November 3, 2007
When I was gone, the leaves fell from many of the trees, but the weeping willows, born in Wisconsin and called “very hardy” still hang on to their fronds of green leaves. They look unnatural in the gathering of the other willows around them, where the wind comes through the bare branches with the winter’s sound that makes the mind turn to snug rooms with lovely fireplaces and catalogues of Christmas things to consider. In this season, the deer are becoming increasingly vulnerable because the fields of beans and corn are harvested, removing both food and shelter, just as the hunting season intensifies from bow and arrow to guns everywhere. We have a small herd of nine deer, most of them appearing to be quite young, and likely not clever enough to stay inside the forty acres where there is both shelter and safety. Our neighbors and ourselves watch them move from pond to pasture and into the plum copses for shelter. They are such beautiful creatures, and we wish them well.
After coming home from the hospital, the plan was a continuation of Neupogen shots until my neutrophil numbers stood at 10.00. (This number is really a reduction of thousands, and are read in comparison to where they are now). Since it is not desirable to continue the Neupogen shots unnecessarily because they are forcing the stem cells to produce white blood cells, I had a CBC (complete blood count) taken each day with the intent of stopping the Neupogen the moment I reached the 10.00. Unfortunately, after 18 injections, the count didn’t increase significantly, and today, it dropped back from 2.4 to 1.4. Apparently, the healthy stem cells are unable to do any more after the illness of last week, so the decision was made to stop the shots and the CBC’s and wait and see if the stem cells might begin to make a comeback after a rest. Meanwhile, the counts are likely to go down, and I will return to being neutropenic, which means totally without immunities. I am already below normal in counts and the future becomes ever more tenuous. There is a true sense of relief that the needle and I will no longer be keeping such close company but also a sense of time running out. Today Charles and I had the conversation about whether or not it would be kinder to die suddenly in an accident or to have this long and slow dance toward life’s conclusion. We agreed that while the latter is hard, and sometimes very dark and heavy, we must always choose life – and as has oft been said, where there is life, there is hope. We could not do this without faith built on a lifetime of experiences that have been filled with lovely and good gifts from God. We have had music and celebrations and countless delights from splendid children to the occasional lovely rainbow that stands across the sky, unasked for and magical.
O God beyond all praising, we worship you today
and sing the love amazing that songs cannot repay;
for we can only wonder at ev’ry gift you send,
at blessings without number and mercies without end:
We lift our hearts before you and wait upon your word,
we honor and adore you, our great and mighty Lord.
The flow’r of earthly splendor in time must surely die,
its fragile bloom surrender to you, the Lord most high;
but hidden from all nature the eternal seed is sown-
though small in mortal stature, to heaven’s garden grown:
for Christ, your gift from heaven, from death has set us free,
and we through him are given the final victory.
— Tune: THAXTED by Gustav Holst Text: Michael Perry