Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

For me, faith needs to be considered and regarded daily. It seems to change shape and form constantly because it encompasses so much that is unseen. There are the hints and reminders of a creating and sustaining God that one finds in nature. . . the sight of newly designed sunrises and ever changing cloud forms, the sounds of season changing winds and supportive rains falling and always, right overhead, the mystery of the stars and the universe. There are the touches of angels in the smiles and words of dear ones around a person, in the thoughtfulness of friends and nurses and doctors and good people. How this is perceived is held inside of each person’s own mind, and here it is that the conversation with God is heard. I think it is easy to understand “pray without ceasing” because God is so present.

This last week has been one in which I have thought about living in faith a great deal. My visit to my primary care doctor ended with a friendly admonition to take care, wash hands, avoid children, school settings and church because they would be the most dangerous places to pick up infections for which I have no defenses. I left knowing that two dear granddaughters would be arriving for a stay of several days, and that my weekly worship experience would need to continue – Charles always has new and wonderful music that wraps the hymn texts and readings in beautiful sound colors, and I go forward refreshed. But then I frequently get sick for a day or more, and my circle of life is pulled “out of round”. It was that way last weekend, too, but my contemplations of living in faith lead me to think that life has to be lived and I must not fear the outcomes.

The children were wonderful and bright and full of enthusiasm for all the things that Sanctuary had to offer them. They were delighted with every flower, butterfly, spider, frog, damsel fly and bird, but most of all they were delighted with Alphie. While standing on the roof, they blew bubbles and watched them catch in the treetops; we made chocolate ice cream and dried wild flowers in the microwave and always, there was Alphie to feed, pet, brush and be the object of much attention and conversation. Now they are back home and we are returning to our long breakfasts with good coffee and crosswords.

Listening to the cries of “change!’ that are coming from the political camps, it seems as though the weather over Sanctuary has decided to respond with a day of wonderful rain and a surprising number of yellow leaves falling to the ground. The migrating oriole that I mentioned in last year’s blog was sitting on the tree in the southwest corner of Sanctuary again. I do wonder if it is the same bird, or son of last year’s oriole following in its preprogrammed path toward a place the orioles know about in some part of their tiny brains. . . it is one of the lovely mysteries of nature. Life goes on. Thanks be to God.

Last Friday’s meeting with the oncologist did not provide us with any new revelations. “Suspended animation” was one term the doctor used, though that does bring up images of God pushing the cosmic “Pause” button. There are three markers in the blood that give on-going information concerning the status of the MDS. They are the levels of white blood cells (providing immunities), red blood cells (carrying oxygen about the system and giving energy for living) and platelets (keeping the blood from seeping out of the cells and also clotting as needed). In my case, both the red blood cells and the platelets are holding right inside the normal ranges, while the white blood cells are very slowly decreasing. In discussing another course of chemotherapy, the doctor said that it wouldn’t change much from the status quo, since the best it could do would be possibly increasing the red cell count and the platelets, neither of which are in need of increasing, and it would completely wipe out the few white blood cells that I presently have.

I have mentioned before that the state of one’s immunities is measured by computing the ANC, or Absolute Neutraphil Count, derived by multiplying the number of white blood cells by the percentage of neutraphils present in the blood. These numbers are in the thousands, but for practical purposes, they are recorded in accessible numbers, i.e., my white blood count is at 1.47 (normal for women begins at 4.5) and the percentage of neutraphils is 27% (normal begins at 40%). This results in an ANC of 400, with anything below 500 considered not good at all. This means that ultimately, there will be a germ or virus that will enter my system and wreak havoc without any defenses available. We discussed my fatigue, aches and pains, and it was determined that some of that could be the result of depression caused by facing this unknown and living in a constant state of anxiety. (One could leave the world of people, I suppose, and become like Howard Hughes, with all the weirdness of that, but to what end?)

So I will go on with a plan. It will be to conquer the depression and anxiety bit. I wash my hands constantly, and today I am off to see a physical therapist who works with cancer victims in hopes of developing more strengths in the physical self than those that I have have from walking Alphie every day. I ask myself, “What are you afraid of?” and the answer is “Being sick”.

A little story – I asked John-paul if he remembered when he thought Alphie was a bit crazed because of the wildness in his creaturely behavior. “Just look at him now”, I remarked, looking at the great rug of a dog lying in front of the kitchen sink, “talk about mellow!” “Yes”, said John-paul, “he has been lobotimized by love”. I say, “Not a bad way to go”.

meadowlark by Jeope Wolfe
This morning a heavy mist gave the sunrise a wonderful appearance, and sounds were magnified all around. We heard the rooster that lives several neighbors away crowing into the morning, and Alphie seemed to be listening with extra care. The meadow lark was singing, as was the field sparrow, but otherwise the birds of Sanctuary were mostly silent . . . I was reminded that they really do have a purpose in their song other than providing us with delight, and in this season, territories are not an issue for many species. Now the meadow and forest belong to the spiders with hundreds of webs woven over and between the grasses and appearing unexpectedly across the path between the trees. I carry a small branches which I hold in front of my face or I must deal with spider threads in eyebrows and teeth. As I near the road, I make sure that others do not see me so equipped because I would not wish passersby to conclude that I am going “funny”.

My energy has begun to sag in recent days; moving my body through space feels as though the molecules around me are heavy and there is no lightness in my being. “Up, get up!” instructs the mind, and the physical self reluctantly moves. We meet with the oncologist on Friday of this week. How life proceeds is much on my mind – hopefully information and wisdom will meet and the direction will be clear . . . it seems that there are two options available – more Chemotherapy or let life go on to its conclusion without attempting another intervention.

God who made the earth and heaven, darkness and light:
you the day for work have given, for rest the night.
May your angel guards defend us, slumber sweet your mercy send us,
holy dreams and hopes attend us all through the night.

And when morn again shall call us to run life’s way,
may we still, what-e’er befall us, your will obey.

Guard us waking, guard us sleeping, and, when we die,
may we in your mighty keeping all peaceful lie.

— text: Reginald Heber
— tune: All Through The Night “Ar Hyd Y Nos” (Welsh)

Many people from many places have repeatedly told me that I am in their thoughts and prayers. I have been aware of this support that cannot be seen, and it does provide me with a shield and cushion. If people tell you that they pray for you, or send you good energy, believe it and be thankful. . . it is another powerful weapon in the battle that requires everything that you have.