Other than my invention of Ruth, the most dramatic divergence between the fictional Robert Apter and the real-life Walter Freeman II is the end of his career. In the mid-1950s, lobotomy lost popular support in the medical community, and the antipsychotic drug chlorpromazine （Thorazine） began to replace it as the preferred treatment at hospitals. Freeman, who had already lost his standing at Georgetown and left his post at Saint Elizabeths, moved to California, where he performed lobotomies until 1967, when he finally lost his license after a patient died from a brain hemorrhage following a second lobotomy. Like Robert, Freeman was obsessed with tracking his former patients, and after losing his license, he spent the remainder of his life traveling to visit them. He died of cancer in 1972.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I reach this point in the manuscript （the part most readers skip over） with intense emotion. I feel gratitude to so many for supporting and enabling me to write this book. My very own actual novel!
Since my journey as a novelist began at the Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College, I’ll start by thanking my first-ever writing teachers: Annabel Monaghan, a terrific writer and all-around superstar who is incredibly hilarious and gives the world’s best comments; Ines Rodriguez, who helped me move from a story I was stuck on finishing to one that was secretly inspiring me; Dan Zevin, the master of humor, who taught me how to write about my personal life and make it funny, so that I could write fiction about more serious things; and, especially, Eileen Moskowitz Palma. You galvanized my journey with the simple sentence: “I think this book will get you an agent.” You helped me decide when to stop taking your class and just write, and met me with your constant smile to make sure I was doing it. To my first writing group: Candace, Claire, Elise, Lea, Lexy, Mauricio, and Rachelle, you suffered through some uncomfortable sex scenes and a mediocre manuscript before this one, yet you always gave support and feedback with snacks and smiles; and to my subsequent SLC crew: Alexis, Autumn, Susie, and Christine, with whom I attacked my imposter syndrome and began to feel like a “real” writer.
My amazing, levelheaded, supportive agent, Kathy Schneider at JRA, who saw something in this book and took a chance before the first draft was even done. You and Hannah Strouth have been such careful and thoughtful readers and unwavering advocates. And, damn, you write excellent promotional copy. Jodi Warshaw and the whole team at Lake Union, thanks for believing in a first-time novelist with a quirky story and working so hard to bring it out into the world. Tanya Farrell and the team at Wunderkind PR, thank you for shaping my “author brand” and doing your best to make sure anyone and everyone knew about this book.
Nicola Weir, you brought the critical eye that I needed to break open my manuscript and figure out how to properly weave the braid of Ruth, Robert, and Margaret into an actual novel. I am certain that The Lobotomist’s Wife would not exist without your help.
If this were the Oscars, they’d be playing the “get off the stage” music already. But I’m not done.
One of the unexpected “gifts with purchase” of becoming a novelist is the incredible community of women writers who have supported and welcomed me so warmly. Elise Hooper for my very first blurb, Rochelle Weinstein （my BFF before we have even met in person）， Lea Geller and the whole Lake Union family for embracing me as one of your own, and especially Susie Orman Schnall—you named this book at our meet-cute, and you have been so full of support and advice all along the way; I don’t think I would have made it through this process without you.
To my besties who held me up and cheered me on: Carrie, Dom, Jessica, Karen, Liz, Melanie, Stephanie, and Shelby （my secret agent, publicist, and number one cheerleader）。 I feel blessed to have so many incredible women in my orbit.
To my family readers and supporters: Elaine, Patti, Doug, Julia, Amy, Joey, Kelly, Alana, and Mark. You asked great questions, devoured early drafts, and just made me feel good about what I was attempting to accomplish.
Dad and Steven, how did I get lucky enough to have both a dad and a stepdad who are excellent copyeditors? Thank you both for your careful critical reads and honest feedback. And, Dad, I forgive you for sharing the manuscript even when it was “top secret”—I know it just means you are proud of me, and that means the world.