COMET RIDER

Two years ago the spectacular Comet McNaught lit the night skies of New Zealand with a fiery display. As time passed the earth’s orbit meant the comet was just visible, right after sunset, above the rugged range of hills to the west of the bay. In my wild imaginings you could have stepped astride the comet for one exhilarating ride. In much the way I was to throw my leg over my sports motorcycle for one last ride.

Turning right I leaned the bike into the roundabout and gently squeezed the throttle open. Second, third, fourth, the 250cc motor produced remarkable acceleration as I clicked up through the six speed box with a clutchless shift. I lowered my head out of the wind and timed a gap in the traffic perfectly to pass without backing off.

I had thought I was going for another bike ride, little did I realise it would be my last as the full implications of the brain tumour hit home. I had never ridden a motorbike until two years ago and already I had 20,000kms of awesome experience behind me. I struggle to believe it must stop, but the reality is cancer in the brain means I am a threat to the safety of others. I can only be thankful for the great rides I have enjoyed to Waiheke, Pirongia, Taupo, Pauanui, plus the daily commuting past stationary cars; the memories bring tears of joy.

It had been a lack-lustre day of resting up and feeling jaded, but late afternoon sun inspired me to get out for a dose of my drug of choice, adrenalin.

Throughout the last year I have been acutely aware of the feel good ability of adrenalin when the body is struggling against cancer. The natural product of the adrenal gland clears the head, quickens responses and gets the heart and blood pumping. It is part of the ‘flight or fight’ natural defence mechanism of the body, but hard to stimulate without real excitement. On a scale of 1-10 the bike can produce an 8 safely, perhaps a 7 if you stick to the exact speed limits, but get on a race track in anything and the punch of a 12 out of 10 can last for a couple of days.

The roundabout at the top of the hill was clear to throw the lightweight bike into a left, right, left lean and power away, now I was really starting to enjoy myself! I headed east, enjoying the glow of the setting autumn sun, to the other side of the bay where a beachfront café overlooks the river mouth and lapping waters of the Pacific Ocean. It’s a 45 kilometres ride around the foothills rising from reclaimed marsh. Building the road was a nightmare in the early days and even now the heavy traffic quickly makes it uneven. But you can also see for miles, to a distant volcanic cone to the left and the bush clad hills to my right.

They talk about the freedom of a bike, but it is also like a meditation; you clear your mind of all other thoughts, allowing the all consuming exhilaration and absolute focus to take over. There is risk, but no where near the fear based rhetoric that peals off the tongue when friends hear you are buying a motorbike. The human ego is seemingly charged with the sole responsibility of spoiling fun and achievement with “what if” sentiments, however well meant. I have never got on the bike without a prayer and I have never come off on the road or experienced the “drivers won’t see you” scary tale. I simply feel like a spirit released, joy filled, every time I open the throttle.

Close to the hills the long shadows are already chilling a small township as everyone heads home for dinner. It was a safe place to slip past the slow juggernaut ahead; the rest is open road and I was only ten minutes from the café. I turned left off the highway and glanced to the sun sitting right on the hilltop; it was seemingly rising again as I quickly drew away from the hills.

Of course, there is a lesson in everything; having to give up the bike is one in a series of lessons recently, for me, and they are all about letting go of attachment to things of this world. I have an attachment to all of the good feelings about the bike and riding. They are amongst my top ten worldly experiences. But I am a spirit, eternal in nature, and here for a human experience. Before long my spirit will be leaving my tired, fragile and deceased body behind to move on into another realm. These lessons on attachment are coming thick and fast, teaching me to let go of everything on this worldly plain as I prepare for my ‘Coming Home’ to the loving arms of my heavenly Father.

My intuition had been telling me this could be my last ride and I opened the throttle wide. The road is a series of long straights and uneven tar seal through tight curves, a potentially lethal mixture. I took no chances and hauled on the front brake, gently on the rear, before gingerly powering through the rutted corners and back on the throttle for the next straight.

The 50kph restricted zone for the picturesque coastal village is just 500 metres ahead and the beautiful reflections of high tide in the estuary grabbed my attention. Remarkably the sun is still above the horizon and several strata of clouds promised a beautiful sunset.

Nearly a decade ago I had done all I could for my previous partner as round after round of chemotherapy and steroids left her tired and nauseous in the unsuccessful fight against breast cancer. It was then I had first noticed the coincidence of our witnessing numerous stunning sunsets. As 'The Celestine Prophecy' first told me, there are no coincidences; for those awakening to their true Self, these are the signs and wonders that become everyday experiences.

I rounded the waterfront to the café’s beachfront car park and pulled off my helmet, mesmerised by the colour and beauty of the setting fiery orb and its reflections on the gently breaking waves. As the local kids tossed a rugby ball and raced barefoot around the car park, I quietly gave thanks for an awesome ride and the Divine timing of this magnificent sight.

The cappuccino in the café was just what I needed. As darkness fell I pulled the helmet back on and switched on the twin headlamps; they would light my way through the night just like the fiery comet across the western horizon.

THE BLACKBIRD'S WARNING

The theme running throughout these updates to My Twilight Months is the beauty of the end of the day, a time of reflection and gratitude for what the day, and in my case, my life has brought me. My first article, My Sunset told of the realisation that my sun was setting. In this, The Blackbird's Warning, my life coping with cancer takes on a new and more disturbing discovery.

If I’m honest I have to admit to being very disappointed with my latest CT scan. Things had been going remarkably well, with only the onset of greater fatigue slowing my pace and noticeably shortening my breath on hills.

Yes, twelve months down the track from noticing the first lump just inside the collar bone and getting the news that the choroidal melanoma, my primary cancer in the right eye, had metastasised to ten secondary tumours throughout the body, I am still able to walk the dogs a kilometre every morning and night.

And I feel sure I have kept my vital organs almost disease free with daily doses of colloidal silver*. The only challenge, I thought, was keeping up with the demanding appetite of the aggressive cancer cells, which would otherwise cause weight loss and mal-nutrition; I seemed to have this in hand as well, holding my weight at a slightly skinny 72.5 kgs on a 1.836m skeleton.

But what I didn’t want to hear is the news that a 1cm tumour had become visible on the scans inside the right brain in just the last six months. As the beauty of my sunset fades the blackbird’s nervous warning could disrupt the peacefulness, but I won’t let it.

When you consider my cancer specialist could only reliably promise me three more months of life in June ’07, I have been so thankful for the extra eight, very special months of living I have enjoyed so far. With the realisation of an early demise I have taken every opportunity offered to indulge my passions for motor sport, flying and travel, all gifted to us by very good friends and family.

I simply felt that elsewhere in the body I was more easily able to cope, but in the brain, well that has the potential for so many unthinkable symptoms. But I can’t afford to get into fear, so I won’t go down that track because a peaceful night’s sleep is the most important consideration of all.

Just live one day at a time, I tell myself, and in that way I can keep my positive outlook and try to put more emphasis, than I have ever been used to, into enjoying everything and everyone around me.

Thankfully I have no symptoms at present; the scan was a routine follow-up and not the result of any problems I was experiencing. But I do need to look out for difficulties in dressing (the imagination runs wild there!), walking and visual impairment in the one eye that still provides excellent vision.

I now estimate I have well over 50 tumours** in the body and for this reason my Hospice doctor has recommended against considering neurosurgery as an option. Its invasive nature increases risk of infection and adverse reaction from those organs, the left lung in particular, already trying to cope with attached tumours. So now I am looking forward to seeing the radiologist for further discussions on the best direction to take.

APPENDIX:
* I have been taking an egg-cupful 30mls of colloidal silver morning and night. Colloidal silver is produced by electrolysis via two silver rods suspended in pure water. It is an ancient alternative medicine known as an extremely effective antibiotic. I first took it to try to clear up the 16cms mass of dead tissue and toxins in my liver. The toxins are produced by dying cancer cells. Because the liver was only functioning at half strength, my body had half the energy and a large part of my food was being wasted. I feel the colloidal silver went a long way to correcting that, with a noticeable return of energy for at least six months. My skin colour and complexion also improved, which is interesting in itself, because in old times the English aristocracy got their nick-names ‘Bluebloods’ from the fact they were the only ones who could afford silver cutlery and combined with regular doses of colloidal silver for good health their skin turned a silvery blue!

** I now have 17 tumours protruding through the skin; a year ago I had two that were visible, but the scan showed 10 in total throughout the body. I am therefore assuming, rather unscientifically, that there must be a total well exceeding 50 tumours.