April 5, 2006
Spring was beautiful today – more meadow larks were singing, and the frog’s chorus coming from the wetland down by the huge cottonwood tree rang out over the pasture and into the woods. I had gone in early for the blood draw, and since last week’s reading had shown improvement, and I felt better than I had in the past, I was sure that this draw would signal the continuation of the beginning of a rally. This was not to be. All the counts went down, white blood cells, neutrophils, hemoglobin count, and platelets. By the time I got home I was crying, and I took Alphie for a walk across the bridge and pasture up into the woods. Instead of running off to check out scents as usual, Alphie walked very quietly right beside me listening to me as I asked, “Why do I cry. . . I am in no pain, this day is so fine, why do I cry?” By the time I finished the 23rd psalm
I had come to the west edge of the woods where we watched two hawks sailing overhead and I was calm again. I believe that the dog’s changed behavior in response to my emotions must be why these creatures are so loved. The oncologist called later in the afternoon to give the instructions that I am to have three additional days of Neupogen injections and another blood draw next Monday.
Yet, I feel better. I walk a good deal, and I have had energy to do the cooking, conduct the cooking lessons, and do some things around the house. Charles had his first experience with yeast bread dough in the making of a very credible pizza. I think we were both a bit surprised that the dough seemed to leap up onto his fingers in a sticky mess as soon as he began to handle it, but we will continue to practice until he masters the technique.
So, about the prayers. . . the results of a scientific study attempting to determine whether the prayers of some, any, or all can cure or heal heart disease have been published. They announce that the 2.4 million dollar study shows that prayers did not change anything at all. The implication is that illnesses of all sorts would respond in the same fashion. Of course, the prayers designated included giving instructions “for successful surgery, a healthy recovery and no complications”. It is astonishing that serious folk decided to use one set of tools to measure an entirely different set of circumstances. (“I CAN determine the ingredients needed for this cake using measuring tape and scissors.”) Admittedly, I have engaged in this myself, giving God very specific instructions for taking care of various situations, and as time passes, I am relieved that my limited imagination wasn’t the guiding force of the outcomes.
Measuring the efficacy of prayer by scientific means must surely be like trying to carry the wind in a bucket, and when someone like myself says, “I just know it helps” there is nothing to quantify that statement. It’s like this. When the bully comes (the disease) and says, “So, who’s gonna stop me. . . you and who else?” the reply is “All of us” and instead of standing there alone, a huge company surrounds me, all joined together and very powerful. None of us know the details of the future, but moving forward in hope and trust and supported by an army most certainly makes a difference! 
The book says that labrador retrievers love to fetch above all else, so we have purchased lots of items so designated at the Pet Shop. We bring them home, toss them past our Alphie and shout, “Fetch!” He watches the cute and colorful item pass him by with ill concealed disdain, then goes to the nearest deadfall and yanks and pulls at a very large branch, to the sound of rending and cracking wood. He brings his selection back to us as if to say, “Here, this is what real dogs fetch”. Game’s over, because it is too difficult to toss a four foot long, multi-branched hunk of dead wood any distance to speak of; I fear we are a great disappointment to him in this aspect of his otherwise ideal dog’s life. 
March at Sanctuary ends with an indecisive morning – some clouds, a bit of wind, and lightness along the southern horizon. This day is the 106th day of MDS and we are hopeful in a new way. Hope, to me, has several levels; on the one hand, there is the overarching emotion that speaks of God and ultimate verities. On the other is the hope that has little fizzles of excitement around the edges where the natural impulse to quash (lest the disappointment is too great) doesn’t quite reach. When I went in for the blood draw the day after the completion of the third round of chemotherapy, the white blood cell count had gone up, and the red blood cell count was also higher; it seems significant to us because right after chemo, the cells are stressed out from the therapy. This might indicate some improvement! When I went into the third round of treatment, my white blood cells had gone to .985, hitting a new low. Thursday’s reading was 1.2, an appalling number as the count was on its way down, but now, as we see it again, one which holds promise. (Normal begins at 4.0)
The circumstances of my life are the same since the level of vulnerability to infection has not changed, but now there is the hope that a turn-around might be beginning. We had already had the conversation about not being able to take the trip to Russia in late June, and we have to make final decisions on that venue very soon. We’ll “do the numbers” after next week’s reading and see if there are portents for the future. 
The cooking lessons go on, and Charles has mastered chicken and steak on the grill, steamed vegetables served with lemon and butter, and the top half of home made pizza. Breads are to be tackled next. Charles has a natural inclination to clean up after using each utensil while I have difficulty with this obvious virtue. To me the meal must be served hot at all costs and the kitchen counters can be completely covered with the tools of construction when I serve. While eating at just the right time is grand, getting up post meal and entering a kitchen that has already been cleaned is pretty swell also, so we shall strive toward a middle ground. We have been having merry times dealing together with these matters and the cook book continues to expand.
“Congratulations!” said Charles as we drove away from the oncologist’s office, “last injections for round three. . . we should celebrate!” So we should, but alas, by this time I have picked up some nausea, nasty metallic taste in the mouth, and the kind of general aches that one might associate with flu. Every injection site of the past seven days has remained sore and tomorrow I commence the Neupogin injections. It’s definitely a “Hold the champagne” moment. I did go for a walk through Sanctuary enjoying earth beneath my feet after experiencing snow for a week. Alphie was ahead of me triumphantly carrying the long dead and moldered remains of a raccoon which he somehow unearthed from beneath a cedar tree, and the meadow larks were singing all around along with the many other birds which have resumed their nesting activities. Everything in the meadow and the forest seems pleased with the moisture that has come and life abounds there. 
This past week has been another time of rethinking the future. It stuck me in the predawn hours that how I feel now may be the new “normal”. Already the litany of activities lost is a chant that I have to consciously tune out or I become dreadfully sad. Vicarious enjoyment of friends’ and family travels is enjoyable, true, but a great distance from the actual experiences, the pure fun of teaching little children songs and Sunday School lessons is presently out of reach. . . and on and on. The antidote comes with melody and words – all the years of playing hymns and reading texts have left a gathering of fragments of verses and tunes. Today’s words speak from “There in God’s Garden” (an old text from about 1641 and set to music by K. Lee Scott)