Constance Ore is a retired Teacher, Choir Director, and Organist. And a formidable cook.

May 4, 2006

Filed under: — Constance at 10:06 am on Thursday, May 4, 2006

Yesterday was the blood draw day, and without consciously thinking about it, I had made the leap toward an expectation of higher readings. The white blood count sank back to 1.5, less than half of what it had been the week before. It was almost a physical blow to have the nurse tell me that number and when I shared the news with Charles I could see from the first expression on his face that he too was taken aback. Hope is a bit tricky. You absolutely must have it in order to carry on, but you cannot let it lead you to places beyond where you might go because if you do, the disappointment can flatten you. We talked again. “We can’t keep doing this” said Charles, “we have to learn to live life each day, and not go up and down all the time. . . nothing has changed except the information, otherwise the day is just as nice, and you feel just the same as you did before you knew the count had gone down.” The rational mind comes forward and pushes the wildly flailing emotions back into a secondary spot, and one begins again.

The morning breaks with very loud cardinal songs coming in through the bedroom window, and the silent inventory of body parts with “Thank you, Lord’s” for the wellness found, and “Help me today, Lord” for the rest. I always conclude with my version of the last part of Luther’s Morning Prayer, “For into your hands I give myself, body and soul and all things; let your holy angel be with me that the wicked foe may have no power over me, Amen”. The robins and rose breasted grosbeak have now added their songs to the cardinals and the day begins.

3 Comments

153

Comment by Heidi

May 5, 2006 @ 11:11 am

I realized as I read your blog, that I really really like to hope and although I too was struck by the news of the lower white blood cell count, I found myself making inventive assumptions and applying the creative science of the non-medically educated to readings all in the name of retaining hope. It is hard to live on a roller coaster and in such black and white extremes.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – Charles Dickens

I think age tempers us and makes us realize that there are shades of gray, perspective, and endless variations to life, love and hope.

So that said, I have to quote another respected authority that I like to ponder – the esteemed Dr. Charles Ore who on many occasions has said – “Stay the course!” And so we shall.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
And never stops at all. Emily Dickenson

Heidi

154

Comment by Sharon Struve

May 5, 2006 @ 11:45 am

Hi Connie,
It was great to hear your voice on the phone last Saturday. I wish your news had been better for your sake. You are doing so much for yourself and others by recording your feelings and experiences on your website. Know you are loved SO much by all of those who know you and that means the Lord is at the top of the list. You’re the best. Love and prayers, Sharon

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Comment by Lois (Meyer) Voeltz

May 6, 2006 @ 10:43 am

Good Morning Connie and Charles,

You two have always been amazing people to me! The other day I was thinking how I’ve ‘known’ you since you were in college and I remember, as a kid, thinking that YOU, Connie, were the kind of woman I wanted to be! You lived life to the to the nth-degree and I liked that. As an adult, I began to admire you both in other ways: amazed at how you both could make music, how you could take an ordinary tune that others play simply and bring it to life, how you could write words and music that touched my spirit, how you could encourage kids and adults where to find their musical heart and produce it so the the community can feel a presence of God, ETC. I particularly remember Easter Sunday, 1993, the weekend that my dad died. We, as siblings, came upstairs by the organ to sing the “Hallelujah” chorus with your choir, Connie, and I remember how you embraced us with your smile and welcomed us to join you. Thank you Connie. It was another touch of heaven that you both have given to me, through your music and how you live life.

Thank you for taking the energy to write your story so that we may join you in your journey, to stand beside you as the Body of Christ no matter where we live. YOU are again living your baptismal covenant = to be a blessing to people by sharing God’s love and tenderness with us. Thank you Connie and Charles.

You remain in our prayers and thoughts.
HUGS from Colorado! Lois – Norma & Herb’s daughter

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