parent who has lost a child … is that you cannot make it better. There is no betterment of this,” she says. “What’s easier, though, is when people aren’t afraid of mentioning her name or reminding me of a story or telling me something I didn’t know that she’d told them or that she’d done for them.”
Interview highlights
On interviewing Orli on Instagram
I wanted people to see what it meant to be a kid in cancer care, a really articulate kid, a kid who was really grappling with it and thinking about it and considering it, especially at a time in the mid-pandemic where people were weary of lockdown, really feeling quite sorry for themselves. And what Orli does in that interview, in addition to sort of winning over everyone who watches it, is to sort of realign the way people are thinking about their own sadness, their own sense of isolation, and to show how she was so joyful even during extremely hard experiences.
On the questions Orli and her sister Hana asked that Wildman struggled to answer
At one point we had a very severe experience where Orli ended up in the ICU in Hawaii. We were on a Make-A-Wish trip. It was brutal and terrifying. And Hana said, “Do you think God doesn’t love us?” The kinds of questions that they asked during this really showed my hand, if you will. I was not able to really offer a concrete answer to any of these things. I would say I don’t think that there is a God that is that activist in this way — because there is so much pain around the world and we are experiencing this. But I don’t think it’s about God not loving us. You have to see divinity in the people who are helping us. I would try to turn it into thinking, “How can we see good in the situation?” But sometimes I was really stymied.
On parenting a child with a terminal illness
It really challenged parenting. … I didn’t know how to discipline in this space when all the rules seemed to have been thrown out the window. I didn’t know how to put limits on things. How do you put limits on phone use when you have so little outside interaction? How do you say you have to really focus on algebra when you don’t know actually if any of it will matter? It’s really difficult. And I once said to her, “Well, isn’t it good that we have so much time together, we really get to bond?” And she said, “This is the time I’m supposed to be breaking away from you.” She was hilarious and cynical and tenacious and would often really try to push the boundaries of permissibility when she could.
Orli (third from left) poses with her parents and sister Hana on her 13th birthday in 2022.
Miranda Chadwick/Sarah Wildman
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Miranda Chadwick/Sarah Wildman
On maintaining hope and optimism throughout Orli’s treatment
I think hope can be a form of denial. It can also be a motivating force. It can mean that you do seek out treatments that do give you days, months, maybe even years. I think that the hope is essential because cancer care is grueling. It can be demoralizing to face the consequences of cancer care. It can be the cancer care that itself comes with pain. It comes with nausea. It comes with hair loss. I can come with all sorts of indignities. …
It was brutal because she really tried to live each moment in such an enormous way. She really, really loved living and she would try to make life different in the hospital. I mean, she made every single nurse do TikTok dances with her. She would make the music therapists sing Lizzo and Olivia Rodrigo and Taylor Swift, and she would play Taylor Swift and Lizzo in every operating room. And she had many, many surgeries. She would force people again and again to see her not as a patient, but as a person.
I wanted to give her everything. I wanted to buy her time.
Monique Nazareth and Susan Nyakundi produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.
Lifestyle
OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
Lifestyle
How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
Lifestyle
With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years
On a 75-mile cliff-hugging stretch of highway in California, traffic is way up, despite soaring gas prices. And locals expect the busiest summer in years.
The road is Highway 1 in Big Sur, which reopened in January after three years of repair and reconstruction following a pair of landslides. Drivers can once again embark on the state’s most famous road trip, covering the 100 miles between Cambria to the south and Carmel to the north without leaving the two-lane coastal highway. And they’re heading out in big numbers.
Caltrans estimates that as of May, Big Sur restaurant and retailer guest counts are up 40% from last year, and that northbound traffic at Ragged Point, the southern gateway to Big Sur, has risen 900% year-over-year.
People pose for photos near Bixby Bridge. Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking around the bridge.
Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.
“Take your time,” said Kirk Gafill, co-owner of the popular Nepenthe restaurant and president of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce, offering advice to travelers. “You’re going to be sharing the road with a number of people.”
As travelers rediscover the road, the cost of driving has been shooting skyward. California’s average gas price ($6.11 per gallon as of May 26) is up 26% from the year before. In early April, rates hit $9.99 at the isolated gas station in the Big Sur community of Gorda.
For spring and summer travelers, these numbers would seem to pose a stark question: Stay home and save money, or head for the coast because the road is finally open and it’s still cheaper than flying?
So far, the latter answer is winning big.
Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.
“We are definitely seeing a huge uptick in our reservations,” said Megan Handy, assistant general manager at the upscale Treebones resort. She estimated that bookings are 30% or more ahead of last year, and rates are unchanged since then. But “it’s still not feeling super crowded, which is nice. Everything still feels kind of calm.”
But added traffic has raised some anxiety. On May 19, Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking at Bixby Bridge, one of the region’s top photo spots.
Over the years, the number of cars parking near the bridge — often illegally, sometimes impeding emergency vehicles — has risen. The proposed parking moratorium won’t take effect until the supervisors discuss it further.
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Busy as things are, several business owners pointed out that many international travelers have not yet returned — perhaps because most make their plans more than six months ahead, perhaps because of global politics, perhaps a little of each.
The biggest challenge for businesses during this resurgence? “Restaffing and retaining,” said Handy at Treetops.
At Nepenthe, Gafill said his business has seen a 45% boost in guest volume since the road’s reopening. Gafill said he would have expected a 35% pickup, “simply by virtue of reopening the highway.” The additional 10%, he said, might be “all that pent-up demand,” aided by “a very beautiful and very dry winter,” followed by a mild spring.
A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.
Another possible factor: Nobody can be sure how long the road will remain open.
To cope with the influx of people, Gafill said, “everybody is trying to recruit and retain their existing staff.”
At the Ragged Point Inn, where rates dropped as low as $149 nightly last fall, rates are back over $200 and staffers are suggesting that customers book at least six months ahead. The inn has reopened its snack bar for the first time since early 2023, and management is investing in capital upgrades and staging live music on weekends throughout the summer.
Business “is up over 100%,” said Diane Ramey, whose family owns the inn. “I know not all of our neighbors are having the same lift, but everybody is doing better.”
Traffic approaching Bixby Bridge.
A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.
Even at the New Camaldoli Hermitage, a Benedictine monastery above Lucia, the road’s reopening and coming summer season have made a difference. Bookings are up an estimated 30% at the hermitage, which rent rooms and cottages (for two nights or more) to visitors who agree to its requirement of silence.
Big Sur business owners advise visitors to travel on weekdays for less traffic and the best hotel rates, and to get on the road as early as possible.
Since its opening in 1937, the highway has been vulnerable to landslides and shifting ground, operating on a longstanding cycle of landslide, closure, repair, reopening and then another landslide, or sometimes a fire. The U.S. Geological Survey has identified the Big Sur coastline as one of the most landslide-prone areas in the western United States. The 2023-2026 closure was the longest in the highway’s history.
Over time, road crews have used increasingly sophisticated strategies. In the most recent efforts, Caltrans said, it used drones to help survey the slopes and remotely operated bulldozers and excavators to reduce risks to workers.
During the closure, no traffic was allowed on 6.8-mile span from just north of Lucia until about a mile south of the Esalen Institute. Drivers detoured inland by way of U.S. 101.
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