'Engaging the Enemy'

St. Pio in flight, Mondovi, Italy.  Photo: Wendy Tree I’m home a week from this amazing trip and thru sleeps, missed calls and timings, myself and my partner in Ballooning in Mondovi, Sir Andrew of Blagdon, we keep missing each other. Like ships in the night ? More like hot air balloons in the day I thought. So calling Andy yesterday, going to his voice mail (he was out shooting game on his estate, as one does), after the beep,  my words ‘Thank You’ had just vibrated from my vocal chords when I just burst into tears. I thought, after the wake of a few days, I had my mind settled, but it was having none of it. There was a balancing of sorts going on and I wasn’t allowed stop it. My tears, I’m pretty sure drowned out my sincerity of the Thank You, my main purpose of the call, not just for Andy, but for the entire Somerset crew who were all part of it , where heavily included to. Now, to my embarrassment, my emotive albeit tearful Thank You was committed to an answerphone.. eeek ! Friend

This day last week, I will confess I was in no fit state to file my nails, never mind a flight plan. Last week I was nearing the end of my 2 week ‘break’ from my Chometherapy. Let me tell you, I suffered during that period, hands up, no contest. Was it cold turkey?, perhaps the remanence of that list of drips (pun intended) of residual chemo in my body, worming it’s way out? Very possible ! Roll back just the last 7-8 days and it was just a weird and most unpleasant influence on my mind. I can only describe it as if somebody got a can of chemo spray (if it ever existed) and sprayed it like air freshener inside my mind. The fragrance of the day was one of toxic thoughts. Yes, more tears came out at night. Although in reality far from it re the amazing care and love I am constantly and welcomingly receive, I felt alone, very alone. There was room for only one person within this toxic spray in my mind and it was me. That of course can trigger other thoughts, the ones that can take you dow

You know what they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get going... One of the very first entities to come to my rescue when I got hammered with my diagnosis, was my employer ‘PayPal’. A big and indeed very sucessful organisation where it could be very easy for me to become a barcode, never mind a number. But this was never going to happen, not with PayPal. These people have been instrumental in taking my background stress away from me. Paying me full salary for over six months and are still to this day paying not just my healthcare plan, but that of Aoife and Alison’s also. I can assure you, not many employers here in Ireland put their head above the parapit and do this and I can certainly testify to that. My current WEEKLY healthcare bill alone is €1,050. This is every week and for now, no sign of it changing. But via our paid for healthcare cover, Paypal have this sorted ! It was only then right and fitting that I be able and indeed allowed at least try and give something back

Dark Demons cometh but the Sun arrived. "How do you manage to always be in a bubbly humour wearing a smile?" This is a casual question / remark that gets sent my way every so often. Yes, I do always put the good side out, that's just my DNA I suppose. I always say, smiles and hugs are free and I do like them both. So when out and about, you'll certaintly get one and if I know you well enough, perhaps both off me.  As I fight my bastard tumour (I'm not being ignorant, but I'm not it's parent, retrospectively), hence my common use of that 'B' word. I am just as human as you and YOU, so my mind is well up for receiving dark thoughts too. Just last week, totally zonked from my chemo, I go to bed early, 4pm early. Lieing silently and tired on the bed, this dark (quite dark) cloud decided to pay me a visit. Whatever possessed the following thoughts to enter my mind at that particular moment in time is anybody's guess, but I strongly suspect, the fact

If I was in a position to write a Doctors prescription, it would be to competently with certainty write a script for a specific type of medication. 'What's the drug " you ask? A injection of a flight in a glider or indeed a motor-glider, an opportunity that I was generously offered over this last weekend.  Friday evening saw my phone ring, with a friend  William Treacy on the opposing end offering me to go flying with him in his motor-glider the following morning. 'YES" just blurted out of my aero-sexualised lungs. It was an immediate reciprocated trigger.  My flight was in a German engineered and built motor-glider. It even sported the appropriate aircraft registration EI AYR. In command of our aerial adventure was William, a seasoned long haul airline pilot who spends more time in Hong Kong than soaring over the lush green hills of our royal county. When not jet setting the far side of the globe, or soaring among the County Meath skies, you can also find Willia

I have always prided myself on being busy. Not saying always productive, but I have to be doing something, I just can't sit still. Some people see this as a positive. For me the jury is out on that one. You see, if I'm not physically busy, I still am mentally. Trying to get those cogs in the grey matter of mine to slow the f&ck down is next to near impossible.  Oh wait, bring on my chemotherapy. Over the past few days, since my last infusion really, these drugs have welded the brakes ON with my mind and of course my body. Yes, I am sick, yes I am fighting one inoperable bastard that just refuses to let go, but the sudden onslaught on how quick I get this exhaustive feeling is frightening, if you let it be. The best way I can explain it, when good or normal in my books, it's akin to being out in the light, on a good day, perhaps even the sunshine, but then as I'm enjoying that warmth, the clouds blow in from nowhere, my body gets the chills, my brain gets sucked dry