Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

With temperatures in the teens, snow on the ground and on every evergreen tree branch, winter speaks loudly at Sanctuary. The yard is very animated with many birds active around each of the feeding stations because in this cold weather, they must eat nearly their weight in seeds to keep warm. In the mornings, the snowbirds, sparrows, nuthatches, and cardinals are very cautious because the hawk will be coming through right above the ground looking for its breakfast. By noon, the birds are everywhere, cheerfully chattering and moving between the feeders and across the ground, not unlike a busy marketplace, and I know it is because the hawk has selected its meal from among the company, caught it, ate it, and is resting replete on some favorite branch.

Charles purchased a set of bell playing figures at an antique store, and they all strike one of two bells with little wands. . .the whole thing plays thirty five Christmas carols, and the set is charming and delightful – the only difficulty is that we have yet to be able to listen to all thirty five songs; the bells sound amazingly good for their size and shape, but I personally have lasted through just sixteen, and I believe that is about ten more than Charles has been able to tolerate. He usually comes past and shuts the mechanism off saying, “There. Now we’ve got the idea, and I’m sure the grandchildren will love it.” Since there is not a complete listing of the pieces, it may well be that the last ten or so are so beautiful it will bring tears to the eyes, but to date, we may have to let them be discovered by others.

The past days have been a new thing in my life; doing nothing to fight, or even argue, with the cancer in the blood. It would be very nice to pretend that it isn’t there, however, this is not possible because of how I feel. If I have an activity, I will spend the next day in exhaustion and pain. Generally, I find that I am doing less as the days go by, and I do not expect a morning when I will awaken and rise up feeling full of energy and wellness. This is not an easy thing and I have to beat back the darkness. Ultimately, hope is always there and Charles is always strong and positive – so we go forward with the prayer, “Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

With the longest night fast approaching, Alphie and I are out walking as the day awakens; we move through a very quiet Sanctuary with just the red-tailed hawk starting up out of the cedars in the forest as we come past. Then, down by the big cottonwood, the owl usually leaves its perch with reluctance, and perhaps we might see a cottontail rabbit or two, but that is it. We get back to the house before the sun lifts past the horizon so we are out during that time when the night creatures have gone back into hiding and the day creatures are still asleep.

Later in the morning, the front yard becomes the center of activity as birds, rabbits and squirrels vie for food. I have many feeding stations so everyone will get a chance to eat. Unfortunately, the squirrels have read this as a signal to proliferate and take over; this AM there were nine of them. There are many funny stories about people who take up arms against the squirrels and attempt to keep them from bird feeders – and even knowing better, I have now purchased several devices guaranteed to outwit these voracious eaters. The latest is a pan with a grid over it which supposedly invites beaks only – I sat at breakfast bemoaning the sight of an overweight interloper scooping up the seeds as it sat in the middle of the feeder with a half dozen cardinals perched in the branches around it hopefully awaiting their turn. Charles said that I could always get a BB gun and shoot at the squirrels out of the window. (He knows that I would never resort to such tactics, but also that my dear departed father would be sitting there gleefully blasting away with not only a BB gun, but likely a rifle or a shotgun, blowing everything to kingdom come, including the feeders. Admittedly, there is a just a bit of my genetic tracking that does find that attractive.)

“Cold December flies away. . . ” says the hymn, and it is true, perhaps because there is an implied sense of urgency given by the merchants that one must hurry, hurry to acquire all things necessary to properly celebrate Christmas. So far, I have done little more than watch Charles bring in poinsettias and orchids and place them in their holiday configurations. I have gotten some catalogue shopping completed, and my mind has completed the Christmas letter, hosted some grand parties, and baked and decorated good things to eat while my body sits comfortably in the sun. The songs and words of Advent fill the spaces where cards, cookies, soirees, and children’s program preparations used to frantically vie for ascendency. I feel reasonably well and contemplate the coming of Christ and other miracles. . . past, present, and those yet to come.

Yesterday’s visit with the oncologist was different from all the others. This time, the information given was that a clone of cells has figured out how to grow around the Vidaza. Vidaza and the other therapies that control my form of MDS work in the same way; the evil protein is pulled away from the undeveloped white cells, thus permitting them to mature and provide immunities. When these cancer cells become resistant, there is not another known approach that can stop their proliferation. The Revlimid would possibly address the issue in a different manner, however, the side effects are very daunting, and we all agreed that the therapy would be a long shot with no guarantees of any success. The doctor said that he brought it up because he wanted us to know of its existence should we wish to try it. He is going to a large conference where blood cancers will be specifically addressed, and he said he would be checking out all information in hopes of finding anything that might work for me.

The plan going forward is to keep checking the blood every two weeks and to treat symptoms as they occur. If and when the red blood counts drop below the acceptable level, there are orders for blood transfusions. My ANC (absolute neutrophil count) is presently at 0.8, and at 0.5 or lower, neutropenia becomes an issue. This can be treated by the Neupogen injections, however, it appears that my stem cells are not replicating themselves either, and in the absence of healthy stem cells, the Neupogen doesn’t have anything to work with in calling forth more white blood cells.

Written out like this, the whole condition looks daunting but there are always possibilities in the future. It could be that on this very day, a breakthrough has taken place; I feel quite confident that Christmas and New Year’s will have my physical presence in this house – on my walk this morning I contemplated miracles and I thought, “Why not?” Perhaps there will be many days before me here in this beautiful place, or perhaps not. Every living thing must die and humanity is no exception. All those words and thoughts about God and creation and salvation and grace that have been woven into my life from my earliest remembering shape and inform how I think about what happens after death. My heaven still evokes images of a clear day in southern California under old growth trees and viewing the ocean.

This morning when we came back past the pond toward the house, I heard the cry of a red tail hawk sounding quite near, but not as loud as usual. I stopped and looked for the source, and a blue jay was sitting in the cedar doing a fine job of imitating the far larger bird. I have no idea how or why, but it added an interesting footnote to the morning. So it is. . . always, I return to the “now”. Alphie lies here next to me hopeful that I will soon take him out to walk around Sanctuary and Charles just came back from teaching to announce that it is time to check out a Christmas tree and decorations. C’est la vive.

Oh, to be able to sing like that! To fling out my voice and have the neighbors who live several blocks away say, “There she goes again. . .the birds are all flying over here and the deer are fleeing as well”. Those were the kinds of huge voices that we heard last week at the Lyric Opera in Chicago in the presentation of “Die Frau Ohne Schatten” (The Woman Without a Shadow). This is a Richard Strauss opera that has fantastic music and a libretto that has to have been written by someone whose imagination was more than a little odd. (One can get the entire story on the web page of the Lyric Opera) The opera had gotten stellar reviews in the newspapers, and the huge orchestra made the music shimmer and shout. . . it was grand! There were however, unintended humorous moments – for example, the emperor (with the incredible tenor voice) came from the upper world to the human world on a life-sized white horse frozen in mid-stride with tail flying and one hoof suspended ready to gallop away. He descended from above, a journey of about thirty feet to the stage floor, and as he came, the horse swayed back and forth and you could see the death grip the man had on the guy wires while trying to look heroic and sing at the same time. One could easily imagine the conversation that took place prior to the event. . . “You want me to do what!!??” And so forth. The other event that drew unintended spontaneous laughter was the slow appearance of the ideal male from a well in the center of the stage. The dyer’s wife was being tempted by the other-worldly women who were trying to snatch her shadow and after describing her husband as uncouth and unworthy in glorious song, they attempted to seduce her with the ultimate male. He came up painted in a gold sheen and with a typical body builder’s body all abs and such and draped in a golden loincloth. While he stood there, arms folded and trying to look like the absolute beginning and end of male desirability, for some reason, we all began to giggle and laugh even while thinking, “Oh dear, this is not supposed to be funny”. Ah, but the music! It truly was a lovely, memorable evening.

We had uneventful travels last week, flying to Chicago and our daughter’s home on Sunday afternoon and coming back on Thanksgiving Day thus avoiding both the greater intensity of traveling people and an excess of turkey centered eating. Home looked wonderful even though there is now a dusting of snow; we left in autumn and returned in winter. We picked up an ecstatic Alphie yesterday and our life has now resumed its usual pace.

The fire burns nicely in our stove as I look out at a wintry afternoon sky – next week decisions will be made about the near future. To use a cliché, I believe I am between a rock and a hard place vis a vis viable options. As I said before, the chemotherapy that has worked seems to be at an end, and the options are to go on with a different type of treatment that is not a first choice or to do nothing. The outcomes are unknown in either case, so I choose to sit and think about supper and recycling catalogues and other mundane things. It seems that sanity lies in the calm moments – it is enough to say as early darkness comes, that this November 24th was a good day. Thanks be to God.