February 20, 2007
The intense cold remains with us in spite of the sun shining for more minutes each day. My preparation for the morning’s walk has been the same for many weeks now. I begin with woolen leotards, heavy cord trousers, turtleneck, woolen sweater, fleece jacket and woolen coat with a fleece neck warmer pulled up over my nose, and a black stocking cap on top of that. I pull on mittens lined in fur, and finish off with an extra pair of socks inside fleece lined hunting boots. When I am finished I look like an large popsicle with moving feet. Alphie sits patiently and watches the entire assemblage; he doesn’t seem to mind stepping out without any extra coverage. Off we go for the walk through pasture and forest – there is always something for him to chase – sometimes rabbits, sometimes deer. We finish up with a trip to the mailbox for the morning paper. Charles will have prepared breakfast in the meantime and our day begins in front of the windows eating and watching the bird community. Today it was pretty quiet because the sharp-shinned hawk selected the arbor with bird feeding tubes hanging from it to sit and wait for its breakfast.
This morning we met with the oncologist, and he came in beaming to announce that it appears that I am in a “time out” from the illness. He said while it couldn’t be called “remission”, my blood readings are holding and even improving a bit, and he has absolutely no idea why this should be; he said if he could claim credit for it, he would. In a discussion about “quality of life” vs “quantity of life”, he advised against getting caught up in following the numbers in the blood readings. As an example, he said that if the blasts passed the 20% mark and I went through a rigorous treatment cycle of chemotherapy to bring them back down to 18%, but my life would be one of misery in the meanwhile, he couldn’t see the point of it. So we left with the assignment to work with the gastroenterologist to determine as completely as possible what is causing the ongoing intestinal difficulties. Also, the blood counts will continue to be monitored every two weeks. When (if) the blood readings begin to drop, then I will have a bone marrow aspiration and a course of therapy will be determined at that time.
As we visited with the doctor this morning, we were struck by how blessed I am from his point of view. . . his genuine delight at a person not losing ground to the disease was very evident – and his admittance that he doesn’t know why was a reminder of how this strange illness attacking the stem cells keeps its causes well hidden. More than ever, I was reminded to cease grousing about a body that is not up to living life as it once could, but rather to give thanks that it is doing so well in spite of the battle within. When one is privileged to house a miracle, then the only response is heartfelt thanksgiving to God for permitting it to be so.