This is the autobiographical story of an English doctor who, a month after the birth of her second child, returns to Nepal. The book describes what drives her to leave – despite the admonitions of doctors and their gloomy prognostications about her son. Leaving Britain means abandoning access to good medical care. She doesn’t know what to expect but fears the worst, yet she hope it will allow the child to live in dignity and happiness; it certainly allows him to escape from daily blood tests, feeding tubes, hospitals and institutions. He defies the doctors’ predictions and his parents enjoy his short life; they live as a normal family not dominated by hospitals. They also learn from the tolerant accepting attitudes of Nepalis. The mother struggles with guilt, often thinking that she has made the wrong decision, but guilt is mitigated by seeing the joyous carefree child develop.

A group of giggling young Nepali mothers gathered around to see my five-week-old: to compare babies. They took him from me and pressed in to see. ‘How beautiful,’ ‘Such soft white skin,’ ‘These little holes in his ears are a gift from heaven.’ This was the first time strangers had admired my new baby, and at that moment I knew that it had been right to flee England. There he’d been still as a rag doll; he twitched at any noise and vomited after each tube-feed. He was suffering. Panic often showed in his eyes. We didn’t know what to expect of the future. All we knew was that it would be better than submitting to what the Cambridge doctors had planned for our quiet beautiful baby.

We had been living in urban Nepal, but would be moving to remote Rajapur Island in the middle of the largest tributary of the Ganges. We were up-beat about going but Nepalis warned of the heat, bandits and disease in the Plains. On Rajapur though we entered an accepting, straightforward community where David was special – touched by god – not abnormal. Our neighbours saw beyond his handicap. He stopped twitching at the slightest sound and he rallied physically too. Soon there was a sparkle in his eyes and slowly, he started to respond to us, even tease us. We were right to take him away to Nepal. And David’s older brother, Alexander, was spared spending his early years in dank England, hanging about in hospital waiting rooms. We settled into a contented, sleepy life on our island where we lived close to tiger, rhino and wild elephant, and village boys taught Alexander to climb mango trees, make catapults, catch skinks and fly kites.

The one sympathetic hospital doctor in Cambridge had advised us to treat David normally and we took this as a licence to take him on his first trek; at the age of four months, we packed up David’s heart medicines and tubes and headed up over precipitous drops and wobbly rope bridges to explore drippy forests and mediaeval hill-forts. The mountains were spectacular and healing. Strangely David’s heart disease protected him from the affects of high altitude. Our arrival in each mountain village was heralded by choruses of, ‘Children have come!’ We’d be surrounded and David taken from his carrying basket to be handed around for all to cuddle. He glowed in all this attention. He smiled and burbled appreciatively at all his admirers. Nepalis helped us see David’s qualities and talent for laughter.

I took up a little part-time health work, taking David with me to village meetings as part of my credentials for talking with the women. Our Nepali neighbours had their own problems yet they took life as it came and dealt with their hardships cheerily. Their spirituality and fatalism seemed to allow them to snatch some joy out of life too, and they helped us see our situation in proportion and live contentedly with our – at times – uneasy child. We did not dwell on David’s problems but, having absorbed the positive aspects of both cultures, could enjoy his happy personality and increasingly mischievous sense of humour.

This book had an exceedingly long and at times painful gestation. It began as a simple travel narrative. I wanted to write about caste and slavery and wildlife, and felt shy of sharing David with my readers. However my agent at the time, Sarah Leigh at Peters Fraser and Dunlop, was astute enough to notice that there was something missing and suggested that rather than gloss over David’s troubled existence, he should come centre stage.

Once I committed to this becoming David’s book, it started to take shape and assume a form that pleased me - finally. It grew then during the ten years I worked on it into an unrecognisable being. It is a book that I have often lost confidence in, particularly when several literary agents were rude or patronising about it. I hope now though that it communicates my passion for Nepal and it is a fitting tribute to David.

Several readers have asked about the Nepali script in the book. The text on page 410 reads 'pheri betau la, David' which roughly translates as until we meet again. 'Pheri betau la' appears again on page 415. I did hope to persuade the publisher to run Nepali translations of each chapter title as examples of Devanagri because I love the look of the script, but we got into a few tangles with design and layout. Finally we decided to use just the first two letters of David's name as the chapter headers and for page breaks, which I think works well. The result is - I believe - a superb book, and it is one that doesn't rapidly disintegrate like some British and US paperbacks.

For Book Groups

Book Group participants might like to consider and discuss the following questions. I have broadly grouped them into questions relating to the medical/parenting issues and then questions about Nepal:

‘You’re carrying your baby like a monkey!’ an ancient woman shouted as we ducked into the small, smoky shack. We sat down on a couple of benches; Simon ordered tea as I extracted David from the baby-carrier and suckled him. The woman wandered inside; I now saw that she was prematurely wrinkly and actually about my own age. She watched me for a few minutes, then said, ‘Why were you out in the sun with one so young? Your milk will get too hot!’ I was growing used to unwanted advice, but this came with a smile; it wasn’t like the criticism of the doctors we’d fled from a couple of weeks before.

‘The baby is beautiful, sister,’ she said. Then, when David burped and regurgitated a little, ‘See! He’s vomiting! You’ve curdled your milk!’ Pouting her lips towards Simon, she then turned on him. ‘Is this the father of the children? Why haven’t you bought her any gold? Aren’t you embarrassed for your wife to be seen walking in the bazaar without gold?’ Simon just chuckled, but I wanted to defend him. I showed her my engagement and wedding rings. ‘The colour of this gold is poor, and you need earrings, bahini!’ Then to Simon again, her eyes twinkling, ‘She has been a good wife: she has made two fine sons. Why do you dishonour her so?’

Simon’s eyes sparkled too. ‘But my wife is Tibetan,’ he lied. ‘Surely you know that they never wear gold?’

‘Ah mai — you eaters of cows, you are all the same.’

Trekking
(from page 130)

One of the few challenges on our trek from Baglung (West Nepal) was finding shade when we stopped in the hot, glary middle of the day. In Lumsum village, there was no shelter anywhere except beside a large, new building, that I only later realised was the clinic. ‘When will the health assistant come?’ I asked waiting patients.

‘Docter — sahib is visiting his family in Jhapa.’

‘Jhapa — but that’s way out east in the tarai.’

‘It is far. He may come after one or two weeks.’ Yet still they waited.

Vacillating about whether to admit that I was a doctor, I eyed up a man whom I could tell even from across the courtyard had pneumonia. Sweat poured off him, and he was breathing hard. I cursed not bringing more antibiotics. I said nothing. Then I realised that our sirdar, Kipa, was ‘treating’ a patient whom I had not even noticed. She lay, a tiny, emaciated, ragged heap, at the feet of the man with pneumonia — her father. She was about five and also had pneumonia. ‘Oral rehydration sachets won’t help her, Kipa, but I have the right treatment in the medical kit that I’ve brought for my children.’

I dripped antibiotic syrup into her mouth while explaining how the rest must be given. Her father was so ill and listless that he didn’t seem to be listening.

Then Father said to me, ‘I need medicine also, huzoor.’

‘There is none,’ I said, still feeling uncomfortable at the unapologetic way Nepali is spoken.

‘That,’ he said pointing with his pouting lips, ‘is the wife of docter-sahib — she has the key.’ The health post was surprisingly well-stocked with an excellent range of basic medicines. Magnanimously, I gave him a course of antibiotics. As I explained how he should take them, I repeated what he needed to do to save his daughter’s life, but he was busy ranting about how it needed a foreigner to come to help and why wasn’t the government man here.

He was angry, yet the longer I spent in the developing world the more I realised that doctors are not as useful as people think. Most medical problems do not really have medical solutions. Medicine merely patches people up, to suffer again. I might have ‘saved’ the five-year-old that time, but I doubt that the child survived for long. As an outsider passing through, it is easy to convince yourself that you are doing good by handing out medicines, but there is no easy cure for poverty.

New cook
(from page 169)

A stranger loomed up on me while I was sitting writing in the garden. He was flabby and looked unwashed. ‘I am cook,’ he announced, standing to attention. Gosh. An English-speaker.

‘Ah, good … Are you looking for work?’

‘Yes, memsahib.’

‘Can you cook?’ (No harm in establishing some basics first.)

‘I have been tourisss cook in Kathmandu, Thamel-side. You like finger-cheeps, yes?’

‘Yes, sometimes. What else can you cook?

‘Full English menu. All dishes. Potato. Boil carrot. Boil spinach. Egg any style. Every thing.’

‘Any meat dishes?’

‘Yes, memsahib. Boil meat. Anykind.’

When can you start work?’
‘Now,’ he said, and immediately made himself busy. He suggested cooking mahseer. We looked forward to tasty steaks of large river fish, but when he served the dish, I had to ask what it was.

‘Boil fish with ee-special English brown sauce.’

‘How did you make the sauce?’

‘Flour and water mix with little bit warm Mazola oil.’ It had the appearance of the effluvia that runs out from pigsties, but was probably less flavoursome.

‘And the vegetables? What are they?’

‘This is mish-mash — boil cauliflower and banana mix.’

‘Boiled banana?’

‘Yes, madam. Any problem?’

‘Perhaps tomorrow you can cook Nepali food for us.’

‘You cannot eat Nepali food.’

‘We like it.’

‘That is not possible. Foreigners do not like.’

Mountains
(from page 85)

Seemingly only a stone’s throw away stood Annapurna South and its Siamese twin Hiunchuli. The Patal Ganga Glacier, wedged between the two giants, slid, cracked and jerked painfully downwards like an old arthritic beast. I watched an avalanche — like a cloud pouring off the mountain. I gazed at the superb angular pinnacle that peeked out shyly from the clouds; the jet stream blew snowy spindrift off the knife-edge ridges. I sat in awe, feeling absolutely no desire whatsoever to conquer even a minor trekking peak.

Wildlife
(from page 387)

chestnut-bellied blue rock thrush and beautiful niltava popped in and out of the low rhododendron forest. There were meadows of ground orchids, geraniums, primulae and gentians. The forest on the sheltered, drier side of the 3414m pass was a mix of magnificent maples in autumn colours, majestic hemlocks, gigantic juniper, blue pine and silver fir: stately trees, so tall it was hard to see to the tops. Beneath, the air smelt of pine and ancient wood, and it was green, so green. Even boulders and tree trunks were covered with a cosy blanket of moss; ferns and orchids sprouted from every available crevice and Himalayan pied woodpeckers played peek-a-boo.

Reviews

A short life and a happy one 
“Sometimes perhaps a short life and a happy one is better than anything we doctors have to offer. This is the proverbial "life-changing" book.”
Dr James LeFanu in the Daily Telegraph

Comic recollections
"vividly drawn... as much about the terrain and wildlife in rural Nepal, Jane's experiences offering basic medical care to Nepalis, Simon's river projects, Alexander's engagment with new friends and the often comic recollections of setting up home, as about David's life.... beautifully depicted.. a family at peace with the choices they made to give their children the best life possible.”
Juno magazine Winter 2008

A celebration of life
When I read the media release for this book I thought “Oh no, it’s going to be a real tear jerker” and I put it aside to concentrate on other more worldly tomes. I could not have been more wrong, and it will be a very long time before I forget this book. In fact, I hope I never do.
David, Dr Jane Wilson-Howarth’s second son, was born with serious neurological disorders. Battle after battle with the medical profession, who had diagnosed David as severely retarded, forced the family to make a life changing decision. To stay in England, where David had access to the best medical services or return to Nepal, where they could make his short life one worth living.
Against huge opposition, they returned to Nepal and that’s where this story of courage, love and beauty really begins. It’s a shared story of adventure, colour and humanity. The shining thread that pulls the book together is their love for their ‘beautiful boy’ and the disparity between the embarrassment they encountered back home to the Nepalese people’s huge love and admiration for David’s differences.
It is a celebration of life, beautifully written with clearness devoid of any self-indulgent grief or blame. David’s differences are woven tenderly within the descriptions of the vibrant Nepalese culture and the family that adored him. It’s a story of triumph and a glimpse of eternal snows. I’m very glad I read it.
Deb Perry The Sunshine Coast Daily www.thedaily.com.au

Mountainous saga amid snowy peaks
Towering snow-covered Himalayan peaks on the cover attracted my interest initially, however after a couple of chapters I was struggling to get into this book, its content focused on pregnancy, rigours of childbirth and a handicapped newborn.
Not really my idea of a mountain adventure. The book features the Wilson-Howarth family. Jane, mother and trained paediatrician, is the author. Husband Simon works on infrastructure projects for a world aid agency. Their children are Alexander, an active pre-schooler, and newborn David, who with cleft palate and severe yet undiagnosed neurological problems, promises to turn their world upside down.
The author struggles as intuition and professional knowledge forces her to face David's degree of impairment and uncertain future. Medical colleagues add to the worries, viewing her newborn as "an interesting case", but not talking openly or honestly about his prognosis. Chapter two passes by and I am really not attached to this story, too many hospital scenes and worrisome kids.
The family then faces a choice. Stay and endure the best and worst of interventions modern medicine and surgery provide, or escape to a simple life in Nepal where another infrastructure project beckons, and enjoy the limited time they may have with their impaired son and brother.
In Nepal things are looking better. We are out of the hospital ward, and the children become just part of the story as they struggle to cope in a hot and very different environment. The author leads her family in small adventures as they sample a culture steeped in superstition, prejudice, poverty and cultural divides.
By chapter 10 I am really enjoying this book, there are no epic events - as is often the case with living in foreign cultures, it is the small things that make the interesting tales.
The real epic, however, is played out in David's slow physical and mental progress and the couple's tortured self doubt over their non-intervention strategy to hopefully provide him with a better quality of life.
The conclusion is in some ways surprising, beautifully expressed. It tells of how a family held true to a belief that quality of life mattered most, and how their Nepal experiences equipped them well to maintain that belief.
In postscript notes, the author says the script started as a travel narrative but developed into a story incorporating David's birth and struggles. She has blended his story into the travel narrative beautifully.
— NB this bloke reviewer thought this one gets better as it goes along —
Ken Callagher - Waikato Times (NZ)

“Books don't get more inspirational than A Glimpse of Eternal Snows.”
Wanderlust

“reading your book has made me really nostalgic for the country even though we were only there for just over two weeks.”
Michelle Hogg, Woodbridge

“such a good book... beautifully written... sensitive. Books which one actually looks forward to going to bed to read each night seem to get more scarce, but this is certainly one of them.”
Maggie F, Elmsett, Suffolk

“a beautiful book, uplifting and inspiring.”
Ben Spencer, Oxford

“moving, insightful and generous hearted book”
Nick Austin, editor

“thought-provoking reading for medical students!”
Ann Allison RGN

“beautiful”
Dea Birkett

Understanding insights 
“I would encourage anyone going to Nepal to read your book. Most travellers only interact fleetingly with the Nepalese. Your [Jane’s] experiences will give others the understanding they do not have time to absorb.”
Susan Salmon, letter from Sydney

Moving
"thanks for sharing your family's life in Nepal. A Glimpse of Eternal Snows was a very moving story, especially of David's life. On my recent visit to Nepal I had the privilege of visiting the British cemetery and David's grave. It was a peaceful lovely place, with red bougainvilleas in flower. Your book was also a useful reference guide on my trip."
Janice Fransen

Riveting
A rainy couple of days gave me the ideal opportunity to curl up and read your book. It is a riveting and deeply emotional tale and I am full of admiration for you on many levels. It is an overwhelming tale of grief; denial, anger fiercely directed against the clever doctors, guilt and I hope ultimately resolution, because here is a book of triumph of David's short life. I clearly remember coming to visit you on the first trip back to England with David. Alexander was out with friends and I played on the floor with David and remember his smile and infectious laugh. You told me of your trek and how the children had joined you, carried by the guides and how David had thrived in Nepal. So I remember him. David was loved and cherished, accepted and stimulated and he has enriched the lives of others and will continue to do so through your book.
You are poetic in your description of the countryside and wildlife. It is obviously your passion and your spiritual solace. I had a strong feeling of what it was like to live and work in Rajapur. Reading the book, I travelled into a world of my own and I have also spent the last two days reminiscing about PNG. You are very honest about the challenges you faced and I admire your strength of character and determination. The country and cultures are totally different but we have shared some of the experiences of being a third world expatriate. I lived in a town of about 25,000 people. I have never come to terms with the violence or my total sense of failure as a doctor.
It is such a powerful story. You can expect people to have strong reactions to it because it does challenge the reader to think about disability and illness, life and death. It challenges us to think about the third world and what is important in our lives. It will challenge some religious views. That will be uncomfortable for some people.
I am delighted to hear that it is selling well in Australia (despite calling jandles flip-flops) and I am sure it will do well when it goes global. Good book club material.
Dr Veronica Spooner

"consistently brilliant, a joy to get lost in..."
JW - Surrey  

You won’t be disappointed
Have you ever lived and/or worked for extended periods in a Third World country? If yes, then you will relate well to this book. It will jog your memory on coping with the inevitable cultural differences we face. Have you ever been trekking in Nepal? If so, then reading this book will bring back many memories of your experiences there. Or have you had the personal experience of bringing into the world a severely physically and mentally disabled baby? Jane, a medical doctor and keen naturalist, in an easy-to-read style and format brings all these elements together to present a very personal account of living in Nepal in trying physical and emotional circumstances. But it’s not a sad tale, although there are heart-wrenching moments, nor is it full of uplifting clichés. It is a simple account of the trials and pleasures associated with living in difficult conditions with the added complexity of caring for a disabled child. Give it a go - you won't be disappointed.
Posted on fishpond

An amazing read
What an amazing read this was. I was sorry to come to the end but hoping Jane will write the next part of her story very soon.
The book is beautifully produced and presented, and wonderfully written, leading the reader on through the story that grips at every turn with artistic descriptive work and tantalising insights into life far from home. Jane is able to paint pictures of people and wildlife so well with her words.
The story centres on her family, husband Simon and their two children, Alexander and David. David was born with medical problems and disabilities. Jane's description of the emotions this evoked within the family from even before the doctors' diagnoses are a must read for the medical profession and anyone with friends or family living with a child with significant medical problems.
Review posted on fishpond

This book has been on sale in Australia and New Zealand since 2007 and is available from bookshops and from www.fishpond.com.au | www.dymocks.com.au