Random Photos from Thailand

This was my cup of tea at the hotel. I never figured out why the
teabag has an exclamation mark.

Lunch at one of the food courts at Seacon Square.
I think it was some sort of omelette wrapping up
bean shoots and prawns... I do know it was yummy
and cheap!

View from one of the elevators in MahBoonKrong or

MBK shopping centre. Although I was there twice, 

it takes a while to appreciate everything there.. 

just like Seacon Square.

My hotel, the Dusit Princess. I will have very fond memories of this 

place and of Pa Moo whom I met here.

Note, this is the Dusit Princess in Srinakarin, not the Dusit Thani

in Bangkok or the Royal Princess in Larn Luang. All three are part of

the same chain and it was a constant source of confusion for the 

taxi drivers.

Lady selling a bubble gun outside of Platinum Mall in Pratunam. 

Remnants of lunch at the food court at Platinum Mall
along with the credit card voucher used to purchase
the food. Meals for three people and one drink for
less than $6 in total... :)

Room service arrangement of my animals. I don't know if it was
intentional, but I thought it was cute. I wrote a note to say thank you
and  they almost misinterpreted the note to think that I was giving
them my animals! Eeep!!

Part of a shared dinner banquet for two.

A chinese and australian girl walk into the Manhattan Fish Market in Bangkok. 

How much more multicultural can you get?

...And they even had room for dessert.

King Rama IX Park

Main display hall in King Rama IX Park

Ants in King Rama IX Park

Lilly Pads in King Rama IX Park

And a bridge over the lilly pads.

This is actually a children's playground in the style of olden stilt houses.

More from King Rama IX Park.

My Birdcage

Since I'm a fat giant in Thailand sizing, I ended up not buying any clothes while I was there. What I did buy however was this beautiful little necklace I found while wandering through one of the multi-story "mega-markets". When I first laid my eyes on it, I loved it but, in my current situation, I wasn't in the mood for spending money on things that may just end up as unused trinkets. Two floors down later, I had to go back up and get it. 


It's concept is simple, a bird sitting on it's perch in a cage. Although the design as such is pretty enough, what really caught me was that the door to the cage was open. A bird perched inside the cage had its choice of choosing to spread its wings and fly out or stay inside the cage (or maybe even return and come and go whenever it chose to do so). I loved it. I thought it was somewhat apt also.


If you want to go darker, you may notice that the cage also has no bottom. I guess the bird may also fall off it's perch and fall to it's doom without ever spreading it's wings.  For some reason, that just adds to my love of this piece...

Personality and spirit

Some people like spontaneity, adventure and surprise whilst others prefer things to be more ordered, planned and prepared. Prepared... I used to be a boy scout and a cub scout before that. "Be Prepared" was the motto and an example of that was that we always used to tape a twenty cent piece inside our caps or hats in case we needed to make a phone call. (I'm giving away my age here.) Some of that must have taken hold since, when I was out of uniform, I was always conscious of carrying about some change so that I could always make that phone call. Most people hate carrying change, I used to make a point of it. It irked my sister that change was always jingling in my pocket. At a church camp one year, she laughed and rolled her eyes because everyone was doing a morning exercise class silently, except me. I was doing the jingly star jumps... 


Walking through the city one day, I needed to make that phone call. The first call I made reached an answering machine which cost me my thirty cents. Yes, inflation had taken it's toll by then. That wasn't a problem, because I was prepared and had another thirty cents; it takes more than two coins to jingle. My next call reached someone who wan't home, but someone else who could take a message was. This wasn't helping. Fortunately, the situation I was in resolved itself without my help and I was left with a sixty cent thought. How much change should I really carry in order to be prepared? Should cub scouts tape a roll of ten and twenty cent pieces in their caps, protruding to look antennae? How prepared was being prepared? If I phoned ten numbers that turned out to be uphelpful and was unable to dial an eleventh, was that being unprepared or was that just unlucky?


At the end of last year, I was operated in hospital for a Cerebral Cavernous Hemangioma that in fact caused a delay in the original scheduling of my SRS. Cerebral Cavernous malformations affect only 0.5% of the population worldwide and of those, 75% experience related medical symptoms^[1]. That makes me part of a unique 0.375% of the population and that's only for all related medical symptoms, not necessarily only the serious ones. When my doctor says that it's not usual for my condition to have occurred so quickly and so seriously, I think I'm becoming more unique. Something you never want your doctor to say while he's examining you is, "That's interesting..." and having yourself filmed so that he can show how interesting you are to his students which makes you feel even more special. I don't know the odds right now, so let's stick with the original 0.375% even though we all know I'm more special that. 


Of course, we all know that I'm transsexual and that makes me really special in more ways than one. Determining the incidence of transsexualism is difficult, but drawing upon a report by someone who is trying to show that it is more common that officially recognised^[2] (Oh! I want to be more special!!), I'll pick the figure of 1 in 500 or 0.2%.


Now, assuming that my hemangioma is unrelated to being a transsexual (any of you ts's out there also have one of these?), then I'm special to the tune of 0.375% x 0.2% = 0.00075% of the population. Oh, did I mention I also have a totally unrelated herniated disc in my lower back? Not really uncommon, but combine that with what we have here and I'm literally your one in a million unlucky guy. Throw in the acute appendicitis I had and you actually have a better chance of winning the lottery than having all the unrelated medical afflictions I've had and that's not even the end of my medical history. How the hell do you prepare for that??


But I didn't need to do the maths or even hear about my hemangioma to begin to believe that you can't plan for everything and in my uni days, I developed a taste for adventure, spontaneity and learning to accept surprises instead of trying to assert control. I loved nature and the wilderness and, if I hadn't been so lazy in not getting out as often as I would have liked, I would probably have been like Sean Penn's character in the film Into the Wild and I'd probably have died out there from some accidental event. Perhaps that's my subconscious defence for being lazy, it actually saved my life. Lol!


Unfortunately, year after year in the corporate world (albeit trying to stay in the technical side) groomed that out of me. Corporations don't like surprises, they like to plan and believe they can control. Several project plans, Gantt charts, risk analyses and matrices, career plans and goals later, I fell into the trap of thinking I could control everything that happened to me too. In a twist of irony, not long after thinking that all that planning was paying off, that I was the master of my destiny and that my career was going where I wanted, I found myself booted out of the industry, unwanted and unable to get a job. How someone in the IT industry with 10 years experience including time as a project leader can find themselves unable to find another job is a really long story, so I won't go into it now except to say that it left me devastated. Clinically, majorly depressed. Candidate for ECT depressed. I declined that treatment, by the way, even though my doctor strongly recommended it. Somehow, I didn't really want to undergo sessions of several hundred watts of electricity being pumped into my brain to induce seizures that were supposed to help depression even though they didn't know why...


To make a really long story just slightly long, it was during that time that I came to realise that control is an illusion. You can't control what happens to you, you can only really control how you react and behave. I still have a thing for Stephen Covey's 7 habits though, so I do believe you can influence what happens to you but you can't control it. It's an important distinction. Given that acceptance, I relearned to not fear surprise but to embrace it and my sense of adventure slowly returned. "It is what it is", said a friend of mine several times one day. Good words to live by.


Adventure is in my spirit and in everything I do, even in city life. I don't need to know the exact directions of where I'm going, much less know that I'm taking the most efficient route, before I being the journey. I do have a map in the car which I can look at if I get lost and, in the worst case, I could always ask for directions. Even if I get lost and spend double the time driving around, I don't really mind unless it makes me late for an appointment. I don't need to know what's in my food before I eat it, as long as it looks ok. I hate spiders, so I'd have trouble eating Cambodian deep fried spiders, but otherwise I think I'm doing all right. This proves useful in foreign countries or when trying new and foreign cuisines where you might not have even heard of half the ingredients or even be able to read the menu. However, I find it exciting. Maybe I'll discover a new favourite food that I hadn't know existed before and the variety and anticipation of what I'll get is invigorating. At worst, I'll not like it or throw up and have to buy something at another shop.


Some people like to seek guidance in certain situations which isn't a bad thing. It may help to prepare you, knowing that ordering the "Fong Jao" at yum cha will net you a small basket of braised chicken feet (my favourite, by the way). It's good to know that in some asian countries, you need to bargain for the prices at certain places to avoid paying twice what you could. It's even better to know how much a taxi fare might cost you in Thailand in case the meter in the taxi mysteriously fails and he wants to charge you double what it would normally cost. 


Ultimately though, knowledge and preparation are good things but even better is the ability to just enjoy the journey; even if it does take you to a different destination.


--
[1] http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/cerebral-cavernous-malformation and my doctor said the same thing too.
[2] http://ai.eecs.umich.edu/people/conway/TS/TSprevalence.html

Starbucks for the first time

"There she is", said my travelling friend Ee. Seeing us in the mirror, the elderly lady slowly turned in her chair and waved at us.
"Is it mandatory?", I asked Ee. 
"I think it is", she replied somewhat cautiously and reluctantly. We walked to the table where the lady had stood to greet us.
"Sawadee Ka", I greeted her, clasping my hands together in the prayer like formation known as the wâi. She motioned us to sit and began to dote on us, clearing our empty plates, refilling our drinks and commanding the waiters who seemed to know her well. It felt a little wrong for her to be looking after us when I felt that I should be looking after her. Her pleasantries would never stop however. This was the first meeting for what would become a welcome daily breakfast ritual.


Weeks later, I was still healing from surgery and some days were easier for me than others.  My travelling partners had gone to visit a market (or rather, a lot of markets) in Pratunam but I had been having a very difficult morning both physically and emotionally and decided it would be best if I stayed behind. That afternoon, I came to the conclusion that staying in my hotel room wasn't doing me any good either and a short visit to the Seacon shopping centre next door was order. A thought crossed my mind and brought a smile to my face.


"Could you tell me what room Bimu is in?", I asked at reception. Two ladies were on duty and they looked at me quizzically for moment. "Bimu?", I repeated unsure if I had remembered the name correctly. I could spot the moment when recognition struck. 
"Oh, Pa Moo", they replied. Everyone here knew Pa Moo, she was a long term regular. "Would you like to leave a message?"
"Uhm, no. I'd like to visit her. I know she's on the same floor as me, but I don't know which room. Would you be able to give me her room number?"
I must have a trustworthy face, since the lady gave me her room number but with uncertainty in her voice as if it wasn't something she should be doing. I thanked her gratefully and proceed back up the elevator.


I rang the doorbell and heard the rushed, yet slow, patter of footsteps inside. A joyful expression of surprise crossed her face when she opened the door. 
"What are you doing? Are you busy?", I asked politely.
"Watching tv", she replied in her decent but broken English.
"Can you walk?", I asked. I knew that she was staying at the hotel because she had some medical condition that affected her ability to walk. I thought it was her legs but I later learned it was her heart.
"Would you like to have a cup of coffee?", I continued. "We can walk to Starbucks." Every morning at breakfast, she had two cups of coffee. I asked her one morning if she liked coffee shops and if she liked Starbucks to which she enthusiastically had said yes. I personally have never stepped foot in a Starbucks before. Being fortunate enough to live in a place where excellent, not just decent, coffee can be found in many cafe's, I'd been spoilt and refused to indulge at chain stores that cannot live up to local offerings. But I wasn't in my home town any more... 


"I have friend coming to visit in thirty minutes", she replied.
"Oh, that's okay. We can go another time", I responded trying to hide my disappointment. I mustn't have done a very good job because after another couple of minutes of chit chat, she suddenly asked, "You want to go now?"
"Uhm, yes. If you are free", I said in surprise. 
"You wait for me. Give me few minutes to get ready."


A few minutes later, Pa Moo came out of her room and met me in front of the elevators. We slowly walked out of the hotel and I found that her slow pace was perfect for me since I was still recovering from surgery and was slower than a snail myself. I kept an eye on Pa Moo as she walked along slowly but steadily, a slight hunch to her otherwise short but healthy looking frame. She didn't have a fragile appearance, but I was wary since looks can be so deceiving. Whenever we crossed a stair or a kerb, she held my hand and I supported her as we stepped up or down. As usual, it was hot outside and she didn't like the heat, but we only had to endure it for a few minutes before we were inside the shopping centre that was literally across the road. 


Pa Moo asked me to lead the way as she didn't know where Starbucks was here. In fact, this was the first time she had stepped foot inside this shopping centre. That came as a surprise since she usually didn't have much to do during the days and the centre was so conveniently close. I continually checked up on her to make sure she was ok and she assured me she was even if she was a little tired. A slight panic crossed my mind as my sense of direction was horrible and I didn't want to make her walk further than necessary. Ultimately, I didn't have to worry since I remembered where it was when we came to the first atrium and soon we were inside.


I dug around in my bag for my purse and found it eventually. Pa Moo was far more efficient and had managed to pull some notes out of an outfit which didn't look like it had any pockets. That wasn't going to matter though and after a little bit of typical Asian type pleasant arguing, I convinced her that I was going to buy the coffee; one iced and one frappacino. We were offered free samples of some cakes which we both declined, her because of her heart condition and me because of my waist condition. Pa Moo asked me where I wanted to sit and I saw a nice table next the window overlooking the atrium so I made my way there to reserve it. Placing my donut cushion on the seat, I then did the post-op ritual of trying to get comfortable which is a huge, practically impossible task. This fell right into Pa Moo's clever ruse, since while I was doing that, she had been waiting for the coffees and was about to bring them over. I couldn't let her do that, so I stood up as quickly as I could in my condition and snail walked my way over to her just in time.


Back at the table, we happily drank our cold coffees and made some small talk despite the language barriers. Really, her English was quite good and much better than my Thai, even if I can count to ten. She was happy and smiling to be out and about but at the same time she told me how sad she was going to be because I was going to be going home soon. It was one of those touching happy and sad moments which I found remarkable since we really had only known each other over a few weeks of breakfasts. She was bravely trying not to cry which was good because I would have bawled too had she started. We finished our coffees, instead, with sweet empathy. 


"You are very pretty and sexy and I am happy to be walking with you", she said, holding my hand as we walked back to the hotel. She really knew how to flatter me and leave me feeling all shy and embarrassed. This wasn't the first time she had voluntarily looked after some of the doctor's guests, and her entire demeanour exuded compassion, kindness and honesty. As we left the centre, she motioned to the centre's little Buddhist shrine that had been built at the corner and she clasped her hands together and bowed slightly. I followed suit.


That was my first visit to Starbucks and I couldn't have arranged for a better circumstance or person to share it with.

Thailand Day T+20 : A surprising disappointment

I slowly strolled through the now familiar ground floor of the shopping centre next to my hotel. It was after lunch and I thought it might be a good idea to stretch the legs. Looking through the shop windows during my walk, I slowed and stopped in front of a fashion store that I had passed many times. A sleeveless striped dress adorned a manikin in the window. It's smart collar and lapel outlined a pointed breast line that was completed by half dozen, medium sized silver buttons providing the front closure. It was beautiful, it was sexy, it was classy and, thanks to black and white striping, it was slightly retro. In other words, it was me and I wanted to try it on.


There's no secret that the petite Asian girls populating this part of the world wear a jealously small size dress and that local clothing sizes are often far too small for any of us who might claim to be average or larger in a western country. I was prepared for that and had already given up on many stores who's maximum sizing was a medium that barely reached from one shoulder to the other collarbone let alone other shoulder. Like I had previously said, being in a country with plenty of cheap clothing that I can't fit into is hell. However, you still have to explore the opportunities just in case you do come across that one find that will be the envy of everyone you know, so I bravely walked in and examined the dress on the rack.


To my surprise, amongst all the dresses was a size XL. I don't care what the label says and I don't get flattered by all this vanity sizing rubbish as long as I can buy what I want and it fits. From my research, a Thai XL might just fit me. I turned to look for the sales girl and found her standing right behind me patiently as they tend to do here. She used a bamboo pole to lift the dress off the rack (I neglected to mention it was a very high up rack) and directed e to the change rooms. I scurried in anticipation and glee.


Inside the change room, I undressed and unbuttoned the new dress. This was the moment of truth. I put my arms in the openings and smiled as a buttoned the waist. Perfect. But only for moment. It was perfect at the waist and I continued to button down to the bottom of the dress, but as I did so I was ever conscious of the prominent gap at the bust line. I held the button nervously and attempted to button it up. On the third attempt, after fumbles and struggles, the button was done up, but it was ridiculous. My breasts were obviously too big for this dress.


I stared, depressed, into the mirror switching my gaze to only alternate at these new bulges adorning my chest. To make matters worse, I was totally busting the seams as much as stretching them which meant that it probably would have fit if my breasts were anywhere between my original size and size smaller than what they were now. This was a nightmare and the vagaries of implant sizing had always left me fearful of the question, "What if my breasts don't end up the right size?"


With monumental disappointment, I changed back into my own clothes and handed the dress back to the sales girl with a smile. Walking back to the hotel, I couldn't help but look at all the girls walking past and analysing their proportions and wondering if mine had now been made out of shape.


I feel like I'm in a dangerous and vulnerable position at the moment. I haven't even left Thailand yet and I'm expressing doubts and possible regret over some part of my surgery. It's a grave moment indeed.

Thailand Day T+17

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"What the hell?", you're probably thinking. Did a lizard run over Filly's keyboard while she was away or has she finally lost her last marble? 


Well, actually, the answer to that is a little involved. Since when have any of my blogs been concise? I've been blogging for a while now and occasionally I'll get a nice comment from someone that I'm a decent writer. While I might not necessarily agree, it's still good to know that my creations are appreciated by others even though my intentions aren't necessarily virtuous. Indeed, they are probably downright selfish.


A main thread connecting my blogs is that they tend to describe how I feel about something. Whether it is a moment in time or a more general philosophical outlook, my posts are about my feelings and I haven't, as yet, written anything technical about, for example, how I have managed various technical aspects of my transition such as my voice or look. Posts along those lines have actually been thought of, but not yet acted upon because I find them harder to write. It's not because of the knowledge or the content in the material but merely because any of my decent writings have been a result of a catharsis. When I'm deep in the bowels of anguish, it's comforting to open the floodgates and let my fingers do the talking without my brain getting in the way. Technical writing, however is hardly cathartic and, when my brains get in the way, I have difficulty writing and my English essay grades in school reflected that. 


In case you're drifting off due to my rambling, this is where I get to the point. (Don't you hate it when authors herald the arrival of the point instead of just stating the point?) Sometimes, the purging of my thoughts through my fingers doesn't work. Not for lack or desire or effort, sometimes it's as though the waters of thought are muddied and mixed with the rocks of a superabundance of emotion that clog the drainage paths for cleansing. My usual prose is replaced by an internal pressure accompanied by a frustration for the lack of progress, which is then replaced by numbed empathy and imagination as the rocks scour my insides. Those first few lines are usually all I can mange at this point and I guess tonight was one of those occasions. 

The Not Fast & The Feeble

Have you ever noticed how sequels to movies are often worse than the originals? I'm not sure why that is, but it appears that it also applies to hoons in car parks. 


Yes, they were at it again tonight. 


Now, before anyone assumes that I don't understand the need, the need for speed (Ok Mav, let's turn and burn!), let me assure you I love it. I have left rubber in anger at the same race tracks where world championship Group A touring car events and V8 supercar events were held. Additionally, being a lover of power to weight ratio, I only needed two wheels. Yes, I love my sports bikes. I love cars too, but being somewhat stingy with money you can go way faster and scare yourself way more for far less money on a bike than in a car. Hrm, new shoes and a night out at a totally fancy restaurant and a tank of petrol for my bike vs a tank of petrol for some hooning in a performance car?? uhmm, I know which I'd rather most of the time. Not that I wouldn't mind a fast car, but my bike cost (locally) $12,000 when new (although I bought it for half that) and it does the 1/4 mile faster than Ferrari 360 Modena that costs 30x more (and with the depreciation, the car would have lost the value of a one bedroom apartment in a trendy suburb in the process).. I even think my bike looks better.. ha!


But before this blog entry turns into a motorcycle love-in (which I could so easily do), lets return to those hoons doing what I can only imagine is practice at an area under a bridge adjacent to a parking lot. If I had a big placard, I would write a big bold 4.5 on it and hold it out the window; nice try guys, but ultimately a fail. If they were trying to drift u-turns, choppy tyre noises and an inconsistent engine tone indicated they lacked the commitment or the skills to execute the manoeuvres correctly. If they were trying to do circle work, well, I've done better burnouts in my old underpowered 2-litre Celica. If you need a run up to do circle work you really need to go home. 


I love watching motor sport on the idiot box, I love the smell of 2-stroke, I love feeling a car drift under you just as you apex a corner with precision and I love leaning a bike over so far that sparks fly from the footpegs and you're getting a wombat-eye view of the road. What I don't appreciate is being kept up by wannabe's thinking that public roads are their raceway and telegraphing their own incompetence in the process. Guys, just 'cause it's night time and it's dark, it doesn't mean that people can't see that you are pathetic.

Thailand Day T+16

(Graphic detail, extreme reader discretion recommended)


As I closed the door, my nurse piped up in her chirpy voice.
"Today we'll move to number two". 
I'm sure all the blood drained from my face as I froze for a moment in total shock. Moving to the bed, with a most worrying expression on my face, I squeaked, half pleadingly,
"Are you sure???"
"Yes!", she replied without pause. Ok, so much for the pleading. After a while, she may have sensed my misunderstanding when she added, "Start first with number one for thirty minutes and then number two for ten minutes". 
That made it seem a little more palatable, but not much. I prepared all the things I would need for today's session, it was becoming a bit of a ritual now. Taking the two dilators I would need out of the gorgeous little case I had been given to hold them in, I held the number two dilator with some dubiousness as to whether it would fit. I was still having trouble with the first dilator and felt like the total opposite of little kid that was having trouble eating his double scoop ice cream but was jealously eyeing a 20-scoop Vermonster ice cream sundae. 


For the record, I've never been to Vermont and I've never had a Vermonster, but judging from the description it sounds like something I would have, at one time, ordered and eaten in a hearbeat. Only half a dozen years ago, after I was well past my eating prime, I was in Japan with my now ex and her sisters and brother in law. We stopped in somewhere for a drink since we were getting thirsty and, eyeing a sundae on the menu, I knew I just had to eat it. My ex's youngest sister egged me on to order it, but I don't think she thought I actually would, much less finish the whole thing. Nobody believed that I actually finished the whole thing. I'm not sure even the staff believed I ate the whole thing by myself. It came in layers of hot chocolate fudge sauce and scoops of ice cream. I know that doesn't sound impressive.. yet. This thing was so big, it came with a chocolate brownie, half a banana, a chocolate wafer straw, a large triangle wafer and the obligatory whipped cream with glacéed cherries. The piece-de-resistance, however, was that this ice cream sundae had, buried like an iceberg, it's own rather large ice-cream sandwich (an ice cream within an ice cream! I love it!) and the size of the sundae made the toppings combined look small. It was totally heavenly, down to the last finger swiping chocolatey smear of goodness. But I digress...


Returning back to the dilation, the thought of what was ahead of me must have made me tense since I had more trouble than usual with the first dilator. I managed to get through the session despite my nurses insistence that I should keep pushing harder. Then it was was time for the dreaded step up. My nurse was going to do it for me and I hoped she would be as gentle as possible. 


"Pain?", she asked as she pushed and I felt the soreness of a bruised muscle being tortured even further.
"Yes", I replied squeamishly, trying not to shout it out to prove a point.
"For me, every easy", she said smiling. My eyes opened with incredulity and I chuckled a little with shock.
"Yes! For you, it's easy!", I replied. 
"Yes, this easy. Other girl are tighter, more difficult."


Oh my God... I can only feel sorry for those other girls. I sincerely did not want to cry every time I had to move up in dilator size. 


At the end of the session, after my nurse had left, I collapsed in bed to recover as usual feeling extremely sore and daunted that I would have to do this on my own in the afternoon. My subconscious mind must have totally rejected the idea too since I fell asleep at the time when I was supposed to do my afternoon dilation. I woke up in a panic and had to do it a couple of hours late. Seeing that my schedule had been pushed back, I decided that I would push back my night session an hour to compensate and give myself a bit of time to recover also. Oh darn, wouldn't you know it, I'm too busy blogging instead...

Thailand Day T+15

(Yep, Adult topics so reader discretion advised again!)

After my nurses left, I slid back down into bed to try and relax before I had my shower. Dilation is still an ordeal, necessary and something I can at least cope with but tormenting nonetheless. It didn't help that I still have this strange, uncomfortable sensation and pain running through my clitoris and pain running down my labia; presumably where the stitching is although I'm not yet at the stage where I've gone exploring and precisely located the source.

Trying to describe the feeling to my nurse a few days earlier, I had gotten as far as making a squeezing motion with my right thumb and forefinger (like Darth Vader's choking move - ah! that's what it is! When I find the Sith lord that is doing this to me, I am going to go so Jedi on their ass) and saying "squeezing pain" before she interjected. 

"Yes, squeezing feeling? And shooting pain?", she asked. That pretty much sounded like it. 

"That normal", she said reassuringly. "Lot of nerve there so that normal. If don't feel pain and don't feel anything, then something wrong." Unfortunately, that made sense and it looked like I had a bit of suffering to go endure.

Today as I was trying to relax with the usual pains and discomforts added to by the aftermath of dilation, I noticed the pain was a little different. Those sporadic shooting pains that always caused me to pause and tense up for a split second were, I assume, from nerves reconnecting and healing. Apart from those pains becoming more frequent and the general discomfort and pains being more intense today, they seemed to feel slightly different.

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain", sang Chrissie Amphlett at one time and it seemed as though the pains were starting to head towards the line. I'm not saying that any part of this time in bed, hopelessly trying to relax, was anywhere near pleasurable. It was just this odd feeling that maybe the nerves were starting to reconnect up the right way. Any moaning that occurred was definitely in pure agony and wondering when the pain would end. At the same time, there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel... or maybe I was just suffering from scintillating scotoma...

Thailand Inception

I'm going to have to start carrying a totem, these multi-level dreams are killing me. (Oh, and btw, Inception is a brilliant movie and if you think the ending was predictable then, chances are, you actually don't really understand the ending.) 


Slightly anxious, I was waiting at the airport for my wife. An old Thai lady was selling some trinkets at the entrance to a lounge where I was standing and I was trying my best to tell her that I wasn't interested whilst not taking out my frustrations on her. Had I really been that insensitive to my wife? She had been involved in a minor accident because she had been overworking at the office as usual and had fallen asleep on the way home. I always feared that that would happen one day and even though I know the non-financial costs of running a small business that is still in relatively infancy, she was more important to me than the success of her business. That sounded so unsupportive in hindsight, but it was true. Maybe I just hadn't phrased myself well and that was the last straw. I know that everything I had put her through was hard for her and I was glad and appreciative of her support. So, maybe this was the last straw and the resulting stupid, futile argument had broken her. My heart sank and I knew she wasn't coming on the flight with me and had withdrawn to somewhere else in the airport.

"I have to go find my wife", I tried explaining to the Thai lady. "I think she's in trouble, can you please look after my bags?" I gestured and pleaded in several different ways and in the ways of old Asian ladies, she waved her hands to calm down as if everything was going to be ok. She presented what looked like an asian pin cushion with an orange ball lined with red longitudinal like threads. Pressing it into my hands, she motioned me to go. 


What the heck did I need a pincushion for?! As I ran in search of my wife, I began thinking the lady must have been a bit senile as I squeezed the cushion. An extended loud whistling sound came from the cushion, startling me. I squeezed it harder and faster and the whistle was louder and longer. This is what the old lady meant? Ok, so I wasn't lost at sea but perhaps such an odd noise would attract the attention of my wife as I began calling her name. Squeezing the cushion from the sides, there was no whistle as I expected but, instead, the top of the cushion shone brightly. It's a lantern as well? Wow, this is a pretty cool gadget. I admonished myself for thinking the lady was senile and made a mental note to thank her profusely when I got back.


I searched the airport thoroughly, making sure I went through every entrance and exit, even if they did lead to the same place, moving from area to area, inside to outside. At one point, I passed a couple of ladies talking by a few step like seats. On the bottom step was a soft toy, maybe 40cm high, that was some sort of strange cross between a panda and a kangaroo. It actually didn't look anything like either, but I knew that was just what it was. Whatever it was, it was cute and cuddly. 
"Is this yours?", I asked the ladies. They looked at me annoyed as if I was at an international meeting of world leaders about to actually agree on world peace and I had interrupted and asked to go to the toilet. Shaking their heads, partly in a negative response and partly in condescension, they turned back to their conversation. I mumbled a thank you which they ignored.


This toy was so cute and I hugged it a bit longer, but it wasn't mine and I had to keep looking for my wife so I put it back down and resumed my search. Through corridors and lounges, lobbies and atriums, I ran looking, calling her name and squeezing the little, loud whistle. My path re-intersected with the seats where that soft toy was and I took it as a sign. Another lady was now sitting on the steps behind the toy. I reached for it, intent on taking it whether it belonged to me or not. I just had to have it.
"What do you think you're doing?", asked the lady in a stern yet friendly manner. "That's mine". I looked up to see her admonishing yet smiling face and then looked back down to see her dog retreating between her legs. Smiling, I patted the dog which it seemed to enjoy and apologised to the lady. 
"Sorry, I was looking for something else", I said ashamedly, looking around. My eyes lit up as I saw the toy sitting on the bench next to the steps. I stood up and went over and cuddled it in my arms.
"That's cute", replied the lady smiling.
"Thanks", I replied as I once again ran off to resume my search, but this time with a new companion.


That's about when I realised I was dreaming. Suddenly, I was running through the airport with a couple of bags in hand and my teddy bear, Ching, had somehow appeared. He must have thought the panda/kangaroo cross was interesting and had decided to accompany me. Obviously, I had been shopping and in the bags were odd items to be buying at at airport. Towels? Porcelain plates? T-shirts? Ok, that last one might be understandable but the time skip combined with the silliness of the items had triggered my dream alert sensor. Having said that, I can see that one day I will be eating my words when I buy towels at an airport.


Rushing though the building crowds and fancy vip lounges, I wondered if my wife had managed to get inside one of the rooms that I was not allowed access to. Not that there was any privacy since it seemed they wanted everyone to see the modern technology and luxuriousness that they might be missing out on. Up ahead, I saw my brother in law and a couple of friends.
"I think we know where she is", he yelled out to me. He checked his watch and calculated how long it would be before check-in closed and how long it would take us to get back there. 
"It's ok", interjected one my friends, reading his thoughts. "I think she already checked in."
But I haven't, I thought, I had been waiting for her. I did some mental calculations and realised this would be a race for me to check-in in time. I pushed my way to the crowds and ran up the escalator to try to catch up to my friends that were already crossing a walkway and had almost reached the other side. While doing so, I was glad my brother-in-law was still talking to me and wasn't being awkward any more.


I ran across the long walkway, past the fancy American Express vip lounge with it's modern white colour scheme and the gorgeous blond asking if I would like to come in. It was like a premier unveiling as translucently thin silky curtains began to life showing the insides of the lounge.
"I don't have time right now", I panted with a smile as I ran past. She smiled back ever so glowingly and I wondered if I had been entitled to enter or whether that was just a recruiting ploy. Whatever, it was a moot question now. I reached the escalators down and, even though there was space between the thinning crowd to run down, I knew what I had to do. Running towards the escalators, I jumped up and slid down the stainless steel plating that divided the two escalators. I rode it like a hero and a pro. Both James Bond and Tony Hawk would have been impressed. My friends were conversing with what looked a tall English butler and I began running towards them. Something was wrong and I realised that my hands and arms were empty. Spinning around in panic, I saw the bags, and, more importantly, Ching lying on the floor at the bottom of the escalators. I must have dropped them when I landed. Running back, I noticed the wood panelling on the walls in this room gave it a rather different feel to the rest of the airport. 


My bags had fallen over and the contents had spilled out. They had also bumped into a shelf and a few items had fallen off the shelf and were intermingled with my items. I sorted through the items and began repacking my towels, porcelain plates and other miscellaneous items. I considered pretending that a glass and pewter decanter was also one of my items but then I realised it was actually a little ugly and, besides, it was chipped so I placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. In my arms I was now carrying three soft toys, or maybe more, and I thought about rearranging my bags so that this wasn't all so cumbersome.


Reaching the English butler, he pointed me towards a door that my friends had just run through and had just begun to start closing again. I hurried towards it, but reached it a fraction too late hearing it click shut before I could stop it. I looked for a handle or some other mechanism to open it, but to no avail. Suddenly, a wood panel on the adjacent wall in the corner began to open. Was I supposed to go through this one? I looked back at the butler and saw him walking away. He turned his head around and, deducing what had transpired, simply turned his head back and continued walking without breaking a stride. Well, this would be my only way then and I stepped through the secret doorway.


This is where my dream became silly. My bags and soft toys were no longer with me and I was wearing a white, plastic armour suit rather like a Storm Trooper in Star Wars. There were no gloves or helmet but I think the shoes matched. I had found myself in a curved corridor, walls covered in tiles and a concrete floor with a small semi-circular concave gutter to one side. It was your typical movie corridor, be it from a horror flick, the passage in some experimental concentration camp or maybe a group of rugby players were about to run out onto the field of glory. I slowly moved along with trepidation.
"Hello?", I shouted out a few times. "Anyone here?" It's the obvious line just before the victim sees the shadow of murderer ahead. 
"What are you doing in here?", asked a matronly English voice. To the right there was what looked like an old fashioned fridge, but there was a gap separating the fridge and freezer in which I briefly saw a pair of eyes. I saw her move further down behind what resembled a serving counter. It was kind of like a serving counter, if you were 12 foot tall and were being served wafer thin chips on flat paper plates.
"I might have taken a wrong turn", I stammered feeling rather embarrassed. "I think someone may have opened the wrong door for me."
"Oh well", she replied nonchalantly. "I think you there's actually someone waiting for you outside."


I took a few more steps hurriedly down the corridor and saw that the tiles gave way to a full height glass curtain wall. Freshly fallen pure white snow layered the ground outside and covered the bottom 20cm of the glass. Standing outside under snowflakes drifting ever so gently to the earth was my brother-in-law, my friends and, most importantly, my wife. An immaculately dressed driver, complete with gloves and cap was holding the doors open to a vintage black limousine. I ran as fast as I could outside, still wearing this ridiculous storm trooper suit that severely hindered my ability to run. As the cold wind blasted across my face, I didn't notice it too much as I stumbled towards my wife. At least the boots worked at keeping me warm and I wondered why I didn't get the gloves because my hands were freezing. I did my best (or worst) Darth Vader impersonation as I stomped through the snow.
"Don't underestimate the power, of the dark side", I recited, even though I was wearing a white storm trooper outfit and not a black Darth Vader suit. Everyone laughed anyway as my wife and I fell into each others arms and we hugged for an eternity.


I woke up. At least it was a feel good ending to a ridiculous dream. I was lying on the couch, my head resting in my wife's lap and she was looking at the insurance report on her accident with a stressed look on her face. 
"It's ok", I looked up at her reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Everything will be ok. The important thing is that you're alright."
She smiled and put the paper down and hugged me. My shopping bags were at my feet and I leant over and took Ching out of one and walked him up to my wife. That always made her laugh. I reached down again and took out the panda-roo and walked that up.
"I have no idea what this is", I said. "But I thought it was cute and you might like it."
She smiled and cuddled it.


I woke up. What was that about?! That was a rather strange dream within a dream. I smiled at the thought of the weird dreams I have sometimes. At least everything was all right though; I love my wife and it would have been horrible if I had lost her in that dream. I looked forward to seeing her again. My thoughts paused. My heart sank. I really was awake and had just confused reality for yet another dream. I wasn't going to see her again. Everything was not going to be alright. I sighed, a long, deep, mournful sigh. 

Fatigued & Furious: Thailand Drift

Half an hour past midnight and I'm waiting for the last dose of painkillers to kick in while I try to relax and get some sleep. A rather annoying and loud sound emanates from outside reminding me that hoons exist all over the world. Tyres screeching and the sound of a poor engine being revved (although the pitch seemed to indicate the engineering was poor and the rev limit wasn't very high) indicated the presence of some fool in, I presume, the car park opposite the hotel engaging in some burnout circle work. Perhaps this testosterone (and possibly alcohol) induced antic was the result of a poor deluded fool thinking he was in Fast & Furious:Tokyo Drift. Walking down practically any street, it doesn't take long before you see a garage selling shiny alloy wheels and potentially other look-fast bits. Some taxi's here are subjected to bolt on rear wings and body kits that look like they exceed the value of the rest of the car. This is Asia after all, home of the rice boy. Unfortunately, Thailand is a poorer country and, unlike say Japan, the cars and corresponding after market industry tend to reek "hopeful" rather than "hot".

I stood at the window wondering if I could get a glimpse of this offender and slightly annoyed that I hadn't ticked the "ping pong package (complete with explosive ping pong balls)" when I had scheduled my surgery. I was still sore from dilating, otherwise I would have definitely tried sending an acrylic missile his way but the pain and aching got the better of me and I crawled back into bed and turned the volume up on iTunes. I hope I didn't annoy my next door neighbours...

Thailand Day T+14

Mum came to visit me in my room today which I guess is kinda nice. One of Dad's old classmates is in the hotel industry and so we generally get really good rooms from him whenever we travel. This time, he knew one of the big wigs in the hotel chain in Thailand that was coincidently the same hotel that I was at so Mum ended up with a really good rate on a pretty swish room. She came down today and had a third go at trying to convince me to move up to her room with her. 

Hrmm.. three dilation sessions lasting half an each and four breast massage sessions at twenty minutes each? Sorry, but I think I prefer my privacy and I'm kinda comfy in this little room of mine. Even if she does go for a walk each time, I still much rather prefer my privacy but I got the feeling she wasn't happy with my stance.

Perusing and shuffling through my things as she is prone to do, that's when she picked up my dilator (and not gently by the end either).

"What's this?", she asked inquisitively, turning it over and around in her fingers and inspecting it from every angle. Yes, I do wash it clean after every session... 

"Uhm, it's a dilator", I replied shyly since I knew where this was going.

"What do you do with it?", she asked rather forwardly. 

I was in bed under the covers since I was tired and in pain and discomfort. At this point however, I was trying not to giggle although I may have smirked.

"Uhm... you kinda have to stick it inside you", I replied. In slow motion, I could see the cogs ticking in her brain as at least part of the information started sinking in.

"Urrgghh! Oh God!", she exclaimed putting down the dilator as quickly as she could without dropping it like a dead rat. 

Maybe I am evil, but it was really, really hard not to laugh.

The dream of the moving implant

I drifted off into another mini sleep and began dreaming that I was compressing and massaging my breast implants like I was supposed to. As per the technique I was taught, I used both hands to apply pressure on the breast directly towards the chest. I decided to shift the direction of the pressure slightly and suddenly the implant painfully slipped out of its position and gave me a breast somewhere closer to my abdomen. Panicking, I tried to apply pressure to shift it back up and like a bag of oily jelly, it began to achingly move out of control all over my body to unexpected directions. I chased it down to my butt, up my abdomen, through the centre of my chest and even, at one point, under my rib cage. How I got it out of there, I do not remember. Finally, I managed to coax it back vaguely to it's proper position and decided to lie and wait for the nurses in absolute grief and agony.


Fortunately I woke up at that point, my heart pounding again in absolute fear. My breasts were still aching from the implants and a quick check confirmed they were in their correct location, I think. Glancing at my phone, I noticed that this extensive ordeal had occurred whilst I had been asleep for less than five minutes. 


I hate these dreams.

Thailand Day T+13

(Contains some adult themes, so reader discretion is advised)


I awoke with my clitoris throbbing with pain between my legs. It was only past midnight and a couple of hours since I had last take some pain killers but I had take some more even though the instructions said I should be waiting another couple of hours. Lying back, I tried to apply pressure in certain areas hoping to ease the pain just a little. It felt like someone had tied a string around the head of my penis and was pulling the knot tight. If that sounds painful and most uncomfortable, then your're getting an idea of how I was feeling.


Morning arrived all too slowly. Another couple of rounds of pain killers had been swallowed as well as my other medication even though I was supposed to take them after meals. I wouldn't be going anywhere for a meal today and I didn't even want to eat anything for breakfast. My nurse arrived at about 10am to help me dilate again. In some ways I had been glad that they didn't work on Sundays as I was joyed at the one day reprieve I had from that torturous exercise. Part of me, however was worried at whether the lack of dilation would have a detrimental effect.


My dilation session did not go well. It felt as if the dilator was way too big and it was uncomfortable, still painful and strangely violating. I bit my lip trying to relax as my nurse asked me to relax but as she helped force the dilator in, I couldn't help it any more and I cried. Shuddering sobs ran through my body as the tears streamed down my face. I tried to stop my body from quivering as it just made the dilation worse, but I kept crying through the whole thirty minute session.


My nurse was also massaging my breast implants and, although the pain from the bruising and swelling was tolerable, occasionally, at certain positions, a sharp pain would sear through my nipples and I would have to cry out and ask her to stop. I felt sorry for her because she seemed so sorry that she was causing me so much pain today, but I know it had to be done. 


I thanked her softly when she left and lied under my blanket and sobbed some more. Anguish, fear, bewilderment, inadequacy and thoughts of futility running through my head. I stayed in bed the whole day, watching the scenery of the ceiling go by. I have another dilation session by myself in an hour and I am scared. Hopefully, sex feels nothing like this, otherwise I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my life. 

Thailand Day T+10

Discharge day from hospital and also the second day that I was starting to be allowed to eat something solid again. Yesterday, my nurse had told me that she would be bringing me some toast. I hadn't expected there to be a smiley face on it and we both giggled when she brought it in. Today, I had another piece of smiley toast which did help bring a smile to my face. It was a nice touch.

One last sponge bath later, I could have so gotten used to that, I was dressed and handed a pharmacy of medications to be taken before meals, after meals and as required. I knew I should have brought my dosing box with me. As one nurse was explaining my medications, another was trying to put my shoes on for me. A black pair of gladiator type sandals, there is a trick to put them on since all the straps tend to catch on your foot making it seem too small. My poor nurse was struggling with them but finally managed to get them on. I had been looking for a nice pair of thongs before I went to surgery but, as Russell Peters would say, in Thailand I'm the equivalent of Shaquille O'Neal. 

It was a point further proved when I went to sit in the car back to the hotel. I know had my own infamous donut cushion and with that under my butt, I had to crane my neck forward and hunch severely in order to fit in the back seat. At least wheel chairs didn't have height restrictions and I was wheeled up to my room upon reaching the hotel. My porter didn't wheel me very fast and I considered upgrading him with the turbo option.

Back at the clinic, my doctor had said I could eat whatever I wanted now, so perusing the room service menu, I tried to find something to eat. Strangely, there was nothing that really excited me even though I was sure I had been thoroughly looking forward to eating many items on it prior to surgery. Ultimately, I settled on a green vegetable curry that didn't have a "hot" symbol next to it. The menu lied. Either that or my sensitivity to chilli had been restored where it had been removed during my previous surgery earlier this year. Having decided on something from the Thai portion of the menu, I was feeling rather disappointed with my choice and decided not to limit myself next time. It wasn't like I was ordering something from McDonald's.... although, I am curious...

My Dream

Three days after surgery,I lie on my back, deep rhythmic throbbing of bruising in my chest and slight pains of discomfort from my groin. Tubes runfrom various points in my body carrying deep red blood to drainage bottles while a catheter extends from a pile of bandages around my groin to a bag at the side of my bed. Lifting myself to sit up the slightest amount is an effort and the pain of rolling to one side is not worth any minor perceived increase in comfort. So I try to pass the time, shifting my weight in the little ways possible to gain a slight grasp of some sleep. Any sleep is fleeting, lasting thirty minutes to an hour at the most, even during the long nights when I wait for the next day to arrive. Such short grasps are too short for dreams and reserved for mere sensations. My muscles twitch in defense to some unknown fear or I wake myself as I jump to the sensation of falling into a deep abyss.

Today was different.

I was standing outside a shanty looking house in a rough part of town. But the outside camouflaged the luxurious interior of my home with brightly painted white walls and polished steel framed leather designer furniture. It had such a modern feel which perfectly suited my wife who was standing behind a shelf housing a sculpture that I had given to her. We held each other and we kissed and for a brief moment we were still married and I was happy. Just like my sleep, the moment was fleeting.

She left the room and went outside and though I tried to follow, she was gone. Standing in my way was a group of ruffians intending to do me harm. I tried to defend myself and I awoke to my legs kicking wildly at the air and blanket in my bed.

So, now I lay on my back, trying to hold the tears from streaming down my face. I don't know what she is doing or if she is happy or well. I don't know if she knows where I am. All I know is that I still have a love for her and though I tried to follow her, I couldn't.