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.

Namaste.

Acceptance, acknowledgement and gratitude

Today is our wedding anniversary.  It is without doubt a time to reflect and give thanks for a great deal.

There are a number of Big Things which have happened in my life which have stayed with me and shaped who I am.  Events or experiences which I have not been able easily to lay to rest, and ones which play a prominent role in my conscious.  Breast cancer is obviously one of those things.

Another is our honeymoon experience in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.  We married on 10 December 2004 and travelled to the Andamans 2 days later.  We were due to leave on 26 December.  Yes, 26 December 2004.

We were incredibly protected that day, but we did experience a combination of PTSD and guilt in being part of such an immense disaster.  This is a shortened account of our experience of 26 December, 2004.

***************

We were sitting in the departure lounge of Kathmandu airport on 12 December 2004, waiting for our flight to Calcutta for our honeymoon trip to the Andaman Islands.  J caught sight of an elderly Ringpoche who was also sitting waiting and went over and gave his respects to him, and asked him about his visit to Calcutta.  Chatral  Rinpoche is a very senior, reclusive and fairly outspoken Rinpoche who has  shunned institutional and political involvement his whole life, choosing instead to live the life of a wandering yogi. To this day, despite his great age, he continues to move about, rarely remaining in one place for more than a few months. He is especially well known for his advocacy of vegetarianism and his yearly practice of ransoming the lives of thousands of animals in India. Chatral Rinpoche also stresses the practice of retreat and has established numerous retreat centers throughout the Himalayas, including in Pharping, Yolmo, and Darjeeling.  He was travelling from the retreat in Pharping, near Kathmandu on that day.  J’s family are very strong followers of the Buddhist faith and to meet such a senior Rinpoche was a special honour and highly auspicous.

Exactly two weeks later, on 26 December we were in Port Blair, the capital of the Andaman Islands, on our final day there.   We had spent two positively idyllic weeks on two islands – Havelock and Neil Islands snorkelling, lazing and really enjoying this magical place.  We had returned to Port Blair on Christmas Eve, to spend Christmas day and our plan had been to travel back to Calcutta and onto Delhi on Boxing day for the final week of our honeymoon in northern India spotting tigers.

I was woken by the first gentle tremors of the just before 6.30 am.  I felt an oddly soothing rocking of the bed and instantly wondered if it was possibly a tremor or whether hubby J was having some action packed Bollywood type dream!  Was hubby causing the bed to rock, or was the bed causing hubby to rock?  I very quickly realised it was an earthquake when as well as the bed, the wardrobe and mirrors started shaking and the tremors quickly got much stronger, seeming to gather speed.  I woke hubby J from his action packed dream, and we rushed out of the room.  I grabbed two strange essentials in automatic pilot – my glasses and my plastic sandals. My earthquake fear had meant that I was prepared and instantly made a judgement about where to take cover.  Having selected my glasses, I could see from the way the building was behaving, that we were safer not trying to leave the building.  We sheltered in the corridor while the quake was at its worst.  We could hardly stand, and it felt as if the hotel had turned to rubber.  The noise of the earth and building moving was the strangest, most difficult noise to describe – a sort of grinding, roaring noise.  Everything was moving, and the other guests were rushing downstairs (we were on the second floor). Glass, light fittings and other debris were smashing down all around, particularly in the stairwell.  My cheap plastic slippers protected my feet from the glass scattered everywhere.  The tremor was so strong that we could hardly stand.  Once the shaking subsided we returned quickly to the room, grabbed a couple of essentials including the nearest clothing and the small handbag with passports and made our way gingerly down the stairs which were littered with debris.  We were very fortunate not to be cut or hurt apart form a few bruises when we were thrown against the wall.

Outside we saw the extent of the damage.  Our new, carefully built hotel was badly damaged with large cracks everywhere.  The lift shaft added onto the front of the building had become separated from the main building and had probably provided some stability to the overall structure of the hotel.  If the building hadn’t been so well constructed our place of shelter could have been our death trap.

We waited and waited outside in the clothes we had slept in with all other guests also mostly in night clothes and shocked.  The owner of the hotel soon arrived and carried out a head count to make sure that all guests were accounted for.  Christmas is the peak season and the hotel was full.

At that stage, we had no idea that the earthquake was so significant and believed it was a local, though very powerful earthquake. We were to remain outside, for a few hours, as snippets of information slowly found their way to our ears, in bits and pieces.  The phone system was down but some people had picked up information from radio sources.  We had no direct way of finding anything out and for us there was an almost complete communication blackout, save these odd snippets.  We heard that the jetty was destroyed and cars and bikes were in the sea, it was more than 8 on the Richter scale, Indonesia was also affected, maybe west Bengal too, that a ship travelling from Tamil Nadu had capsized.  All vague and uncorroborated.

I had an awareness of the possibility of a tsunami and kept looking out towards the sea from our vantage point.  Port Blair is on a hilly area and we were on a road fairly high above Phoenix Bay.  Hubby had never heard of a tsunami and when I asked him why he was looking to the sky, he said that he was looking for the arrival of the Japanese rescue helicopter mission I was talking about.

Soon after the earthquake, I don’t know exactly when as time kind of stood still that morning, we heard people saying “the water’s coming , the water’s coming up”.  I still don’t know for sure if the water had already come up at that point, or if it was seen approaching as the snippets were coming in Hindi and Bengali.  I think it had probably already risen.

Port Blair town was sheltered from much of the anger of the tsunami by the southerly islands which absorbed the full brunt of its force and when it reached us it was more like a rapid flooding than a large wave, as if the ocean was tilting, one way then the other.  We were spared the horror of its brute strength purely by being in the right place at the wrong time.

The morning passed in a surreal daze.  I felt an urgent need for information – but knew there was absolutely no way I could find anything out..  There were further tremors, some pretty strong, but we were outside and felt safe away from buildings.  It was sometimes hard to tell if there was another tremor right away as we both felt a strange sensation of dizziness periodically.  We loitered in the street, sometimes sitting on the seats which the hotel owner had brought for us, then leaving them hurriedly when another tremor came, sometimes wandering down the street.  Sitting on neighbour’s steps further down the street, still in our night clothes, I finally, in increasing discomfort, had to ask the neighbour if I could use their bathroom at one point, and she very warmly welcomed me into her house. “Please don’t look at the mess”, she said.  On the outside, the beautiful Andamanese wooden house looked untouched.  Inside, however, was a very different story.  The beautiful house was wrecked inside – the large aquarium was in the middle of the floor, smashed, surrounded by dead fish, rocks and underwater plants, furniture had fallen over, picture, ornaments, books lying all over the floor.  In the bathroom I saw that the toilet was full of what looked like mud – then I realised the seriousness of the situation facing the islands.  The plumbing system had been completely destroyed – pipes crushed and the sewerage system ruined.  Even the taps refused to produce anything but a trickle of mud.  We were clearly a burden on this island – clean water was desperately needed for the Andamanese and not for us outsiders.  This wonderful woman made tea for us and chatted as we sat on her steps waiting for something, not sure what.

We continued our wait outside the hotel, naively aware that our flight time was approaching and not knowing if flights would still be operating.  Slowly the hotel owner found places to stay for those guests who still had time in the Andamans.  Gradually we were reunited with most of our belongings (the hotel was too damaged to let us back in, so things were slowly recouped for us).  We packed our bags in the street, but had no place to change so headed to the airport still in our night clothes.

On our way to the airport we passed Jungli Ghat which was inundated and damaged, and people standing around dazed.  We heard people saying that some people had died in Port Blair – no one knew whether the earthquake or the water had caused their deaths, all was so uncertain.

On arrival at the airport, many people were outside on the grass.  We had to wait outside as no one was allowed in the airport building so we waited and waited for news of flights.  Gradually we learned that the runway had been damaged at one end.  No one knew what would happen.  It was impossible for the large planes which usually fly to Port Blair to land so eventually all flights were cancelled.  A large queue formed beside the Air India window as people tried to get their tickets altered.  Jet Air passengers were reallocated seats and accommodation found for them and they gradually left the airport.  Nothing was going to happen quickly, that was sure, so hubby left to try and phone again, and to get something to eat.    He brought back some mung beans, crisps and pineapple juice which we consumed with disinterest and mechanically – neither of us were hungry but our bodies told us we had to feed ourselves.  The afternoon progressed and I waited patiently and politely at the end of the Air India queue as the queue in front of me grew and grew and people gradually left as their tickets were endorsed in some way for later travel.  Finally, we were told that the Indian government would put on one relief flight later that day as they recognised that that they had to start lifting people out. An empty, smaller plane would be flown in, and would be able to land on the shorter length of available runway.

We were extremely fortunate to be on that first airlift, and it was purely down to chance, and probably British queuing style.  We had a connection in Calcutta for Delhi which we knew would have long departed so asked about that.  Due to the emergency situation there would be no problem with our tickets – but we were told that our luggage might not go on the flight with us.  As part of the runway was disabled, the plane would not be able to carry all passenger luggage so it could lift abruptly before the damaged part.  The priority was to evacuate people and bags could follow later.

Everything except the one check in desk was eerily deserted in the airport. Shops, phone booths and even the immigration desk for foreigners was empty.  This caused a difficulty for me as the lone foreigner on the flight.  Immigration officials had been released when the flights were cancelled and I had to surrender my permit and have my passport endorsed before I would be able to leave the Andamans.  As the rest of the passengers filed through to the departure area, we were left sitting there until we were almost alone. Cracks were everywhere in the building – supporting walls separated from adjoining walls with gaps of a several inches.  A TV was playing in the corner, showing a cricket match, bizarrely.

We heard the aircraft arrive – safely clearing the damage on the runway.  We were on the point of being lifted out of the emergency situation, but we couldn’t stop thinking of those we had befriended on the islands not knowing how they had been affected.  In particular the warm people on Neil Island where we had extended our stay.  Finally a lone official arrived who was allowed to carry out the exit formalities, he took my permit, and stamped my passport  “Andaman and Nicobar Islands, Port Blair – departure 26 December 2004”.  We joined our fellow passengers in the departure area, all exchanging our stories, a motley crew of travellers, some with injuries from the earthquake and most in various states of dress (we weren’t alone there).

Finally we boarded our flight as daylight was fading – mirroring our abrupt start to the day as the first light was seeping into our room when the quake came.  After our idyllic holiday our departure from the Andamans felt strangely one of relief.

The departure was frightening because we knew that the pilot had to calculate precisely how heavy the plane could be and where exactly to take off – a minuscule error could be disastrous, and there was enormous relief when we took off sharply away from the damaged earth behind us.

Our pilot must have been carefully chosen for this job, not just for his wonderful skill in guiding the aircraft in and out of Port Blair, but also for his gentle, caring attitude which came across during his in-flight announcement.  He told us to relax, that he and his crew would look after us and take us safely to Calcutta after our ordeal.  We didn’t even realise that there had been an ordeal I don’t think at that stage.  We did realise we were pretty hungry too and hubby asked the cabin crew if there was any extra food (we had eaten only those crisps and mung beans all day) and they happily gave us extra portions, seemingly having thought of this already.  We flew towards Calcutta, the sun staying just on the horizon on our western side as we travelled northwards, and the full moon lighting up the sky on our eastern sky, another strange mirror that day.

I remember little of that flight but do remember feeling cold when we arrived in Calcutta, in my short trousers and night shirt.  When we had packed in the street at least we had been able to recover our Kathmandu winter jackets so must have looked really strange – but we didn’t care or realise at the time.  We waited at the luggage carousel – and were reunited with our bags for the second time that day.  We were among a few lucky ones, I think we travelled a lot lighter than many of our fellow travellers.   At the baggage carousel there was a lot of interest in us – “what is the situation like in Port Blair – there is no news, what has happened?”.  I started to realise how cut off we had been and that the world didn’t know how the Andamans had been affected.

I was desperately anxious to call our families, just in case they had heard anything in the news about the earthquake.  We had phoned home on Christmas day to send seasonal wishes, and to gloat about our good fortune spending Christmas in such a wonderful setting, particularly when Scotland had seen blizzards and Christmas dinner had to be postponed as not everyone could make it.  So they knew exactly where we were.  It appeared that the rescheduled Christmas dinner was again heading for cancellation as the news of the earthquake was the news which Scotland woke to on Boxing day.

It was then we really learned the enormity of the disaster.  It was then that slowly news of the tsunami and its devastation across south Asia was appearing.  Our telephone calls were very emotional and shocking.  Our loved ones had been through hell and unable to get any information, partly due to official lines being overloaded, but also because there was no communication with the Andamans and no news. We had been posted missing with the British Embassy consular officials in Delhi.  My mother in law had collapsed, fearing a double cruel blow in a few months as she had only recently been widowed .  Our ordeal was nothing in comparison to what our families and friends went through.

We were put on the last flight to Delhi that night, and at 10 pm were finally called to the departure lounge.  Here there was a TV in the corner and BBC world was broadcasting.  I stood in sheer horror and disbelief, oblivious to the tears rolling down my face, as I listened to the ashen faced newscaster recounting the emerging devastation of the tsunami, seeing the map with Andamans right in the midst of the disaster.  I was totally unable to comprehend this massive tragedy.  I was completely unable to grasp the fact that I had been right in the very place which was so prominent on the world stage.

We flew late that night onto Delhi in a complete daze and decided to drive down to Agra where we collapsed in a freezing hotel room in the early hours of the morning, and finally slept for most of the day.  We decided not to go tiger spotting in Bandavhgargh as we had originally planned as it seemed a bit irresponsible to risk being eaten by tigers after being blessed with protection in the Andamans. Instead we headed to Rajasthan after Agra and spent a very quiet New Year counting our blessings and thinking of those so less fortunate than us. We returned to Kathmandu with, I have to say, an altered perspective on life.

I had nightmares for a long time, occasionally still having one.  I used to wake in a panic, convinced that I could feel the bed rocking again. Sometimes there would be a reason, such as a lorry trundling past in the street causing buildings in the street to shudder, sometimes hubby stirring in his own nightmare, and sometimes it is just the pounding of my heart as I try instantly to assess if it is a tremor.  I am fortunate – at least I wake up.

I cannot ignore the coincidence of meeting Chatral Rinpoche in the departure lounge and what he said.  When hubby asked him about his journey  we were struck by what he told us. He said that something terrible was going to happen and many people would die.  With the conflict in Nepal this did not strike us as particularly unexpected. He told hubby that he was going to the Gaya Ganga fish market near Calcutta where he would buy fish and release them back into Ganga holy river, which goes to the bay of Bengal and of course Andaman islands, from its origin in Kashmir.  He said that releasing the fish and blessing them would save some lives.  We gave him a donation and asked him to get more fish and release them and maybe more lives would be protected.  Chatral Rinpoche thanked us and told us that he would release fish in our name for the long life of others.   It seems too great a coincidence that our lives were somehow protected in the Andamans on 26 December.

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When we married seven years ago today we had no idea of the challenges ahead of us.  We have certainly been tested.  We certainly did not sign up for the tsunami, nor the cancer club.  But these things did happen, and sitting here today in peaceful, tropical surroundings it feels almost surreal to reflect back and accept and acknowledge what has happened.  And most of all to appreciate and value how fortunate am I to have been protected, looked after and cared for by hubby during these times.

Thank you, J.  Happy Anniversary 🙂

Mango shake

We have a large mango tree in the garden.  I am patiently watching the small mangoes as they grow and looking forward to them ripening.  I wish they would hurry up!

Mangoes are one of my favourite fruits and the thought of a mango supply at my doorstep is quite delightful, particularly as I completely missed mango season last year.  Mangoes taste delicious, and feel to me like a symbol for life in this part of the world in many ways.

So it feels as my mango world is being shaken a bit at the moment.

I still feel a mix of emotions following the earthquake triggered disasters in Japan.  It brought memories and emotions from 2004 flooding to the surface for many of us.   I feel a bit unsettled with these memories.  The level of preparedness in Japan demonstrates clearly how critical this is and what a difference it can make, even in the face of such unimaginable devastation.

I am being shaken in another way too as we approach the next phase of my work.  There are uncertainties which are difficult to live with in any situation, but when lived through the breast cancer lens become highly stressful and even frightening.  I know this is a storm I have to ride, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary hanging on as it gathers pace.

Captain Paranoia has also taken up residence, with the approach of my next set of checks.  All of this has not been helped by an episode of dizziness one night.  Of course that immediately convinced me that cancer beast is doing things with my brain.  It is messing around psychologically for sure, but my mind was convinced that there was something sinister.  This has been a one-off and I will bring my appointments forward if it happens again.  I will ask Dr W2 about it when I see him.

There have been a few administrative hiccups recently which again, are not huge in the big scheme of things, but which are more difficult when the overall situation is fragile.  I have learned this week of uncertainties regarding my health care which is incredibly frightening.

And then on Thursday evening there was another kind of shake.  In fact I was sound asleep when the phone rang.  I had no idea what time it was and struggled to waken enough to totter over and answer it.  So I persuaded hubby J to do the honours.  Being overseas, a night time call is always alarming as you always fear that it means bad news.   And sure enough this was a call from home.  I braced myself as I was asked “are you all right”?

“I’m fine”, I replied.  “I was asleep”. I added intelligently, in an attempt to explain why I was neither coherent not chatty

“We heard there was an earthquake in Myanmar”.

I woke up somewhat!

Let me explain that I have an earthquake history.  During the years I lived in Kathmandu I became increasingly concerned about the likelihood of an earthquake and a general lack of preparedness.  I experienced my first earthquake in 2001 when I was in southern Nepal and the Gujurat earthquake was clearly felt.  Only a few weeks later there was a shallow and very rattley 5.9 earthquake in Kathmandu late one night.  I realised that I had no clue what to do and lay in my bed as I tried to decide whether to shelter under the bed, the table, run outside   or any other course of action.  I was still wittering and dithering when I realised that it had stopped – and I had done nothing!  It galvanised me into action and I became rather vocal and active around the issue of preparedness.

It made a huge difference when we were in the Big One in December 2004.  I knew exactly what to do, and where to shelter even though we were in a hotel.  That is a very long other story, but suffice to say that the experience and the nightmares stayed with us for a long time, and was a factor in moving house in Kathmandu and even in our eventual departure from the city.  It caused great nervousness for our families and is something which has never really disappeared.  I have experienced another 2 earthquakes since then, one smaller one in the Andamans ironically, the day I returned there after over 2 years later, and a bigger one when I was visiting Banda Aceh.  The latter surprised me in how much it brought the fear back instantly and I started to have earthquake nightmares again.  It came in the early hours of the morning and roused me from sleep by the familiar grinding noise.  Before I could rationalise what was happening, I was out of bed, had my glasses on and had immediately established that I was in a safe space.

When we moved to Yangon, we made a very deliberate housing choice to live in a single story building.  I even have a coconut shell hanging in the bedroom.  This is a simple yet effective earthquake alarm as it rattles as soon as there is any movement in the earth.

So given my sensitivity to earthquakes, it came as a bit of s surprise to hear, from the UK, that there had been one while I was sleeping!  I tried to gather my thoughts.  I could see that there were lights outside so power had not been cut.  That told me that it was unlikely that there had been a strong earthquake.  I could not hear any sounds of alarm or people outside, which also told me that things in the city were calm and therefore any quake was either not severe or not nearby.  I guessed that it might have been quite a distance from us.

So we were able to reassure that we were absolutely fine, and quite literally in the dark regarding any details of the quake.  We switched on the news but there were no reports and we eventually went back to bed wondering what was happening.

In the morning I again watched the news before my sunrise swim, and again there was no mention. I looked out into the lane and my next door neighbour was, as usual, standing at her gate beside a small table with rice and food on it.  A long line of monks was walking barefoot towards her, so many that I could not see the end of the line.  Clearly things were fairly normal.  So I headed to the pool.  There were three other colleagues from my own and other agencies also in the pool and I quickly found that the earthquake was topic number 1 of conversation.  I learned that the earthquake had been further north on the Laos and Thai borders and that there was little information yet due to the remoteness of the areas affected.  It was a quite the most surreal briefing I have ever had!

Apparently a number of colleagues and friends felt the earthquake, here in Yangon and also as far as Bangkok.  However, despite my hyper sensitivity and fixation, I was completely unaware!  Details are still coming in of death, injury and destruction and our community is assessing the most appropriate response.

So the world around and within me is being shaken in so many different ways, and I am trying to hold on and trust that the shaking calms down and we can all move forward.

Mango shake I can deal with. I am not sure if I can handle mango crumble.

Introspection – “extrospection” through the breast cancer lens

This is the post I wrote a year ago, and which is eerily current.

March 2010

“There’s one thing about cancer – my goodness it makes you self centred!  Conversation and communication revolves around current treatment, side effects, what’s next, how well I’m coping (aye right!) and generously taking the p*** out of cancer as it takes the p*** out of me!

It’s not that I don’t care or think about anything external but rather that the whole cancer thing just takes right over.

So this is an attempt to see things a little bit “out of the box” and remember that there was a Feisty Blue Gecko before there was a need to fight back!  Indeed it is not as if I was short of things to say about life before the lump.

I have had a pretty amazing life in lots of ways, one of extremes and challenges and privileges and rare experience.  I could really honestly say that I loved life, and in particular I loved my life. 

And then I found the lump.

I do still love life, but it just all feels on hold.  And I don’t love the chemo-treatment-bald-twang arm life in the same way!!

So I have been prompted to look back over recent years.  I moved to Nepal (from Scotland) in mid 2000 and ended up living and working there until late 2005. I grew and learned enormously both personally and professionally in those years, and experienced some incredible times both frighteningly challenging as well as heart-stoppingly magical.   In November 2005 hubby J and I moved to Mongolia where we spent a hugely different year in a massively different context, culture and climate, never mind diet!………..More incredible learning and challenges.  A year later we packed again and set off back to the sub continent – this time to the tsunami affected areas of India (Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Pondicherry and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands) and a professional shift from broad development work into post emergency/rehabilitation and humanitarian work.  It was also a very special opportunity to re-visit the Andaman Islands where we had been on December 26 2004 (and that earthquake and tsunami experience is a whole other tale, for another day…….)  It was wonderful both professionally and personally, and an invaluable experience which enabled great healing.

And that is when Feisty Blue Gecko was born.  I started blogging following my first visit back to the Andamans, when I was treated to a small earthquake just to remind me of 2004. After our year in India I moved next door to work in Sri Lanka for another year, when the conflict was at its peak in full scale humanitarian work.  It was an incredible change to begin my work in Myanmar last year and I was really settling into life and work here.  I was completely and utterly unprepared for the cancer call when it came.

Recently, I was kicked out of my cancer induced introversion by global events.  The Haiti earthquake immediately shocked in its severity and I was surprised to be contacted with 24 hours to ascertain whether I might be available to be deployed for the emergency response.  Clearly I was in no position to be any use there. However, it really made me stop and think.  I could see how small and personal my own “calamity” was, yet it hammered home just how much life has changed for me.  The thought that I might not be able to play a part in a humanitarian response again was particularly hard to contemplate.

At the same time, a lesser known disaster was emerging in Mongolia, a Dzuud – a kind of severe winter famine.   This received little attention because its toll on human life is perceived as far less.  The main impact is death of significant numbers of livestock.  The traditional nomadic herding communities however, experience the harsh after effects for many years to come.  These include immediate and often total loss of livelihoods, migration to urban areas and many are deeply trapped in poverty.  And that does not begin to describe how life is affected for the herding families and the real difficulties of such a change.  While I was working in Mongolia I heard of and saw over and over again the impact of the Dzuud disasters on families which had taken place 4 – 5 years previously.  Time and time again I heard of the effects on those families and how so many were still struggling so many years later.

So while my little, personal world has been knocked about as the big world is being shaken, I think it is good to be kicked out of my introspection.  However, I can see that looking outwards is now characterised by the fact that I see everything through the breast cancer lens.   So it seems that the global and personal worlds are in sync, and this outward look cannot fail but to reinforce it the inward one.  Ironically, this emphasises just how much my own life has indeed changed.”

March 2011

Apart from the fact that I was in the midst of active treatment when I wrote this, and Haiti was on the world stage rather than Japan, my thoughts seem to be very similar.  Although I am in a much stronger position now and have indeed recently been involved in a response in country, things have shifted and changed.  I am living life again, picking up the pieces and but it is most definitely through the breast cancer lens.  And as much as my own world has been turned upside down since diagnosis, the magnitude of what has happened in Japan and my reactions show that despite the fact that I am in a different and better place this year, I still need to be shaken from introspection.

Fragile

I came home for an hour at lunchtime yesterday as I had been unwell overnight, and wanted to have a short rest.

Just before I was about to leave home I switched on the TV to see what was happening in the world.  With utter horror and disbelief I was confronted with live footage of the tsunami sweeping over northern Japan.

I was glued to the screen, compelled to watch despite the fact that I knew that people were caught in the devastation unfolding before me.

There is such a mix of emotions at a time like this.  I was willing there to be less suffering than the horrific images indicate.  There was shock and disbelief at the incredible destruction and fragility of life.  As a humanitarian and development professional, I found myself immediately connecting into response and relief updates.  I had not expected however, that I would suddenly feel as if I had been instantly transported back to December 2004.  (I was in the Andaman Islands at the time of the Boxing Day earthquake and tsunami, and it was incredibly traumatic, particularly for our families).  Contact with my family back in Scotland confirmed that we were all taken back to that day.

Last year not long after the earthquake struck Haiti I wrote a long post for the blog, which I never actually posted.  I reflected how introspective I had become due to cancer taking over my life and noted that the recent global disasters had kicked me out of that.  This had been prompted by the fact that I had been contacted to see if would be available for the response.  I felt that as a bald, single breasted, fully signed up member of the chemo club I would not be much assistance, so declined the invitation for deployment.  I have re-read that post today as it seems particularly poignant and will revise and post in the coming few days.

The words of Sting particularly strike me – both in the bigger scheme of things as well as in our own immediate worlds “lest we forget, how fragile we are”.  We are indeed.