June 15, 2010
In a place that is usually quite sedate, there is nothing quite so fine as the sound of nine year old girls’ voices and their light, quick footsteps as they move through the house. “Life” as adventure and classroom and discovery is displayed and all of us are having a fine time together. Alphie stays nearby because more petting and brushing are likely to occur, and he never misses such an opportunity for attention. It feels like true summer at last.
Appetite: definition – “An instinctive physical desire, especially one for food or drink. A strong wish or urge.” A lifetime lived, and it never crossed my mind that one could reach the point where appetite is gone and the need for sustenance becomes a chore rather than a fine part of living. Food has slowly evolved from tasting strange through no taste at all to a distaste for the act of eating – though the medications have helped to make some things edible, there is something that says, “I can’t do this” and it becomes impossible to eat. Imagine! My sense of smell is still quite functional, but I have read that as my disease progresses, metabolism decreases. I had a blood transfusion last Friday and its effectiveness was not as grand as was hoped. This also bears a message about the status of the cancer.
After years with AML, it appears to be growing more quickly now, intent on destruction, like the heavy vines that completely cover the wild roses and plums and take away their lives in a season’s time. The cancer cells are wrapping around immature blood cells and sending them into the bloodstream, useless and using up space. As they proliferate, less and less blood is available to sustain me. My appetite for life is also affected – there is less energy available and I can feel the color leaching out of my thoughts and behaviors. I told Charles that I hoped his memories would be taken from the times in our past when I brought more to everything, and he assured me that a great deal of that was “unforgettable”. (The fervor in his voice made me consider that not every memory will be adorned with rainbows while harmonious music sounds in the background.)
So we go on here at Sanctuary. . . living, growing, dying. It is much the same everywhere, but as we live out the days we define them by our own experiences. Otis Young’s best loved benediction calls out from its place of honor on the front of the refrigerator, “Go forth in peace – and in the strength that God supplies. Surrender your anxious cares to God and find your joy in serving others. The grace of God revealed in Jesus Christ and ministered to you by the Holy Spirit go with you.” Otis had the good fortune of a seemingly quick transition from earth to heaven, dying on a cold morning after flinging snow off his sidewalks, but his words remain to comfort those of us who continue the journey. C’est la vie.