Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

St. Patrick’s Day and the willows are beginning to green up; Sanctuary is full of life and plans. . .big family plans for all kinds of birds as they sing out territorial songs all across the forty. It is warm enough to have the windows open so we can hear the joyful noise.

Starting last Wednesday, I began to feel really well. The wonder of that is not unlike getting to see the Taj Mahal for example, or sitting out on an elegant beach on a private island in the ocean. I truly did not expect to feel that fine ever again, so each day has been accompanied with inner admonitions, “Remember this, remember how a whole body feels!” Today that wholeness is beginning to seep away as the red blood count begins to decrease, but I have best intentions toward keeping the feeling alive.

The third and last round of chemotherapy begins next Monday, and after that is complete, a bone marrow reading will be taken in about a month. At that time, it should show whether or not there has been some improvement in the blood, and life will go forward accordingly.

I think perhaps the blood transfusion that I got on Saturday was from a youthful chocoholic, because as soon as I recovered from all the Ativan I got to control the Benadryl spastic reactions, I found myself in the kitchen making some brownies. (The recipe is below – I made it up and these are really very good.) As we learned at the first transfusion, I have a strong reaction to a large dose of Benadryl, so the oncologist determined that rather than taking a chance on having an allergic reaction to the blood, I would be given the sedative Ativan up front. When the first two applications didn’t stop the limb spasms, the nurses gave me yet another, saying that I would likely become a zombie. It was the last thing I actually remembered of the day. Charles assured me that I did resemble vegetable matter and it took a while for me to sleep it off.

Now I am nearly human again, with a wide spectrum of emotions that center in a deep sorrow that I cannot feel this way without the use of another person’s blood. How strange is that? When one gets a red blood transfusion, each unit is packed with the red cells, and the white cells and platelets will have been removed to be used separately. White cells apparently are rarely transfused because they don’t last very long, and also can cause fevers and other complications.

Our skies have been blessed by the V shaped chains of thousands of waterfowl flying over in almost endless succession throughout the last several days. Viewing all this movement through the skies, I am relieved that we are not plagued by a compulsion to migrate too. . . just imagining Charles arising one morning, setting his face into the wind and announcing that we must pack up because it is time to return to our place of origin once more keeps me grateful for some things that do not happen.

As for the rest, I pray a lot and reflect on the spirit within that insists upon clinging to earthly life in spite of gathering signs of lessening resources. We live each day trusting that whatever strength we need shall be given to us. Our entire lives have been filled with God’s blessings and care and this knowledge gives us comfort and peace as we move into the future. I’ll conclude with Charles’ favorite sign off: “Onward and Upward!”

CHOCOLATE BROWNIES Oven: 350 degrees
4 squares unsweetened chocolate
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter
1 3/4 c. sugar
3 eggs
2 t. vanilla
1 t. almond extract
1 cup almond flour
1 1/2 cups flour
1 t. salt
1 t. baking powder
3/4 cup sliced almonds
1/ 2 cup dark chocolate chips
scant teaspoon sea salt

Microwave chocolate and butter for two minutes or until butter is melted. Stir until chocolate is completely melted. Add the sugar, mix well, blend in eggs, vanilla and almond extract. Add the almond flour, sift together the other flour, salt and baking powder and add it. Stir in the almonds and cho chips. Put parchment paper on a small baking sheet or on a 9 by 12 baking dish. Spread the dough out, smooth it across the top, and sprinkle on the sea salt. Bake for 14-18 minutes. Do not over bake, should remain moist and chewy. Upon removing from the oven, cool, remove from the cookie sheet, and cut into squares.

When one’s systems all fold in at the same time, there is a “sick” that is new again. After completing the second round of Vidaza, I immediately went into a dreadful event of intestinal illness, encased with extreme fatigue and pain in bones, lungs and head. More than any other thing, it seems as though a dullness of mind and body advance until there is very little left. Keeping down a broth made with electrolyte fluids becomes the key issue in a day when the world is in paroxysms of anxiety over so many other trials. I listen to my own voice and its pale concerns and conclude that this is a very boring person here. That said, the plan is “one day at a time” in hopes of recovering enough of a body and spirit to go forward into spring. I was told that this will be a “difficult” time and so it is. . . always more so than one can imagine, of course.

Meanwhile, friends and family are traveling and having fine experiences to brighten up their own days. Words about flying to New York, California, Arizona, and other destinations put forth so charmingly in the Travel sections of the newspapers flow past us, and one notes that none include coming to Nebraska to watch the snows melt off the brown paths or the trees slowly awakening to the new season.

I was sitting in the greenhouse “aweepin and awailin” about my trials and tribulations to Alphie who was lying right next to me, with head down and great sorrowful eyes watching me so sympathetically. As I went on, I realized that without moving his head or eyes, his left front paw was beginning to reach out to his side where a large chew bone was located, and he was carefully bringing it in closer to his own self. Aha. There went another theory of the dog sharing the pain wordlessly and in total devotion. Of course, it did bring to a close my soliloquy and remind me that life eventually needs to move on, chew bones and all. Hopefully, by next week’s post, I will be able to relate good news – perhaps even the economy will have turned around, the crocus will have broken through the ground and the robins will be settling into their morning songs.

PS: John-paul, illustrator of this blog, is also traveling, so it may be a few days before we see what images he brings.

Today I had the second of five Chemotherapy infusions. All went as expected, and with a port, it is not a great trial. Yesterday, when I returned to the Chemo Room at the oncologists, the place was filled, and in the chair next to me was a woman who looked tired and grumpy. She said to me, “Is this your first time here?” I assured her that I had been many times, and she sighed and said, “Well, so have I. I don’t think I can go on much longer. . . I have colon cancer and lung cancer”. I immediately commiserated with her and wished her well as she went on, and after a bit she said, “Well, what kind of cancer do you have?” I said, “Mine is Acute Myeloid Leukemia”. Silence. Then she said, “Oh” and no more. This led me to think, “Goodness, this is like Chemo room poker! She had a couple of aces, and I have a Full House. Then I looked at the man next to me on the other side, lying there very pale and frail, and at my glance, the woman sitting with him and having overheard the conversation, said to me, “Prostate cancer; it’s very hard for him, bless him”. Once again, I commiserated and thought, “Royal Flush” right there. Of course, the true winner of the house was the woman standing at the desk in the Reception room hearing that she didn’t have to come back for six months because she appeared to be in remission. She left beaming with delight.

I got my voice back after dropping the inhalant. That has been a true joy, and again, my oncologist went through the chemical contents, etc., and said, “This just doesn’t make sense to me. . . that stuff should not have caused you to become so hoarse.” He immediately contacted the pulmonary guy to see if he knew anything. One tends to move right on in these instances realizing that the medical community cannot know everything as they must juggle enormous amounts of information. I love having my sound back because it goes before you and informs the person(s) to whom you are speaking something about yourself. I heard myself from inside my head and could see exactly how it was affecting the hearers.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, and though I will not be joining them, thousands of worshippers will gather and receive the cross of ashes upon their foreheads with the words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return”. In our society, such a direct reminder of our mortality is rarely ritualized, and it is always good to be stopped for a moment in the rush of living this life on earth to consider our common end. Of course the words of comfort follow, “I am the resurrection and the life” says the Lord, “and those who believe in me though they die, yet shall they live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die”. (John 11:25-26a)