All posts by Laura F

Differences

It’s Thursday evening, in the ward, with an almost euphoric air. The ward staff are all happy and the banter between them and the patients is funny and wholesome.

They are planning their staff party on Saturday night. It’s for the Clandon ward staff and the Maxillofacial, ear neck and throat medical team. It’s being held at the social club on the hospital campus to keep costs down. They are bringing their own food and there is much hope that the drinking will be plentiful. There are a few discussions on outfits to wear but the spirit is more about the collective spending time together, outside of the daily 12 hours shifts and pressure to keep patients alive and well.

IMG_1190This very same evening, less than 30 miles away, my Company is hosting its Christmas party for all the Headquarters staff. It’s a final farewell bash as we are in the process of being taken over by Shell. Throughout Thursday evening my phone stays busy receiving photos and commentary from friends and colleagues attending.

And it got me thinking about the choices we make when we decide what to do after leaving school.

I work for a successful oil and gas company. I get paid well for my services, as do all of my other colleagues. Even in $40 oil we are paid handsomely. Over the past three years we have done a lot of work in culture change, attempting to move away from a very strong patriarchal, entitlement culture towards a more performance management/merit based culture, rooted in some clear values. At the heart of what we strive to achieve is the notion of network and teamwork.

And yet in only 5 days on the ward, I have seen and been part of the creativity, respect, teamwork and culture of the Clandon ward and maxillofacial medical team. Here they have common goals and strong purpose. purpose-and-passion-This team pull together because they are patient centric. Their purpose is to tend and heal and care. They have reviews every 12 hours (start/end of each shift) against that purpose and once a week the senior medical team get together to discuss all the patients in their care and how they support them in improving their health and well-being.

In corporate land, with the need to satisfy ever demanding shareholders, clarity of purpose – why the company exists and what it is there for, in my experience, barely rates on the minds and conversations of senior Executives. There are few internal performance reviews on how the company is performing against its overall long-term purpose. Yet much discussion on how to encourage employees to do more to deliver on short-term strategies and goals. And still we don’t connect the dots. For if employees understand and buy into the long-term purpose, they have more choice; on their contribution; on their commitment; on their belief in the company.purpose-is-most-powerful-motivator

I chose the corporate world as a career as I genuinely believe that when you can connect purpose, passion and performance you can make a wide impact on society. I admire and respect those who choose their careers for more altruistic reasons.

So if, as a social experiment, we were to swap Christmas parties, that the staff from my company attended the hospital social club bash and vice versa, what would be the outcome? With more purpose and less money would the corporate workers find themselves more content and creative? Would they make their own fun? Would they mingle and network more? And what would a lavish Christmas party do for those who word hard on the Clandon ward? How much of this excess would they be comfortable with? How much fun would it be?

What do you think?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scheduling cancer

Consultant surgeons are like CEOs of multi national companies; they have their own ideas and foibles and inevitably they are followed slavishly by hordes of invariably bright, handsome and pretty young things.

group of medical doctors and nurses

So it is quite intimidating to go into a consultant surgeon’s office and watch him struggle to say, “you’ve got cancer”.  But we had 4 days to get our heads around it, so when it came out of his mouth the Scottish black humour descended and our jokey response was obviously not what he expected.  He talked about millimetres and clearance and going for complete cure and slicing and dicing.  And this bit and that.  And 10 hour major surgeries.  And blah.  But it was obvious that once the mechanics were out, the conversation was going to be uncomfortable.  In this moment we were 3 humans trying to connect around the C word.  I wanted dates and schedules, Craig wanted reassurance, and the consultant surgeon wanted the conversation to be over!  It was harder for him than for us  – he knows what’s coming – and I wanted to give him a wee cuddle as we were leaving; it’s obviously a horrible part of the job and not one that gets any easier.

We left his office in a state of giddy excitement and, on reflection, shock.  We were off to make a plan.  I love a good plan! So off we went to the woods.  In the teeming rain (honest, I’m not making this up!).  And in this one long, wet walk we formed the basis of our approach.vyne-estate-map

Plans should start with some governance  – who is doing what and making what decisions – and principles.  Our number one principle is that, as far as humanly possible, nothing would change for Roscoe.  He’d still go to the same clubs and activities. We would still be on the same sidelines of the same football pitches. And that, barring a couple of days, all things would be as was.  We also agreed that he was never to come to the hospital, not to visit or attend any hospital appointments. Another principle was to use the word ‘cancer’ when telling him, and to use the consultant surgeon as our communications model for this conversation.  Simple, factual and geared to Roscoe as the recipient.  We also agreed that we were outsourcing the cancer to the consultant surgeon.  We didn’t want statistics and details, we wanted hope and outcome thinking.

At no point in this discussion, or any other we’ve had, did I ever doubt Craig’s love for me. From the get-go we were in partnership on this; maintaining this lockstep gives me rhythm, and his sense of humour brings me real tears of laughter and joy. This bedrock of togetherness gives us both strength, and all big decisions we make together.

We made a ‘stakeholder list’.  Who did we need to tell because they were part of the support/back up  team, who did we need to tell because they were precious to us and who needed to know from a work perspective.  And in what sequence did we need to share the news.  Sometimes these conversations were really hard.  I learned as I went along to say “I know you love and care for me, please don’t express this right now as I need to keep it together”.  To a man and woman they all offered help and support – whatever we needed and I was left in awe by the generosity of spirit that adversity brings.  Often these conversations were snatched moments in car-parks and shopping malls and for this I can only apologise. The best way to describe this period is the dark half-life – the one where you are there, but you’re not.IMG_6622

But there were also other moments and conversations which helped shaped the life ahead.  Speaking to Andrea – the young Mum from the next door village – who two years previously had been through the same procedure was incredibly helpful.  Those three hours of crazy questions, from what clothing to wear based on how much access to tubes and wires they needed, right the way through to how to wash hair, loss of sensation in hands and neck, how to deal with scars and healing, reshaped my approach.  Andrea and I are very different but our overall attitude is similar; let’s sort it, learn from it and move on. Cancer does not define us and who we are.

From the Andrea conversation I called back the consultant surgeon.  Could I have more time? I had more questions.  He saw me that evening. Craig, running from work early so he could be there for Roscoe’s club, made sure we lived our first principle!   My questions were wide-ranging and holistic in their nature.   I explained that my approach was not to question him on the cancer itself – this was his job to sort – but that I wanted to look at the whole system, both in terms of change itself and of the support on offer.   What could I do in the future to prevent a re-occurrence?  What could I do to make his job as easy as possible (‘weight gain’ was not what I wanted to hear)? What did I need to do differently? To be told that I didn’t present as a normal case (non-smoker, light drinker, no HPE virus) wasn’t really what he wanted to say, or what I wanted to hear. Somehow it’s easier if there is something, or some behaviour, to blame.   I told him I am focused on the superficial – the scars, the location and treatment of scars – and wanted to know about camouflage make-up, counselling for Craig and general support (none available).  I informed him he was part of the outsource plan – to get rid of the cancer.  By this point he was so far back in his chair he was practically horizontal and the power distance between us had changed.  He didn’t want to discuss alkaline or acidic diets (no proof), the location of skin grafts and scars were non negotiable (well I’d like the option to wear a bikini again), speech therapy and dietary advice would be provided by specialists in the hospital (I could get access to these as often as needed but don’t bother him with these questions) and complementary and supplementary health treatments were not part of his repertoire.

Mid way through the conversation he threw a curve-ball “what was my degree in?” My response “I’ve a Masters in intercultural communications”  seemed to really confuse him.  I followed up with “if you were Spanish or Italian or French or something exotic , you would understand but as you’re English please don’t try. What you need to know is that is my degree is not science based”  In this moment, he was the Martian and I truly spoke from being from Venus!  There was no right nor wrong, just two different languages trying to find some similarity and a base to move forward. He regained some comfort level when I asked about how the tongue functions, so I could work on memory recall and visualisation. But then he heard my non specific use of such knowledge and started to emanate all the classic signs it was time to go.exit stage left

What did I really learn?

That he is the regional cancer specialist for the head, neck and throat and that is his job.  This is what he’s brilliant at.  So I am in the hands of a specialist. A well-trained, knowledgeable and skilled expert.

I am in the best hands to get rid of my cancer.

 

Meeting Silvana: through the looking glass

As part of my need to feel in control I’ve wholeheartedly embraced all alternative therapies. Well, I’m not wearing musk yet, my hair is not in braids and it’s too cold for jesus sandals.  But I’m doing virtually everything else.Hippy_by_Jinxxxi

Part of this philosophy is to use the cancer to treat the cancer.  So when my homoeopath suggested I ask for a slide of my biopsy, I took great pleasure in crafting a finely tuned missive to the PA of the consultant surgeon.  I wish I’d seen his face when he read it!

At our meeting with the team involved in my surgery, the consultant surgeon pushed a piece of paper with some scant instructions into Craig’s hand.  ‘Pathology 2, Dr Di Palma’.  It was made clear this was an unusual request.  Undaunted, we set off on our new hospital adventure, to find the ‘path 2’ building.  At one particularly confusing turn – neither Craig or I are blessed with a great sense of direction – we met a delightful old dear who had worked at the hospital for many years.  She was very keen to know where pathology lab 2 was located herself and, after asking directions, she took us into the bowels of the building, popping us out – like Alice and the white rabbit – next to the main incinerator. She then scuttled off, delighted with her new morsel of knowledge.Alice handles the white rabbit

‘Path 2’ is a modern building by Royal County Hospital standards, and after pressing the array of dizzyingly labelled buttons (none of which mentioned pathology directly) we were let in by a workman welding a paintbrush.  We came to a floor that had a tiny little Christmas tree and a bell. A young girl appeared, proudly wearing a knitted Christmas jumper, and was startled to see “real” people  in the building! She made a couple of calls and led us down into the basement, along a narrow newly painted corridor and into the offices of Doctor Silvana Di Palma.

This was the moment where I absolutely, knew I was going to be fine. As she ushered us to sit down I looked at this powerhouse of a woman and was totally impressed. From her perfectly coiffed hair, to her beautifully made up face, to her Dolce&Gabbana heels and chic fitted outfit, this woman oozed class and passion. And she was interested in me and what we were going to use the slide for.  She unwrapped it carefully from its paper and presented it to me solemnly; “the cell is cut on the diagonal”, she intoned, sounding like a cross between Sophia Loren and Gina Belluchi. “The pink pieces are healthy, the blue rings are carcinoma”.  She paused.  I could find nothing to say.  I was looking at pink blobs and blue blobs, and desperately wanting to impress her.  My mind itself had turned into a blob!

She seemed to sense that I did not share her passion, and my diplomatic husband valiantly came to my rescue by asking about the black and white photos on the wall.  They are her childhood village in a small part of Italy near the Umbrian mountains.  Smart, talented, beautiful and grounded; I wanted to ask her round for dinner!

So, as a scientist she wanted to know specifically how we were planning on using this slide.  I waffled on, talking nonsense, seeing my new best friend evaporate before my eyes.  Eventually I blurted, “I don’t know how it works, I don’t care how it works, what is important to me is that I’m doing absolutely everything to eradicate this and make the cancer go away”.  She patted my hand and gave me her email address.  “Stay in touch”, she said.  “I understand and support you in what you are doing and I’ll look out for your cancer cells and deal with your case personally”.

I am going to invite Silvana for dinner, along with my smart, bright girlfriends.  We will have much to talk about; I’ll be happy to discuss colours, just not pink and blue blobs!

 

 

 

 

a little perspective

It’s late here on the ward. Some of us still have our lights on, most are in drug induced slumber. I can’t sleep as I’m thinking about love, courage and acceptance. Particularly in relation to a fellow ward member, Mary.

Mary is my Mother’s age, born in ’42 into the blitz spirit of rations and making do.  I think she was here when I was admitted on Sunday evening.  I slowly became aware of her presence during Monday.  She’s a wee, wizened woman known for her keening and crying.  She impacts all of us on the ward. Nothing is right for Mary – we all march to her tune and her moods.  She berates her family, she berates the ward staff, she appears to not be a kindly, loving soul.   I’ve been too focused on me for the past 48 hours to care but today I found myself in a hospital corridor trying to comfort a lovely little pathologist nurse who had felt the full force on Mary’s wrath.  The nurse was in tears.  I was really angry and stomped past Mary’s bed,  thankfully with my new tongue – otherwise I may have said something!

Later, Mary stopped me and asked how I was doing. I explained about my mouth cancer and my recovery.  She looked at me and then pushed back her hair.  There is a lump on her neck bigger than a tennis ball. My surgeon, whose praises I had just been singing, has refused to operate.  He has told her it’s too late.  To get ready to say goodbye.  And suddenly I am humbled.  By the honesty of a man I respect and value – another Henry Marsh in the making – and by her human right to wail and cry at the scariness of it all.  Living is not always easy.  Accepting death – the journey we all must make – is harder still.

So Mary’s wailing tonight holds no terror.  I’m sending  oddles of love and wishing her and her family strength for the days and weeks ahead.

And finally I am grateful for the lesson she has shared today.  I have a recovery plan, I have my life ahead.   Its time to focus and get on and live it!

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Off to Australia

I am practising some visualisation.  Its a technique we use often in NLP  and it allows us to fully use all of our senses so we can navigate tricky situations.  You can use it for lots of different scenarios  but its jolly useful for me to use these techniques to think about the next few days.

I’m facing a 10 hour complex surgery.  Lots of mess, skin grafts, blood and gore. Followed by a period of forced sedation.  Thankfully,  I won’t be there.  I’ve boarded  a plane bound for Australia.

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I’m sitting on the plane in my first class seat – is there any other way to travel?  There seem to be no other passengers in this part of the plane and it looks like I am more in a large open space with no other chairs like mine around.  How lucky is this?!  A whole cabin to myself!  And lots of staff to run around and look after me.  Excellent news.  My  firm but comfy seat allows me to stretch my legs right out so the backs of my thighs and lower back are fully supported.  I have my glass of champagne in my right hand, the stem is slim and narrow and can easily be held by my thumb, index and middle fingers.  It’s heavy as it’s full, the bubbles are racing to the top of the glass and the pale golden colour reminds me of the rise of Scottish sunshine in the early morning light.  When I raise it to my lips, the first sensation is cool and sweet.  The smell is of hay bales in the summer sun.  I swirl the liquid around my mouth and taste sharp citrus lemon mixed with a dry, sweet burst of apple. Hmm.  I think I may need to ask for another glass – this is going down the back of my throat very easily!

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I feel the alcohol racing around my body.  It makes my feet tingle.  I’d like to dance but the music is too low for me to properly hear it.  There is so much space in this cabin and I feel free and uninhibited  – dancing brings so much joy.  I really want to hear the beat properly.  I’m straining to listen but the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt signs and the engines are starting to roar.  I check my seatbelt.  It is tight across my lap.  I put my glass down and the stewardess soundlessly appears and removes it. I smile at her and she smiles a dazzling pearly-white smile in return. She puts a reassuring hand on my arm, her touch is gentle and caring on my bare skin.  The hairs on my arm stand up. I’m looking at my arm but not quite seeing it clearly.  It looks very blurry. How much champagne have I consumed?  Her words sound muffled, like she is speaking at a great distance.  The plane starts to shudder and roar as it speeds down the runway.  My ears want to pop and I start to yawn to relieve the pressure.  Count backwards from 10 she says.  I start but the numbers don’t seem to want to come out, I get to 7 but sleep washes over me.  The plane is in the sky.  I don’t feel, hear. see, smell or touch anything.  I am weightless. Absent. Free.

Laura…Laura….LAURA!!!  Who is this persistent shrew trying to wake me up from my lovely sleep?  I am angry, annoyed, beyond irritated.  What’s her problem? LET ME SLEEP! I want to yell but it’s not coming out. I open one eye with a big scowl on my face.  Damn, I’ve obviously been on the razz. My whole body is achy and I can’t move.  Oh, and I’m not wearing my clothes…no knickers either.  Must have been a great night. Shame I can’t remember anything.

Ugh!  I feel like shit.   I can tell by looking at her that I’m not looking too hot either. I can’t have mascara down my face as my eyelash tint is still new.  Do I want to see if I can look in the mirror?  Hmm, still feeling too tired and don’t want to raise my head.  Actually I can’t raise my head, I’m connected to lots of wires.  I’m in the Matrix. I am Neo or his hot girlfriend. Actually, I want to be Neo.  The chosen one. The one who kicks ass, dodges bullets and bends metal to his will. I am NEO! Yeehah!!

Neo 2Neo Matrix

It’s Monday she tells me.  I want to ask if we have safely landed in Australia.  But sleep beckons. Later…

 

T’was the night before

The boys are off to football training and I have the house to myself but only for an hour.  In 24 hours I’ll be in the hospital – hopefully not yet wearing one of their delightful gowns, waiting for my surgery.

I’m busy doing stuff but at the same time my mind is swirling.  I’m focusing on tidying, sorting, cleaning, packing while at the same time observing my changing moods.  Yes, I am anxious and nervous but do I really need to blow a gasket because Craig has given Roscoe the socks I had carefully pre-packed in his Chelsea foundation football kit?IMG_6682

This mood shift is interesting.  I’m properly mad.  I would shout if there was anyone to listen.  What is happening?  Craig and I have had a lovely day together so why do I want to throttle him?  Ahh! It’s my control freakery out to play.  I’ve  packed for as many of Roscoe’s activities as I can think of next week.  It’s part of wanting to still feel in control despite knowing that when I walk through those hospital doors tomorrow I cede all control to the trained doctors and nurses.

Now I understand.  Let my  breathing rise and fall.  If Roscoe ends up at school or his football practice  with the wrong kit/no kit it’s not the end of the world! Delegate Laura, delegate!IMG_6683

And then my mood shifts.  I’m carrying drinking glasses downstairs and listening to them chink against each other, remembering the taste of the Berocca in my mouth as I try to stave off the approaching cold.  Roscoe is good at sharing!  I swallow.  The lumpy throat is still there.  Perhaps I need to eat an orange? Perhaps I need to just breathe and accept that a cold is the least of my concerns right now. Get a grip girl!

I’m in the study, I realise I’m never going to be able to sort it out before I go. But I’m going to give it another try.

I need to start to cook soon. They will be home in 30 mins.  I’ve missed the Archers. Dang!

And I should be making phone calls and talking to all of you who have offered me so much support, love and laughter these past few weeks since I “came out” about my cancer.

So forgive me the silence.  I need this time to settle. To get ready. to keep busy.  I’m thinking of each and every one of you and will reach out later.  But for now the clock is ticking, the minutes roll past and I need to keep working at getting ready…

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Hearing you’ve got cancer is scary.  I was like a headless chicken for quite some days.  headless-chickenI had no idea what to say or to think and looking back these initial few days were a blur of confusing medical terms, dark thoughts and odd bouts of euphoria (this will sound odd but those of us who experience this feel ecstatic; we are now going to do something about it – the choice is back in our hands – well the hands of our consultants, but you get what I mean!).

If you’re ever find yourself in this unfortunate situation, here are my top 10 tips to consider once you’ve been diagnosed and you’re still getting used to it.

  1. STAY AWAY FROM THE INTERNET!  I’ve put this in shouty capital letters.  It will do you no good to know the gruesome detail and you will scare yourself silly. Scaring you is part of the job of your cancer consultant – not some random from the ether.
  2. Stay away from the cancer forums of people who have had/have/or who passed away from cancers like yours.  Yup – relatives still post on how dear Doris or Jack soldiered on through their diagnosis and treatment.  For every great story about someone coming through the other side, there is one about misery, pain and  suffering. And guess what one we remember and regurgitate?!!
  3. Let your friends/family know.  They are your support network and will give you love, care and hope.
  4. Be open to love and care from whoever offers it.  Accept it graciously – one day you will be able to return the favour, right now it’s your turn.
  5. Don’t be a victim.  Yes, it’s cruddy news.  But now you’ve got cancer.  You can’t change it, so don’t blame yourself, your partner, your lifestyle, your diet etc.  That was then.  This is now.  Own your cancer and work out how you will manage it. Don’t let your cancer manage you.
  6. Be clear about who is doing what.  Otherwise known as Governance. Can you treat your cancer?  Can you remove it?   Know what you can and can’t do.  Outsource your cancer treatment to the specialists and focus on what you can control.  Some suggestions include your health, your diet and your mindset.
  7. Be clear about what you need from people and don’t be afraid to ask.  I’m blessed with great friends who all invariably ask how they can help and contribute.  I’m now used to saying “Right now, I don’t know what I will need, but I promise I will call you”.
  8. Don’t feel obliged to answer questions. Or to say “I don’t want to talk about this right now”.  Be relaxed about your honesty. Most people will understand, and those who don’t need to be jettisoned tout suite from your life.  You’ve enough going on without carrying those who are not true friends.
  9. Maintain your interest in the world outside.  Consider other people, their lives, what’s going on in the news. By staying focused on the outside world, you are giving your subconscious time to process and focus on keeping you positive.  There is always someone who is worse off than you.  Be grateful for what you’ve got and think about those who are dealing with problems bigger than your cancer; self-absorption will make you dull and maudlin.
  10. You are not a statistic.  You are you. You are a unique human being with the ability to make your own decisions and choices.  First,  work out how you feel.  Where in your body is this feeling?  Is it in your heart, your body, your head?  Is it somewhere else?  Can you describe the feeling? If it’s all in your head then you are going to love all of the numbers and graphs and data. Get stuck right in.  But know right at the beginning that statistics, at best, are an average.  They are not you, do not define you and may not even apply to you.

 

Oh and a ‘Brucey bonus’…..If you are in the UK, for the next 5 years you get free prescriptions on the NHS. Register straight away at your Doctor’s surgery.  This will save you a small fortune!

There will be more hints and tips as I go through this.  If you have any insights, or thoughts or experiences, please share!

In the beginning

It started with a mouth ulcer.  Under my tongue, on the left hand side.  It must have been there for a while but I first noticed it in November 2013. We were busy at work – DB pension closure, some reorganisation, some further changes to employee benefits – the usual “change” stuff and frankly Christmas was coming up. So I ignored it.

Local jungle drums beat over that festive season and news filtered down that a young Mum had been diagnosed with mouth cancer and, incredibly, lung cancer  – both had been caught early.  When I saw her a few weeks later she was well wrapped up and speaking with a slight slur.  She remained cheerful throughout our short conversation and encouraged me to get a dental check up.  I didn’t mention my mouth ulcer.

A few weeks later, I remembered this conversation and the Doc referred me to a maxcillofacial specialist.  I had my first biopsy that March and it hurt.  Not so much the physical side but not being able to talk properly really caused me grief.  The stitches burst too and my tongue became a mass of muscle that developed a mind of its own. The good news was it was benign and although I had a white patch mass on the side of my mouth, I was assured that with regular reviews, all would be fine.

I have a busy life.  Our little family juggles two full-time demanding careers, the running of a home and the care of our much loved, sports mad and indulged son, Roscoe. juggling womanWe have no family close by and rely on good friends to help when we get stuck.

I work for an oil and gas company and get involved with big change programmes. At the time of the first biopsy I was knee deep in a voluntary redundancy programme which saw a third of the head office staff depart. I was busy, busy, busy!   I  look after the management of change and communications so people still want to come to work and do their best – even in times of uncertainty.

Change curveSo I know all about the change curve and the stages people go through and  confidently use lots of different communications and change models and approaches no matter what is thrown at me.

 

 

I’m also an ostrich. I can easily ignore lots of things. Including the omnipresent mouth ulcer (which returned bigger and uglier than before) and the regular reviews with the consultant specialist.

He wrote to me in March 2015, saying that as he hadn’t heard from me, he presumed all was well and was going to take me off the books.  Naturally, this encouraged me to do something about it. I called the healthcare insurance, got a reference to see him and promptly forgot again.

But the ulcer had other ideas and it started to get angry.  My mouth started to twist to accomodate that I couldn’t chew on the left hand side.  Somedays I didn’t eat because it hurt too much.  The dentist sawed off a bit of my bottom tooth to give my mouth some room.  The ulcer remained.  The dental hygenist gave me  4 different types of toothpaste telling me to try each one for 2 weeks to see if it would respond positively to the various ingredients.   Nada.  The dentist prescribed 500mg (industrial strength) Betamethasone  – a steroid oral mouthwash which I used for a further 4 weeks.  It had no effect. I changed my diet.  The ruddy thing would not move.  Guess I was stage one in the change curve – denial.

Eventually, I asked the dentist to refer me and I schlepped back to the specialist.

He scheduled the biopsy quickly.   Monday 09.30.  First thing on the Friday , the phone rang, “can I please attend an appointment the following Tuesday.  Perhaps I would like to bring my husband with me”?    It was all fairly obvious.  It was a long four days.

Denial was now futile.

I have mouth cancer.

A blog for the reader…

 

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This site is for those curious  about change.  The concept of change.  The act of change.  Changing yourself. Changing times. Changing others.  My aim is to provoke or encourage you to think about how you live your life, how you view others,  or events, how to become more resilient and to help you be clear about your opinions and actions.  Sometimes I may be provocative or you’ll read statements or thoughts you don’t agree with.  Great! This diversity of thought and belief is what makes our world so interesting.   Sometimes, I’ll use some of my change tools and techniques (after all this is what I do for a living).  I’ll also use my recent time off work and adventure with mouth cancer as these experiences have taught me to think, act and speak differently.

This blog continues to be a “work in progress”.  Some posts flow more easily than others – this is life isn’t it?  Some days it’s easy and others mean that hiding underneath the duvet or behind a spreadsheet or PowerPoint presentation,  is more enticing.  So you may find posts which don’t appeal but if you keep popping back, you may find others which resonate with you.  I write about wide and varied subjects and thoughts, and from the heart.  I aim to always be authentic and open and at the same time, I know there is often much more to learn.  So if you feel you can contribute,  expand or change my thinking, please leave a comment.  And if you just appreciate what I’m trying to say press’ like’.  It’s always great to receive feedback!

Thank you for reading.

Laura