March 14, 2006
When the phone rang yesterday morning, and I answered it, the woman on the line said, “Hello, Mrs. Ore, how are you today?” I croaked in response, “Not at all well.” She had called for some information, unaware that I might be unwell, and it reduced her to “Oh dear’s” and “I’m so sorry’s.” A cheerful response to the “How are you” inquiry is almost a requirement to social congress, but yesterday I was miserable. My cold had added aches and coughs to the deep weariness, and my spirits were so depleted that when our daughter Janna asked on the telephone what we would be doing for the day, and Charles listed his activities, then mine, (“umm, well, your mother is going to be calling the doctor. . . “) I began to cry. A Monday morning, and my total output would be dialing the telephone! There is relief all around that I am not running a fever, and my instructions are to drink fluids in great abundance, plus treat other symptoms with “over-the-counter”. When the nurse said, “Now if you cough up blood, or the pain in your lungs becomes worse, be sure and call” I just stood with my head against the wall and thought, “misery, but as usual, it could be worse.”
I am not sure the physical is much improved today, but the spirits are stronger again. Perhaps it is like the sagging arms of Moses as the struggle goes on. . . and the gathering of thoughts and prayers are like Aaron and Hur’s holding them up until the sun sets and the battle is won. On this day, with my supervision, Charles is going to bake a birthday cake for Janna who arrives tomorrow to spend two days with us.