My alarm went off this morning at 5am. Madness, I tell you, madness! But last night we got confirmation that the balloon trip was on so fifteen minutes after the first screech of the alarm, we were on the road and heading north into the Staffordshire countryside. It had been a crisp clear night and the temperature was still registering zero. A delicate orange pink sky opened up before us as the sun rose and we drove through mist lazily rising off the fields. In short, the day was perfect.
Getting into the balloon basket was interesting, given that I still cannot use my arm to haul myself around with, and the pilot’s warning of one in three landings resulting in a tipped over basket did make me question my sanity still further. But all was well. In fact, all was breathtakingly beautiful. We could see miles in every direction. Such a delight to start the day that way.
Moving on to my appointment with The Doc: it was as I expected. Chemo has been recommended. I will have six cycles, at three weekly intervals, of a combination of drugs known as FEC (5 Fluorouracil, Epirubicin, Cyclophosphamide). This begins on the 9th June. Which means it should all be over by October. Until then, I shall sit in my chair and say ‘FEC off’ a lot. In fact, you may call me Father Jack. Which of course makes Andy my very own Mrs Doyle: