Friday 2 October

Friday 2 October 2015

I’m in Bangkok, having just gone through the Big Checks. I’m exhausted. Utterly drained, numb and emotional. I struggle not to cry.

Friday 2 October 2009

I was in Bangkok, having arrived from Yangon in the afternoon and going immediately to the hospital from the airport. I was exhausted. I had not slept properly since I had found that lump and been referred to Samitivej Hospital. I was terrified.

Friday 2 October 2015

Bloods first. four large vials, all with my name on the outside, colour coded for each type of test. A bit of a struggle and fiddle to persuade the vein to cooperate, but it yielded fairly quickly. These phlebotomists are highly skilled.  I hate needles and blood takes, but nowadays I hardly flinch. If I could count the number of needles which have pierced my skin to draw blood…. Next, through to Imaging and changing into a fetching blue gown.

I was handed a locker key, and found that I could not reach the locker. Rather than ask for another locker, I threw my clothes upwards, using the non Twang Arm. First was the X-Ray. Always quick and not uncomfortable. Next was mammo. “Right breast first” said the technician. “Right breast only” was my reply. Less comfortable, squeezed so tightly I felt that my breast might not be able to hold its contents under the pressure, but happily it did. A couple of different images in different angles, and in no time I was back in the waiting area.

Friday 2 October 2009

The flight was a little late and the traffic from the airport very busy, so I arrived late at Samitivej. I was met by our Liaison Manager and ushered immediately through to the Imaging Centre. At some point I must have filled in some paperwork, but I don’t recall that right now.

I had never had a mammogram. I had no idea what to expect. I knew it would be uncomfortable, even painful. I was in that room for heaven knows how long. I moved, for new images at different angles. I heard “calcifications” and thought that was a good sign. I have no idea when I was finally released from the mammogram room but eventually I was.

Friday 2 October 2015

Next was the Ultrasound. I hate this one. I freaks me out, quite simply. I hear the beeps as shapes are pegged and even though there is no visible screen, I am straining for hints. “You remember me?” states the Doctor. Yes I do. I think. I think she was the Ultrasound Doctor last year. The one who asked me if I was seeing my Doctor that day. I remember that freaking me out. “Yes,” I smiled. I remember.

Again she asked me if I was seeing my Doctor. I reassured that I would see no less than Three Doctors. Is this normal or something to worry about, I wondered. Silence and beeps. Gel everywhere. Too much attention under my right ribcage. There’s something wrong.

Suddenly and abruptly she stands up. “Finished” she announces. A good sign or a bad sign, I wonder?

“I will send my report to your Doctor”. she says as she is leaving the examination room and I am being cleaned of gloop. More worry. What is there to report???

Friday 2 October 2009

You know when there periods in your life that you play and replay, on a loop? The Ultrasound is one of those times. I will never forget that Ultrasound, the drawings, the straining for clues, the clinging on to hope and the devastation and denial combined when I saw the Doctor key in ” M _ A _ S _ S ……  N _ O 1…..

Here is how I captured it at the time

Next was ultrasound.  Again the investigation was very thorough.  This time though I could see the screen and all sorts of weird ghostly shapes as the doctor methodically worked her way through the process. Again, I tried to pick up clues and hints and soon got a big one  “left side – problem”, I was told.  Hmmm.  The chittering started again, perhaps helped by the Air Conditioning and the cold ultrasound gel. “You need biopsy”.  Oh dear – more chitter chitter!  The technician was lovely – calm, professional but clear.  I said I was worried and she told me not to worry (lurch of hope) – my Doctor is a great specialist and I am in the best of hands.  She then started pegging the dimensions of what she was seeing in the scan.  I had to watch, but kept looking away as she pegged a strange shape and clicked to save it.  Then my stomach turned as she keyed in – m-a-s-s-.  That is a clue, and not a good one.  She didn’t stop there – mass.. n-o- 1.  I closed my eyes and swallowed. There is more than one lump.

I think it was around then that the specialist himself appeared, his Bluetooth flashing in his ear, and he joined the party.  Or maybe it was a training workshop because he had a magic marker in his hand and methodically they started to draw on my chest.  I started chittering again – actually I am not convinced I had stopped.  They reassured me that they were not going to hurt me – just draw on me!  These were the markings for the biopsy.  Another worry lurch when I was asked if I had eaten – surely they are not going to operate tonight?

Eventually the drawing was complete, the ultrasound images all recorded and I knew that the time was coming for biopsy and diagnosis.

Friday 2 October 2015

Waiting, waiting, waiting……

The bloods are taken and have released their secrets to the Doctors. I have no idea what messages they tell.  I have to wait. And wait. My Blood Pressure, weight and temperature are taken. I have lost another few micrograms, half a kilo. That is good, all things considered.

My Blood Pressure though is sky high. I am stressed. By too much. There is no hiding this fact, my BP does not respect secrets or confidentiality.

Twang Arm is complaining. And hurting. And the wait is tortuous…..

Friday 2 October 2009

Dr W had joined the discussion in the Ultrasound room. I remember his bluetooth. I remember him arriving at the door and say “Khun Philippa?” I remember a lot of conversation in Thai and a great deal of marker pen.

I remember being afraid, but thinking that this cannot be cancer. There is no cancer in my family…. 80% of lumps are benign….

Friday 2 October 2015

Finally, the appointments are looming. Dr A first, my endocrinologist. I still don’t really what one of those is. But I do know that Dr A looks after me. He understands and offered suggestions when I dissolved in tears at the last consultation. Today, he goes through my results.

My blood sugar is ok, slightly down from last time. Down is good. Really good. I am breaking the trend, and I want to keep doing that. Cholesterol is good. Kidney and liver functions are also good. He moves briefly over my tumour marker results. They are consistent and show no increases. That is good. Very good.He is happy with my minimal weight reduction, and understands my frustration at not being able to swim. Before we know it, I am saying goodbye for the next few months.

I sit down in the waiting room again. Next is Dr W2 my oncologist. Within a few minutes though, I am waved through to go and see Dr W. Dr W2 is running late? I don’t know, but I head through to the other waiting area. Dr W no longer consults in Room No 59 but that is ok. His current room has been auspicious so far.

Dr W welcomes me. How are you? How is Yangon …. Many questions, and then “How many years now…”

“Six years” I tell him. “Six years. Can you believe it?”

I am not sure if he can or not.

I tell him that Twang Arm is causing me grief. Not too much swelling, he observes, but a bit.  Lymphoedema. After so so long. So unfair…. I tell him of my challenges in finding a new swimming space. He encourages me to find such a space. I will…. I promise to myself.

He reviews the results. He ordered the mammo and the ultrasound. He is happy with the results. Nothing sinister.

He then asks when should be the next appointment. I don’t want to say, I want to be told.

“A year?” he asks? My heart lifts and I look up expectantly. “”Too long?” he enquires. Perhaps he is taking my reticence for the need for more frequent review.  I SO SO badly want a review in one year. What a statement of recovery that would be. “It’s six years now” he adds. When will you come back? I reply that I do not yet know, that Dr W2 will make a suggestion or decision. “One year is fine”, he tells me. “but if you come back before then, please come and see me too”.

So I know. One year is fine, but if (and I know that it is highly likely that Dr W2 will request a return presence in either 3 or 6 months) it could be sooner. We settle for an appointment when I next return.  I am enormously heartened by the fact that he is happy to see me n one year. ONE YEAR. That is MILES away.

I return to the waiting area. Dr W2’s PA realises that I am there.  She ushers me in to his consulting room. I am fairly relaxed because by now I have learned the results of the Ultrasound, mammogram. I know that there are no surprises, My mammo result is good  (Birads 2 no less. Why, Birads 2 is classified as benign.) and bloods are fine. I know that my tumour markers are stable, my critical results are fine).

I complain mildly about Twang Arm. Twang Arm has already been well examined. Hmmm, is the  consensus. Lymphedema. Not welcome, but not sinister.

“How long is it now, since you were diagnosed” asks Dr W2. “Four years?”

Aha, no – no. “Six years tomorrow, I reply.

SIX YEARS. Six year whole years.

I have never, ever, asked how long I would have survived without treatment when I was diagnosed back in 2009. But something inside of me would like to know. One day perhaps…

Dr W2 has recalled me every three months for a while now, following the Pulmonary Embolism and some other glitches, so I await his directive anxiously at the end of the consultation. I silently plea that he will not call me back again in 3 months. So when he suggests that I come back in 6 months time, I am more than happy. Six months is a long way hence, and I am quietly delighted to have a longer breathing space,

Friday 2 October 2009

Dr W has explained the scans and Ultrasound to me. The calcifications are not innocent. They are worrying. He shows me the space ship. The shape on the screen with its irregular growing patterns.

“This is highly suspicious of cancer” he tells me gently yet irrecoverably.

Once you speak these words they can never be taken back. “THIS IS HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS OF CANCER… HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS……

This is cancer.

Yes, you are going to die.

That is all I can hear.

These are the words, once spoken, which can never be retracted.

“This is highly suspicious of cancer…. highly suspicious of cancer… highly suspicious…….highly suspicious………

Friday 2 October 2015

I realise it is my “Happy Cancerversary”

I realise that today marks six whole years since I heard those words. “highly suspicious… highly suspicious.”…

Six years ago, I slithered up to Shwe Dagon in the early morning, before my flight to Bangkok, to give blessings and, and to plea, nay beg that this wold not be cancer.

But it was cancer,. Despite all the odds.

And still, I am here., Six years ago, when 2 October was also a Friday and I learned that I was mortal and that I was not somehow protected from cancer.

October 2. Every year.

Yes, I often wonder how long my prognosis would have been back in October 2009.

I have never been able to ask that question. But I do know that I would not be here still, without treatment……..

Today, I AM still here. the path has been hard and gruelling but I am still here.

So, many returns then, eh?


October 2 – Happy Cancerversary!

Smile out loud! #SOL :)

How often are we encouraged or to LOL, to Laugh out Loud? How often are we told by others that they have laughed out loud?  How often are we taken unwittingly by an involuntary snort of laughter, by some amusing message, moment or Facebook meme?

I realise that there are many more moments, though. Moments which might not prompt that laugh deep from the gut, but ones which bring a smile to a face which was previously frowning or simply unthinking. Those tiny moments when you spot a little dog launching herself into the air, only to land with a surprised thud, when the birds she is chasing scatter in flight; or when you see a sweet (as opposed to an extremely annoying) mis-translation or spelling mistake; or watching a man trying to not to fall over while he combines riding his bicycle with balancing a dozen squawking chickens tied by their feet to his handlebars.

Or when you are stuck in traffic and you spot a guy in the taxi next to yours who is leaning out of his window, concentrating very carefully on clipping his fingernails.


Smile out Loud :)

This happened to me just a few days ago, and happily my phone was handy so I could capture the moment. I realised that I was Smiling Out Loud. Not laughing, but I had a broad grin on my face. Now I can Smile Out Loud every time I look at this photo.

And when I scroll back through my images, I realise that so many are Smile Out Loud moments. Like this little frog who made me smile when we surprised each other one morning.

frog on a bike

We are surrounded by Smiles Out Loud but I am not sure that we see many of them. So I have resolved to keep my eyes open and seek out these moments.

More than ever I need to smile.

We all do.

Smiles are free and abundant.

Smile Out Loud!

Silence and words


There has been a deafening silence here for too long. Silence usually, almost always, in this space is a sign of struggle and something not going well. Too often this has been related to cancery stuff.

That is not the case right now. Silence has been due to a long protracted situation which I cannot yet discuss here. But it is NOT cancer related, nor related to my health at all. The checks are very soon, but for now this has nothing to do with cancer.

While this struggle is likely to be dominant for some time, I am trying to pick up the electronic pen again and at least communicate. Trying to keep this space alive.

During these times, it has been particularly striking that my three words for the year have been enormously important. I have been ever reminded to breathe, to gaze at stars and to move forward and realise in its many senses of the word. So it was surprising to me that I have been sought out by three more words. Three words which speak specifically to this situation. Three words which sit within the main three word mantra of Breathe, Stargaze, Realise, but which recognise that I need something more focused.

Those words are:

Dignity – this reminds me that no matter how difficult things become, it is critical to maintain my own dignity and respect the dignity of others.

dignityContemplate – I am tempted to react and respond in a knee-jerk manner, but some changes and actions need to be thought through and considered carefully.

LP April 1Beacon – a beacon is a guiding light which shows the way ahead, it shines light in very dark places and it provides hope that there is a better and lighter place ahead.


This too shall pass. And while it will take time, I have these words to guide and look after me.


While the intensity of the past months continues, so to does the cycle of life. Weeks ago we were complaining of the oppressive heat and praying for rain.

This year rainy season was hesitant, somewhat reticent in its arrival. Last year the rains arrived in the early afternoon of May 9th, and the season switched decisively. Dry season and blue skies were replaced instantly by grey and black clouds and torrential downpours. This year, in late April we had three days of rain, and sighed relief. Yes the rains are here, thank goodness. Then the skies cleared again, and the temperatures and tempers would rise dramatically. Where had rainy season gone? A week or so later, more grey clouds would sweep in, and more torrents of rain would fall, to be replaced once more by teasing blue skies. This happened on a loop, on a repeat mode. Rain, pause, sun, pause, rain, repeat……

There was no decisive start to rainy season this year, instead the blue sky pauses became shorter and the rainy interludes longer. Until we realised that the rainy season had indeed arrived, through some back door rather than with its usual flamboyant entrance.

There is one sure signal of rainy season, however. That is seen particularly in the fattening of jackfruit on the trees. Jackfruit and their cousins, durian.

jackfruit 1

Jackfruit appearing

These are fruits I had never heard of before I arrived in Asia, and my first introduction to the durian was through its reputation rather than its taste. On my first visit to Thailand over a decade ago, I was puzzled by signs in hotels and other public places that durian were banned. What kind of fruit is banned from hotels and buses? It turns out that it is a very stinky fruit which is banned. Durian and jackfruit have a pungent smell, which seems to linger for months, long after its taste has been relished. It is enormously popular, in fact I have yet to meet anyone from here who does not break into a wide grin when there is talk of jackfruit and durian.

BKK Durian

Durian for sale in Bangkok

Jackfruit is especially prolific in Myanmar. At this time of year, there are jackfruit stalls on every corner, and jackfruit sellers at the traffic lights. Jackfruit are created with single portion size pockets contained within their skin and already packaged ready for sale as soon as the thick skin is split open and the perfect little portions are extracted.

Every year, I am surprised at the appearance of the jackfruit as rainy season approaches. I never notice them when they are small, orange or grapefruit sized. I only begin to spot them on the trees once they are bigger than your average watermelon. Then I see them everywhere, as they continue to swell and grow. According to Professor Wikipedia, the Jackfruit is the largest tree-borne fruit in the world. Its weight can range from 10 lbs to over 100 lbs. (5 kg upwards roughly).

What astounds me most of all though is that these massive fruit are delicately attached to the tree by a thin spindly stalk, as is the durian.

jackfruit 2

It looks incredibly precarious, but I have yet to see a jackfruit lying damaged on the ground, having fallen from its stalk. These stalks might look fragile and weak, but there is a strength within them which belies their appearance.

Life is precarious and uncertain. We are thrown curve balls when least expecting them. We feel fragile and unable to hold on to our burdens. Yet somehow we find the strength. Mostly.

A number of people dear to me are going through tough times. The air feels as if it is thick with curve balls. May we all find inner strength to hold on and move forwards, despite how weak and fragile we feel and how enormous the burden.

Deeply personal

I have no wish to add to the commentary on the disaster in Nepal caused by a major earthquake yesterday, and followed by numerous aftershocks and at least two other significant quakes of well over 6 magnitude on the Richter Scale.

There is a wealth of information, distressing and tragic images and news updates as casualty figures rise. It is an overwhelming tragedy and the coming days critical as a picture emerges of the extent of the situation, including the remoter areas nearer the epicentre. Information is aplenty and I do not plan to add to it.

My words are about how deeply personal this tragedy is, and that is for me at a distance, physically removed from the situation. However, I am strongly connected having lived in Nepal for approaching six years. Nepal, and especially Kathmandu hold a very precious place in my heart. I am struggling to process this.

This earthquake is not unexpected. We have long known that a major earthquake is due, or even overdue. Nepal sits on a highly seismic line, which give us the spectacular Himalayas as a result of the tectonic plates shifting through history. We have long feared an earthquake of this scale but we have always hoped that it would not happen.

When I first arrived in Kathmandu in July 2000, fresh off an overnight flight from Scotland, to take up a new job in a country I had never been to, I was spellbound by the city. But even in my first few days, I started hearing about “the earthquake”. I quickly learned that Nepal is highly vulnerable, and that Kathmandu particularly was in a highly precarious position. The population density, fragility of many buildings and concentrated construction on top of a ground which used to be the floor of a lake and now prone to liquefaction all being factors which would intensify the impact of an earthquake. I soon became very aware of earthquake risk, but did not know what to do in the event of a tremor. I did not have to wait long before I was pushed into action. The deep Gujurat earthquake in January 2001 caused swaying of buildings and dizziness in beings even as far as Nepal. Not long after, in July we had a rattling 5.9 earthquake while I was lying in my bed dozing off one Monday night. As the shaking intensified, I realised I had no clue what to do and I was lying there thinking”what-do-I-do-I-need-to-shelter-in-a-doorway-or-is-it-under-the-bed-or-should-I-run-outside?” when I realised that the shaking had stopped. Nothing had been damaged, but there were shouts of “bhuichalo” (earthquake in Nepali) outside, dogs were frantic, people gathering outside and I settled on my rooftop balcony feeling safer on top of a building than in it, and unwilling go to back to bed in case a bigger one came.

That night there was no further seismic action, nor was there much sleep. My paralysis when the earthquake started galvanised me to learn more and without doubt prepared me for future earthquake experiences, and in particular the 2004 quake which caused the massive tsunami. We were in Port Blair in the Andaman Islands on that day and returned to Kathmandu a few days later, with an intensified dread of the anticipated “big one” which we knew was already overdue.

There have been a number of deadly quakes in Nepal in recent decades, but the last massive one was in 1934 measuring 8.4. Seismology experts have calculated that a quake above 7 on the Richter scale is likely every 60 – 80 years. Hence the sense that a “big one” was overdue or imminent. Returning from a major earthquake, into a vulnerable area caused incredible stress. This was not an irrational fear, but a very real likelihood. We just had no idea when it might happen. We developed a plan of action for when such an earthquake came including a rendez vous point and communication back up. One particular friend and I worked through which supplies to hold, and which necessities to stock and a plan of action.  When she visited me in Yangon, she told me how that had now become a plan which she had jointly developed with a small number of friends in Kathmandu. They would join forces, each with different supplies if needed.

We left Nepal in November 2005, and a major reason was the vulnerability to earthquake. We had moved house to a safer place, but still felt that the risk was high and when the opportunity arose for work in Mongolia this was welcome. But I am still highly aware, and have written of earthquakes and mentioned more than once, that one of the reasons we are so taken with our home here is because it is small and likely to be safer in the event of a quake.

I was in a car heading home yesterday lunchtime, when hubby phoned and broke the news of the earthquake. As soon as I got home, I spent most of my time checking up online, seeking news of family and friends in the affected area. Having lived there for so long, and with family across the whole affected region, it was an overwhelming task trying to seek reassurance about so many people. There were so many updates from friends, family and former colleagues all over the world, desperately looking for information and sharing any updates they found. Thank heavens for social media. Although phone lines were mostly down, internet was more functional and soon messages came through from those who were safe and knew of others on Twitter and Facebook. In no time, #nepal and #earthquake were trending on Twitter. This morning we continued to receive news that loved ones are mostly unhurt. After the initial relief, we realise that many are homeless. Most spent the night outside, either under tents or on the roadside either because homes are destroyed or unsafe, or due to fear because of the aftershocks.

A great deal has been done in terms of preparedness in recent years, but the geography of the Kathmandu valley and population density are fundamental features which intensify the impact of the earthquake.  Hospital patients are being treated outside as there is no more space inside. Water and food will urgently become limited. One piece of welcome information was that although Kathmandu airport was closed to regular traffic, it was still able to function and late last night the first relief supplies arrived from India. The national and international communities have mobilised and a humanitarian effort underway with emergency coordination mechanisms already activated. A State of Emergency has been declared.

However, we still do not know the scale of the situation. The coming days are indeed critical, particularly given the strength and number of aftershocks on the weakened and fragile structures. Gradually we are learning more, and each new piece of information cuts deeper.

While I am protected from the immediacy of this catastrophe being at a distance, I cannot say that I am not affected.  This post is a personal, selfish catharsis from an individual trying to process and deal with the scale of this disaster. It is deeply personal.

We are holding the people of this Himalayan region close in our hearts at this time and holding out hope for a rapid, effective response reaching and treating casualties quickly and for a strong recovery.


Realise – a review and a commitment

I have written in recent weeks, about my three words for the year. That has surprised me a little, as I usually revisit them later in the year to take the pulse on how they are working. But this year, there has been an unexpected nudge to check in early in the year.

Perhaps there is a greater need than ever for me to be guided by my words, and this is why prompts have come my way. And a lunar eclipse is a pretty impressive prompt!

It is especially timely for me to talk about my third word, realise. And I need to muster a little courage for this.

I have been writing this in my hideaway in the Laos hills, in the space where I found peace, inspiration and healing over the New Year. We have a week of leave over the Thingyan Water Festival and New Year, in Myannar, and I knew that I needed an escape from the intensity of recent weeks and months, and from the watery mayhem which takes over much of the region. As soon as the medical checks were over and Dr W2 and his flowery Songkran shirt had given me welcome news, I moved to firm up arrangements for a break I eagerly sought back in the hills near Luang Prabang.

LP April 1

The perfect creative space.

LP April 2

This is a very special space, not for everyone. If you are seeking entertainment and sophistication, gala dinners and spectacle then this is probably not for you. Entertainment is largely self made – there are treks to nearby villages, waterfalls and hillsides, a swimming pool and surroundings which draw serious numbers of butterflies which need to be watched as they go about their butterfly work. There are games such as scrabble, and puzzles. The food menu does not span a large number of pages, but the food is fresh, delicious and the vegetables grown in the organisc farm which is part of the project. Here there is no television, but there is a small library with books in a number of languages. Here there are no selfie sticks and gadgets are rare. People chat instead of gazing into smartphones while their thumbs do aerobics. In fact there is not even any wifi here so it is truly disconnected from the buzz of the outside and online world. And I find that enormously refreshing.

LP April 3

This is a truly tranquil space, and I occupy my time by walking, swimming (the temperatures are much warmer now and the water welcoming), photographing butterflies, reading and writing. I have especially been writing, and writing in such an inspiring place, where the distractions are mainly in the form of butterflies.

And that is where realise comes in. I have promised to myself that I will deliver on my main writing project by the end of the year. This is where I need courage because if I share here what my plan is, then I have an additional responsibility to make it real and deliver.

So here goes. Deep breath………

I have alluded in passing to my writing goal. Publication of Dragonfruit last year was a major life achievement for me, in having some of my writing appear in a proper book. This has pushed me to take this a stage further and produce a book with my name on the front and that is what I have been working on in the Laos hills, in tea shops in Yangon and green and inspiring spaces such as Bago.

Now I want to share a little more detail as the work takes shape.

There are two key aspects to this memoir. Firstly, insights and accounts of life and work in the 2009/10 Myanmar when none of us had any inkling of the changes ahead are told through my first year there and accounts of ways of life which have evaporated and disappeared. And of course, the diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer in this setting.

My aim is to produce a memoir of (a little over) my first year in Myanmar. It will span from June 2009 when we were waiting for our paperwork, through settling in Myanmar when things were very different, travelling extensively through the country in my first three months before being diagnosed with breast cancer. The work then charts the experience of single-breasted, bald, wheelchair-using, frequent flier commuting between Yangon and Bangkok for treatment, in an environment where I did not speak the language, and there were considerable practical, logistical and paperwork challenges. The memoir takes us through to November 2010 and my first visit to Bangkok following treatment which is not for medical reasons, as the world watches the Lady, Aung San Suu Kyi being released from house arrest following the first elections in two decades in Myanmar.

Back when I was diagnosed in October 2009, I don’t think that anyone had any idea of the changes ahead either personally or contextually. This is a combined account of a country facing unexpected and enormous change, and that of an individual woman facing an unexpected journey. In addition to sharing the detail of the disease and the treatment, this memoir will delve into the emotional and psychological facets of a cancer diagnosis and the unexpected elements – special friendships formed through a common cancer experience, the world of internet cancer and social media and its role in 21st century cancer yet in an environment which was closed and enigmatic to the outside world. A real example of tropical cancer, and in fact cancer in the unknown and mysterious Myanmar/Burma.

Living in Myanmar (Burma) and being treated in Bangkok provided a background ranging from the amusing – (such as trying to find a prosthesis when the market is focused on perky boobs which are perhaps more targeted for Thai Lady Boys, or a wig when the colour options are black or black making a chemo pale foreigner look like a Goth or aging rock star) – to the heart rending (being on the other side of the planet from family, the shock and disbelief upon hearing the cancer word), and to the bizarre (undergoing radiation therapy while Bangkok was on the international stage during the “Red Shirt” protests in May 2010) when Bangkok erupted in violence and flames which caused additional stress and uncertainty and added an unexpected perspective to those days.

I have a working title for the memoir, which needs a little refining before I can share, but here is a clue…

LP butterflies 1

The commitment I have made to myself to realise, is to produce a draft manuscript for the end of the year. To be a maor step forward in making this real. 

LP butterflies 2The Laos hills and their butterflies have provided a particularly inspirational space to take this forward considerably away from the distractions of the outside world.