Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

To be “neutropenic” can be compared to the person dressed in sheer clothing in the midst of everyone properly covered in armor as all enter a field of battle. One doesn’t have a prayer against the onslaught of possible illnesses, and though I have been wearing a mask as I have gone out and about, I have not been able to avoid getting sick. This time I have had sort of an endless “24 hour flu” which began last Thursday, and is only now beginning to recede. Sadly, once the body no longer responds to the medicines that force the stem cells to make more white blood cells, there is not a lot that can be done. White cells only last 24 hours or so, so it isn’t useful to have transfusions as it is for red blood. It appears that the chemotherapy did nothing at all to improve the blood condition, so once more we are looking at a more severe landscape than we have had before. Again, I am “sick and tired” of being sick and tired.

Always, there is the “meanwhile” part of the story, and this story’s “meanwhile” usually moves to my setting of Sanctuary, where everything within view teems with life. I identified another bird this week, (black and white warbler) and the oriole and the catbird both came on Mother’s Day. Now the list of summer regulars is complete, and the daily drama plays out in front of our windows. Alphie has discovered that there are land crabs under the earth on the path and near the wetland streams. This means that he is suddenly digging holes with chunks of soil flying everywhere, and causing the walking path to be full of potholes waiting to trip up the unwary. This is the first time that he has noticed the life under the surface of the earth in this way, and that began when I would rest at several places on the path. As I sat there viewing the treetops and the scenery in general, at first Alphie would sit quietly next to me, just as a good and faithful dog should. But shortly he began to wander, sniff, and then, dig, dig, dig. It was much better when he would take off in futile pursuit of deer and rabbits. And of course, whatever is living down there is long gone no matter how deep he digs.

“What a Friend” [click to listen]
As life goes forward, I hear in my mind Charles playing his composition, “What A Friend We Have in Jesus” and I replay the words that I loved to sing loudly (complete with the sliding tone between “Je” and “sus”) when I was about eight years old. I hear his exuberant and energetic presentation of that old well-worn hymn and I think, “Oh yes. . . .”

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry Everything to God in prayer.
Oh, what peace we often forfeit; Oh, what needless pain we bear –
All because we do not carry Everything to God in prayer!

The inner workings of my body continue to be a mystery. Without changing my behavior from days past, the morning comes when there is a feeling that somewhere within, a firewall has been breached by the disease. This morning was one of those, with queasiness, exhaustion and aches in all the moving parts. Alphie and I did the morning walk, and rather than the usual complete delight in all the splendors around, it was moving from place to place with inner admonitions. “Keep moving until you get to the walnut tree, then rest”. And so forth. I never quite know if a virus or germ has come past and been invited in, or if another victory for the “other side” is taking place. The blood reading today would indicate the breach rather than a virus, as the numbers are slipping rather than increasing even a tiny bit. Last week the oncologist expressed the possibility that the chemotherapy might bring up the counts, but so far, this is not happening.

On May 1, the wrens came, claiming territories all around Sanctuary. Today, the rose breasted grosbeak arrived, and also the swallows that build inside the porch. By now, the sounds of bird song here are varied, lively, and continuous throughout the daylight hours. Lilacs, dame’s rockets, wood violets, lily-of-the-valley and iris are all blooming now; aren’t those titles splendid? Their scents and sights are wonderful now.

This afternoon, Professor Ore came home with a spring to his step announcing that he had turned in his grades for the semester, thus concluding another season of teaching, and shortly thereafter, Yardman Ore came down the steps in jeans preparing to haul the crushed rock which he’d had delivered last week for the purpose of refreshing the driveway and the walks near the house. In between, Philosopher Ore sat down and sternly rebuked me for saying that I was in the demographic of the “elderly with chronic, incurable illnesses” as referred to in discussions about our health care systems. (That 80% of resources are spent on people such as myself, and that this is something that needs to be addressed). He did move me out of the “elderly” category very convincingly, and make me laugh in the process. C’est la vie.

Today we met with the oncologist to hear what had been found in the bone marrow draw of last week, and the news was mixed. On Sunday the doctor called and gave me the first reading and in that conversation was not too optimistic because the count of “blasts” in the blood hadn’t changed much. Today he had the results from the Med Center where the marrow was closely analyzed, and these showed some improvements in several areas giving us reason to hope that the chemotherapy may have brought about some change for the better in the condition. The doctor also said that the effects of the three rounds of treatments are still being unveiled, and we have a very concrete measure that can be taken in the next three weeks. If the white and red blood cell numbers begin to increase, then we will know that my body is still receptive to treatment, and we can plan how to go forward accordingly. We are all cautiously optimistic and have high hopes of enjoying another summer together.

Last week, I wrote about leaping into hot summer, which we did for a day or so, then cool weather returned, including a light frost this morning. Charles had already put out beautiful tomato plants, and we are hoping that they will not become depressed through this experience and lay down and die. Many of our songbirds have come back to Sanctuary to raise their families, with the thresher returning with a whole new set of melodies. The wrens, orioles, rose-breasted grosbeak and warblers are not yet here, but should arrive any day. Alphie and I are out at dawn as our world awakens, and it is always a great pleasure to the senses because I see additional layers of growth and hear more bird song every morning.

May arrives on Friday, and it bring flowers, soft days and good skies. It is a blessing for me to have such a fine place to celebrate God’s creation – in this peculiar season of my life, I see everything anew once more and I am delighted and thankful in equal measure.

Yesterday I had my sixth bone marrow draw. It was highly unpleasant, even if I was drugged and had Charles holding my hand and telling stories in an attempt to distract. It is always good to be on the other side of such procedures. This morning, my hip feels as though I have fallen hard, muscles grumbling with every step that I take. The analysis of the marrow is done at the Med Center in Omaha, and we will hear results next Tuesday. Depending on that, perhaps a clearer picture of the future may be revealed.

Nebraska has a capacity of continuing winter far past the proposed beginning of spring, and then, in a day or two, moving right into summer with ticks, mosquitoes, and hot winds from the south. This may be what is happening this year, with today the chosen one of delightful spring. Each window frames a perfectly beautiful blue sky, the plums and pears are blooming and scenting the air, the birds are in transports of delight and the frogs are singing loudly in the wetlands. Tomorrow’s forecast includes temperatures in the upper 80’s and low 90’s with increasing wind velocities.

At this moment, I am not interested in any more medical interventions – since January of this year, the several hospitalizations and introduction to new levels of pain have moved me to a place where I am content to sit quietly to enjoy what the moment has to offer. Thousands of words have been spoken and written on the subjects of living with chronic pain, suffering, living in the “now”, and how to die well. Each of these topics is ultimately so subjective that one can pick and choose whatever wisdoms one might wish to direct one’s own perceptions. I find that discourses on suffering which indicate that somehow this improves one’s character, or understanding, or sainthood, annoy me the most. My experiences with pain have left me checking off “none of the above”. Often these commentaries are made to explain God’s intent because it is so difficult to imagine a powerful and loving God permitting all the pain in the world. It eludes my comprehension, and I fling it into the compartment with all the others of the same ilk…i.e., why me, hurricanes, earthquakes, and the like. Living life day by day, sometimes hour by hour, is the best lesson learned about how to do this, and as for dying, it remains a fact that at the moment when one’s earthly journey concludes, there is just you and God. If you hold to that tenet of faith that once past the door of death, you continue living, whole, happy, and delighted in the presence of God, its truly the only way to go.

PS: John-paul is returning to the states this very day, so I am hopeful that the winter illustrations will be replaced by spring sights, and that his touch will return very soon!