Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

After three days of the seven in this round of Chemotherapy, the treatment has taken my body of last week and replaced it with an old, tired, aching model complete with sore mouth, stomach cramps and nausea. As I have mentioned, each round affects me differently, and this one is fierce. Because of bleeding at the injection sites, I have already moved from the arms to the abdomen. I am always studying the information available about MDS, and wondering how I can avoid all of the above; the oncologist patiently explained once again that the treatment deals only with the condition since its cause is still a complete mystery. He said that in his entire time of practice, this is the first therapy (other than the stem cell transplant which is not an option for me) that has stopped the progression of the disease for any length of time. Then I inquired if perhaps the Vidaza had moved me from the initial diagnosis of MDS, RAEB-T (the most severe classification of the five levels of the illness) to level four perhaps, since the cells no longer appear to be in transition. He determined that I should gather my questions and see the doctor at the Med Center in Omaha and visit about the future and the options there. He said that while he studied all of the forms of cancer that he dealt with in his practice, he was seeing patients throughout the spectrum and at the Med Center I would be visiting with someone whose focus was just MDS.

Meanwhile, spring arrived at around 8:00 PM last night, and sure enough, a south wind came up after midnight and we awakened to 56 degree temperatures before sunrise. The entire day before had been cold and gray so at this hour, we are about thirty degrees warmer than yesterday at the same time. The plants in the ground must surely be confused. “Up!” “No, wait, too cold.” “Hurry, it’s summer. . . and so forth” The frogs are singing in the wetland bog down by the big cottonwood tree and the robins have started their morning chorus in earnest, so winter is certainly over; now we will see if hot dry days will come too soon. I can easily imagine the ticks and mosquitoes and gnats stirring from within their secret winter hideouts and preparing for a long and lovely feast of summer. The little wood violets should be appearing any day and daffodils and crocus will be showing up as well. This time of awakening is always such a joy to behold – it almost compensates for living in a place sans the extravagant beauty of oceans, mountains, palm and hibiscus trees and other lovely things in far away places.

(Next entry: March 26)

We have just returned from a lovely interlude in Sarasota, Florida where the developments have gone out in ever widening circles from the coastal city and into the swamplands. We stayed at a gated golfing community in a lovely condo as guests of friends who are staying there for the month of March. Waterways (which were really drainage ditches taking the water out of the wetlands) were running through the development with golf courses planned next to them; there were screens on the windows and doors and the insects meant that even in this very sanitized community, there was a lively presence of bird life. Our favorite sights were the sand hill cranes that elected to remain in Florida instead of joining the thousands now congregating on the Platte River here in Nebraska. They strolled along right next to us on the sidewalks, using their very long beaks to dig trenches in the grass as they sought out the grubs there. It was a fine experience to stay a little distance inland from the Gulf waters because there one could sense the land – if the humans would leave the space for even a short time, I am certain the swamp flora and fauna would come forth again and reclaim their spaces.

Sarasota proper was a delight to visit with expanses of beautiful water and incredibly fine white sand beaches to walk upon. We spent time at the John and Mabel Ringling estate that featured a large museum of art and buildings displaying circus memorabilia in addition to the original home. The house faced out over the bay, and its finest feature was the terrace between the structure and the water; the interior and its contents were marvels of lavish bad taste, but the place was definitely a “must see” because John Ringling was so central to the development of the community. Now this Florida city is a center of culture and fine arts with first class theatre, opera and concerts of all kinds.

Here at Sanctuary we find upon our return that in this short time there has been a greening of the land. Spring is approaching through weather that resembles a wildly swinging compass needle. . . there will be a day or two of 70 degree temperatures, then cold weather with a bit of snow, then back again to summer like weather. A nice, lengthy and gentle spring is a rare gift and so far, it hasn’t settled into anything of the sort.

I begin the next round of Chemo on Monday if the schedule is as it has been laid out, and we will visit with the oncologist to see how to go forward. Once again, I am just at the point where I feel really well, and it is very difficult to imagine that I have an illness that requires such draconian measures. The fantasy is that this is all a terrible mistake and I will walk away, and just keep walking because I will stay well and life will go on just as it did before December 16, 2006.

(Next entry: March 21, 2007)

Blood is good, eye is fantastic, and spring is coming! The red-winged blackbirds have sent their scouts, and since their appearance at the bird feeders indicates that they find the accommodations to be acceptable, the rest will be here soon. Meadow larks and finches have joined the cardinal’s morning songs and for just a little while, Sanctuary will be as fine as any tourist destination. (Post snow and ice, pre ticks and mosquitoes) Alphie runs through the pasture and every corner of the forest tail up, nose down, and radiating delight. When he can make a pheasant fly from its hiding spot, or chase a rabbit out from under an Austrian pine his morning is sublime. The walks are ever new and interesting in his company.

Time goes so quickly when it is lived in this peculiar frame of eight weeks; in just eleven days, the cycle begins again. Usually by this time I have almost forgotten the reality of living with cancer, and the necessary procedures that keep it at bay. The terribly wounded veterans that have returned from the Iraq war are on my mind a lot because I think that I am whole in ways that they will never be again, and they have many years before them. God’s gifts of a sound body and mind are so fine and doing life from within them is such a blessing – the prayers go on that somehow we can figure out how to celebrate this without destroying it for so many. I am repeatedly thankful that I am given new mornings and days to enjoy all the good things that are mine – to springtime, to Sanctuary, to LIFE!

Yesterday morning we awakened to find that the night snows and winds had transported us to the enchanted kingdom of the Snow Queen. Every branch and stem had a covering of snow and the house and garden became a part of a place where shape and design defined everything. When Alphie and I walked across the pasture and into the forest, the wind was still at work pushing and pulling the wet snow into new patterns with a fierce determination. Roads and schools were closed and the usual human activities had to be set aside for the day. Now, as I look out the front windows, the snows and winds are making a final statement with moments of near white out conditions. The birds are very busy at the feeders in spite of the wind and snow – these are times when they must eat and eat to withstand the long and cold nights.

I had the cataract removal and lens implant surgery this morning and all went well. The local hospital had a very efficient team preparing six of us for the operations that would take place at half hour intervals. I was the second one of the morning, and the day began for me at 7:10 AM when I was led into a room divided by curtains. The usual paper work ensued, with my assurances that I had fasted since midnight and all insurance cards were recorded while my blood pressure, temperature, etc., were taken. I could hear everything that was taking place next to me where the first patient of the day was getting prepared. Thus I knew the steps that would soon be taken with myself as well. . .first, the placement of the IV, then the injection of the medication which would cause one to become less than alert, “Now, off to La La Land!” I heard the nurse announce gaily to the unseen person lying quite near. I had already established that it was an older man since I heard the name and reading of the birth date as listed on the wrist identification band and I noted that he didn’t begin to giggle or become “la la –ish” and that was a relief. Then the conversation indicated an injection into the side of the head to deaden, and dilation of the eye. After I was given the initial shot, I didn’t feel any of the following actions.

I knew that I was wheeled into the operation room where I had a tube of oxygen taped on, and a heavy plastic covering placed over my face entirely with just the left eye exposed. The removal of the cataract and the lens implanting took place without any feeling though I could hear the conversation of the doctor and the nurses. They spoke of their teen children taking the ACT tests, the scores, the career plans and the parental hopes for them. There was a great deal of color during the procedure; first, very bright purple dots appeared in a circular pattern that danced about and then disappeared to be replaced by swirls of bright yellow which looked like banners moving briskly in a wind. I heard a sound that resembled a small drill but I felt no pressure or vibration of any kind so it wasn’t at all daunting. In a very short time, the doctor announced that the operation was complete. The sheet was removed, and an eye patch was taped over the eye. This patch is not black and mysterious but actually resembles a feminine hygene product covering the better part of the left side of my face. It is in place now and I am to wear it until tomorrow morning when it will be removed and the eye will be examined. I begin taking eye drops of antibiotics and steroids in order to ward off infection. These will continue for several weeks. I believe that this surgery may be yet another miracle with the possibility of 20/20 vision, something I have never experienced without glasses as I have been near-sighted since early childhood. How blessed we are to live at a time when these things are possible!