Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

Now we are having the “perfect days” of September; with many gold and purple wild flowers and the Monarchs still in the forest. I counted 44 of them as I walked through the trees, then I remembered the statistics printed in the Lincoln Journal about older peoples’ “death by falls” and started to look down again. The far-fetched hope is that should I trip and injure myself out there, Alphie the good will either gently drag me home by the coat collar or go and get help. More realistically, I likely should carry the cell phone as Charles sternly and frequently advocates.

I received the last injection of the ten Neupogen shots yesterday, so now I am once again “in full remission”. I feel wonderful and have big plans for the rest of September and the month of October. They include some entertaining, starting two of the granddaughters in piano lessons and accompanying Charles to California for a hymn festival that he is presenting at Concordia University, Irvine.

Alphie is off to reform school for the month of October. I believe, using the measure of seven years of dog to one year of human, he will be receiving the equivalent of about nine months of higher education. This dog is a mixture of great sweetness and appeal and moments of “Oh dear, this isn’t working, is it?” Now over a year and four months of age, his great size and energy coupled with a wild exuberance must be gotten in hand. It’s difficult to say gaily, “Oh, he’s such a pup!” as you are being whipped up and down at the end of the leash while gazing down at a former friend lying there wiping muddy paw prints off nice jeans. After reading many books about dogs and their wants and needs, we have concluded that Alphie needs a teacher who knows more than we do. Mike, the trainer, has gotten acquainted with our dog because we board him at his kennel. He tells us that he feels Alphie is very intelligent and strong, and also very trainable. He told us that he will need two weeks and then we will come and work with him and Alphie so that we will know how to go forward. I truly foresee a lovely future for all of us. Stay tuned.

Today I am feeling much better – the nausea was gone quite suddenly; after viewing food with a lackluster eye for ten days, I woke up in the morning and found myself thinking about recipes and good things to eat. Now I just have five more days of the Neupogen injections and life will be back to full remission mode once more. The other unpleasant side effects have also receded and I am again thankful and filled with good cheer. The words of encouragement sent my way were a great help. I met an acquaintance yesterday who shared her story of breaking ribs and the subsequent lengthy healing process. . . all happening outside of my awareness. It occurred to me that almost every person I meet in each day likely has a burden of some weight being carried behind the “Fine, thank you” response given to the “Hello, how are you”. For me, it is so very fortunate that others come forward to provide the strength of community love and care.

Quiet rains came today. So often, the moisture over our part of Nebraska must be wrenched out of the clouds by electricity and winds and violent contentions in the skies, but the recent gifts of water have come sedately falling straight down. It seems as though nothing can rejoice more greatly than the plants and earth accepting the rain – the scents are rich and wonderful and the drops of moisture resting on each leaf and flower shine even without the encouragement of sunlight. A reminder that this isn’t quite paradise is the presence of many mosquitoes waiting for lunch, dinner, whatever. One always wonders how these insects slipped into the creation sequence. Their numbers appear to be greatest around the bird feeders so I suppose they are taking advantage of the ready supply of warm blood that flies in.

Blue jays appear to awaken to the new days yelling and squawking; as I walk Sanctuary at sunrise, those are the largest bird sounds that I hear. There are also quiet chirpings in the plums as I pass by, as the more refined members of the community begin their day, but the jays are out there screaming for their breakfast or pointing out nighttime indiscretions – who knows? These days are perfect with good blue skies and lovely cloud patterns; the wild flowers are blooming in the pasture and there are spiders constructing perfect pizza-sized webs in the tall grasses. Yesterday the Monarch butterflies came to the forest on the hill, flittering around the pines in greater numbers than I have seen for a number of years. They are an inspiration – if these fragile types can make it to Mexico, I figure I can make it to next week.

The last round of Chemotherapy was perhaps the hardest I have gone through. I still have nausea and bruises from the shots, aching limbs and weariness. Hardest to deal with is that I felt good going in, with remission in place and good blood counts – now I must continue nine more days of the Neupogen shots to rebuild white blood cells that the chemotherapy did in. Since there is such an element of the unknown concerning the future, I wish for the absolute insight that will tell me how best to go forward. (In life, wouldn’t that be great – that vision in the night that tells all? All those years ago the psalmist said, “Show me your ways, Lord, and make them known to me!”) I do not have to do the Chemotherapy – ultimately it is my choice and many chose not to go on with it because it is so unpleasant. On the other hand, the good days of summer were great, and planning autumn activities with Charles is lovely – my present intent is to visit with the Oncologist and see if perhaps the next series of remedial chemo could be delayed until it is absolutely clear that it is the best and most reasonable choice to make. I too make the request, “Show me your ways, Lord” and though I have never had the vision in the night I trust that in good time, the correct path will become evident.

Just one more day of injections! I am always taken aback by how difficult the whole exercise becomes as each day advances. I started the week feeling reasonably well, and every morning I have felt worse due to the chemical wash directed toward the bone marrow. By yesterday evening I called daughter Heidi so I could whimper and whine. “Tell me why I am doing this since my blood counts were normal!” I said, and she kindly replied that I should remember that I am in control of the choice to go through the seven days or not, though her understanding was that without this treatment, the blood cells would be inclined to throw out the useless blasts once again, and therein lay the path to terminal illness. Of course she was right, and of course I knew it well, but it helped to hear her say it. Remission has meant feeling well and forgetting about the enemy within; this brings everything back again. It is as though I must pay a periodic toll to traverse the path into the future. The discipline required to do this means I must remember the lovely days of the recent summer past as well as how beautiful autumn can and will be if my body is once again “normal”. And yes, I am grateful to experience the wonder of remission and I am thankful that there is more to come.