Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

What a glorious day is this first day of April! After months of “the procedure” hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles it is now completed, and it went very much as described. The drinking of the rinse was the hardest part, the actual event in the doctor’s office was blotted out by the medication give through an IV. I was given a set of photos to authenticate my inner beauty, and since they revealed that I am without symptoms of anything amiss, I found them beautiful indeed. When I arrived at shortly after one PM, I asked the nurse how many colonoscopies were done each day, and he said usually between forty and fifty. Since I was in a curtained off alcove along a long hallway filled with identical areas, I could hear the rolling beds coming and going every few minutes. A number of specialists were operating in the rooms at the end of the space, and when I was taken in, the doctor, a nurse who administered the sleeping potion and another doctor’s assistant were in the room. I assured them all that I didn’t need to remember anything, and they seemed to find this agreeable as the next thing I perceived was the doctor telling Charles that everything was very good, and shortly thereafter, we returned home.

Of course, it would have been very nice to have found some minor thing that causes my intestines to become so disagreeable, but I am quite content with the “less is better” diagnosis. Blood readings today indicate that the disease is still taking a time out; welcome spring! Hello summer!

We took Alphie to the veterinarian last week to have his annual health check-up and get his nails trimmed. Because the summer dosages of the heart worm pills depend on his weight, we had to put him on the scale, and for some reason, it absolutely terrified him. The poor dear began to shake even as the scales indicated that he is now weighing 107 pounds, making him eligible for the “small pony” class. His checkup indicated that this is not exactly plumpness because he does run about two to three miles a day, but we were told that if we could somehow hold him at 100 pounds, his medications would not be so costly. I sat on the floor holding him until he stopped shaking, and his visage was one of extreme sorrow as we discussed how to trim him up a bit. He is not yet three years old and already he is joining the American propensity toward becoming obese. Of course, it is all my fault because I give him dog treats in order to keep his life a joyful one – we all know the heart of a dog resides in its stomach. Now he is on treats for small dogs instead of the giant chews made for dogs his size. I have assured him that the size of the treat in no way indicates the level of love directed toward him but I think I read, “Rabbits – I need rabbits” in his expression and demeanor as we go out for our walks now.

This week is when the body is prepared for the “procedure” which is to occur next Monday afternoon. In a long discourse with a nurse this AM we went through my medical history again – after such a discussion including medicines taken, medicines now being used, past surgeries and present ailments, one wonders how such a repaired and chemically altered mechanism can actually go forward. If I were an automobile or a plant, I think I would be an odd looking pastiche of the beginning product by now, but when I look in the mirror, there I am, still recognizable as someone I knew quite some time ago.

Our Easter worship event presented the splendid hymns and moments of grandeur that musicians and preachers hope for as they practice and prepare for this day of days in the church year. The anthem preceding the sermon, “Praise Ye the Lord” by John Rutter, was wonderful, and when the pastor came into the pulpit, he remarked upon it, then said to us, the congregation, something like, “Let’s just say it again together, “Praise the Lord!” We did so, and I was stunned to hear my brain continue on with “and pass the ammunition!” There were exclamation points all over inside my head as the World War II song phrase appeared, unbidden. It was immediately followed by the appalling thought that perhaps my future might bring the time when the guard before my mouth might not be able to contain such mental commentaries. Fortunately, the service and celebration continued in fine and predictable ways with an Easter feast with the family and a walk in the woods at sundown to conclude a very good day.

(As these last postings are made, there may continue to be a time lapse between text and illustrations because John-paul, the illustrator, is presently taking photos and having fine adventures while traveling in Europe.)

Recently, I read about several persons who, in their 70’s and 80’s and with terminal cancer, were running marathons and leading food drives and doing other remarkable and intrepid deeds to the awe and admiration of the writers of the articles. It freezes the brain to think about such folk when simple living seems quite enough, however, I did have these in mind when I determined to go to Chicago last week to help celebrate daughter Janna’s birthday and to go to a school choir concert in which the twins were participating. Heidi agreed to do the driving, and we went the 600 plus miles accompanied by Zoie and Kira. We left on Wednesday, celebrated on Thursday and Friday, and returned on Saturday. The adventure provided moments which will join memory’s archives filed under “grand” though nothing is as easy as one might wish it to be. Since returning home, no marathons or glory things. . . indeed, there is much to be said about sitting in the sun and watching spring’s slow arrival.

The intestinal difficulties are ever present and a number of you gave me great encouragement in going forward with the colonoscopy – I am actually looking forward to having a diagnosis and hopefully a therapy to deal with the current physical state. Today’s blood readings indicate a slow slide downward though I am still above the line that will trigger a return to where we stand at the oncologist’s door and say, “Do something!”

Children bearing palms ushered in Holy Week on Sunday, beginning a time of remembering the central teachings and beliefs of the Christian church concerning Christ’s redemptive sacrifice for humanity. Maundy Thursday’s commemoration of Christ’s last supper, Good Friday’s somber remembrance of Christ’s crucifixion, and Easter’s grand celebration of his triumph over death as dawn light reveals an empty tomb are celebrated around the world. This has gone on for centuries as the faithful remember anew the miracle that connects earthly existence with eternal life. We will be a part of it, too; Charles will play the music and I will stand with the congregation. On Easter morning we will say with delight, “Christ is risen!” and “He is risen indeed!” To LIFE, and a Happy Easter to all.

When spring finally comes, the birds get to announce it. With the time change, Alphie and I begin our walk before sunrise, and the cardinals own the predawn time. Then, when the sun makes its appearance, the robins, finches, redwing blackbirds, and meadow larks begin to join in. By the time we arrive back at the house, the sound is all around as the flying community vies to be heard. It is always a splendid way to welcome a new day.

After our walk around, I get out the supply of birdseed needed to replenish the feeders, and I leave the garage with both hands full of buckets. Alphie appears to feel that he too should be carrying something, so he picks up a log from our woodpile near the door and carries it out into the yard where he drops it. I told Charles that Alphie’s apparent desire to carry something could mean that I should train him to carry a bucket of birdseed out for me. Charles’ reply that then perhaps Alphie could stand up and tip the seed into the pans while I recorded the whole process for YouTube was less than encouraging, however, one never knows. . .

My “time out” is holding – perhaps when next I meet the oncologist, it can be called a “remission”. In the interim, I am dealing with the gastroenterologist to determine why my innards are so touchy. The great capstone of this activity will be a colonoscopy on March 31st. Apparently, it is felt that every single adult of a certain age should have this procedure, so when I sit in church and look about me at all the senior citizens, I wonder how many have gone through this event which to all appearances does not seem particularly delightful. When the oncologist announced that it simply must be done while the blood is a bit better, I said, “And have you had one?” he smiled quite smugly and said indeed yes, practically the moment he turned fifty. So. One is left very few secrets as time goes by. Meanwhile, Lent draws to a close, the flora and fauna of our Sanctuary begin to stir, and the days contain too much promise for any contemplations other than of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.