Walking for Breast Cancer

The Madhatters Send Metty to the Avon Breast Cancer 3-day Camp


You may have heard of the Avon fund-raiser. It’s now in its 3rd year in Atlanta and has raised millions for breast cancer worldwide together with 3-day walks in Los Angeles ,New York, Boston, Chicago, Washington DC, and San Francisco. The Winship Cancer Institute of Emory University and Grady Memorial Hospital received $15.3M from this fund last year. So it’s seems like a worthy cause considering I had a personal friend and medical school classmate who have succumbed to it and several friends are still fighting valiantly to conquer it, and yet some have triumphed and completely vanquished the disease, thanks to new treatments and understanding of the importance of early detection and education.

Well, I’m not much of a goody-2-shoes but walking 60 miles for 3 days from Lake Lanier to Atlanta and sleeping in tents at night and having catered meals and massage from volunteers and foot care from podiatrists and hot showers from a truck with all the complimentary Avon products you can use sounded like an adventure to me. So I signed up on the spot and only realized too late that walking my 3 miles on Buice Road does not even come a teeny bit close to walking 20 miles a day for 7 hours over hills and gravel and heaven knows what else.I hear that there’s a truck sent to comb the route at the end of the day to pick up wasted bodies by the roadside. What should one do? I signed up at Bally’s Fitness and now I’m pumping 10-lb weights and surviving 25 minutes on the cardio machines. Do you realize that it’s easy to squander away 1 ½ hours or more just doing the weight circuit, repeating ab curls and gasping at the cardio machines? Now walking 6 miles is a cinch, not to mention what I walk playing 18-holes on weekends. How many miles is a 5200 yard golf course driving off from the red tees? So I figure I can survive the walk on October 5-7 with probably nothing worse than blisters on my already bunion-deformed sorry feet, the legacy of miles covered making patient rounds in the halls of UP-PGH in 4-inch stilleto heels.

It turned out the physical preparation is the easy part. Again I found out too late that I need to raise at least $1900 to be able to have the privilege of walking 60 miles and torturing myself. Although I know I can stick up some of my rich friends and I’d get that $1900 in a blink it’s not fun, is it? Besides I got serious and I said I’d do this right , after all I’m already putting in tremendous physical effort . I might as well send the fundraiser message across, i.e., breast cancer awareness. So a light bulb flashed in my head, the Madhatters !

Now you are going to hear about the Madhatters. When they put on their hats they can do anything, but on one condition: they must have fun while doing it. So once again I fell into a rabbit hole one lazy afternoon and I dreamt I would have a party on my birthday and have an auction-fundraiser. This is how I saw it in my dream:

Before I leave this decade
I want to make a point
Attitude is what a growing girl must have
Getting better not feeling older
Is what I intend to serve

So I’m walking 60 miles for 3 days
You may have heard of the AVON walk
From the calm waters of Lake Lanier
The first steps begin
And the last rests in the bosom of Atlanta
In between are a thousand steps
And maybe blisters and bloodied feet
But first I must bring $1900
So hope can flourish for us
Who happens to get the B-disease
Breast cancer that is

Please come to my birthday party
Bear no gifts but bring something you already have
Someone’s junk maybe somebody’s treasure
Bidding for these will give everyone pleasure
And we’ll collect all the bids into a fund
To send me to the AVON 3-day camp
That would be the greatest birthday gift
And the knowledge that my friends
Have got the right stuff with ATTITUDE

So how will the Madhatters pull this off? First they met for high tea at the Four Seasons on 14th Street to figure out what to do with the hats they’d wear. The Whimsical Madhatter is I since I dreamed this all up and all the hats everyone will wear so everyone can help me make this for real. We have 2 Culinary Magical Madhatters and those are Nene and Eudy who will plan the menu and set up our table real nice. We have 2 Martha Stewart Wanna-Be Madhatter, Tess and Bonnie who will decorate the party space (which is my backyard) with originality and select a theme or motif. Our Party Madhatter is Gloria who will plan potions to serve so we’ll really have fun. We need 2 Money-Handler Madhatters Didi and Susan who will collect bids at the auction and fill out pledge forms and send them to the fund headquarters and endorse auction items to the highest bidder. Nene wears 2 hats but she took offense at the title of her other hat as it was originally the Hustler Madhatter who will be in charge of the auction together with Precy. They will make sure that the bidding is enthusiastic and everyone is involved and getting carried away. They were also asked to go to auction school to learn how to talk fast without breathing and to learn how to entice the audience to bid to their heart’s content. Nene thought that the title is contrary to her demure and sweet nature and she was adamant not to tarnish her reputation and flatten her coiffure with such unflattering title so I changed their title to Madhatter Scarlett. She and Precy are now happy and back into the fold. And last but not least Marites is the Commando Madhatter. She will plan completion time lines for everyone and make sure every Madhatter knows what she’s supposed to do and she’s the authority who during the party will organize the schedule of events and make them happen without a hitch.
We had a lovely afternoon sipping tea and scarfing the finger sandwiches. We were so hungry. By the way high tea at the Four Seasons is definitely a more divine experience than the Ritz. The Madhatters have spoken.

So folks if you get an invitation to my birthday party on August 25 we sure would like for you to come and have fun and share the adventure of 2000 friends who will walk from Lake Lanier to Atlanta on October 5-7, 60 miles 3 days, each one bringing $1900 so breast cancer will disappear from the face of the earth.

Supportive Living

Supportive Living: The Commune
Musings of a Whimsical Mad Hatter


Our lives are at a crossroad. We are mulling over ideas about retirement, life style changes ,re-evaluating core values to guide our vision for our future, anguishing about decisions/choices and exploring ways to make things happen. Oh boy! Do wereally get this thoughtful and analytical about how we do things or don’t we just muddle through and try to make sense of what’s happening to us and make the best of or who knows maybe make worse of what life has given us. These days I feel like a muddler more than a planner but the other day Bonnie and I were addressing this and we got all excited about a plan!

The new millennium is trite now the way everyone had made such dramatic expectations from entering the new century but nevertheless it got us thinking about a V----s Millennium Convergence. And the reunion of the siblings bring the realization that we are all getting along in years, and of course we have been aware of how mama is getting older and had raised the question, what shall we do if mama gets sick? We have not inquired of mama if she has contingency plans about getting sick but certainly we assumed it will be our problem. Can we assume it will be others problem if any of us get sick or get very old? Maybe it is my depressed state at this point but I cannot think of anyone who I believe care enough about me to make my infirmity his/her problem. I do not look to my children to be obliged to care for me for love or duty for as the prophet said our children belong to tomorrow and cannot tarry with yesterday. I cannot look to a husband for care for as we know a marriage can disenchant or end in divorce, and neither can I look to friends for that’s just not expected of friendships. But I think like a Sicilian, I can understand the godfather’s affirmation of family and blood relatedness. Blood is thicker than water is truer to me now more than ever. So I’m convinced that when all is said and done we as siblings have the most vital bonding and we should look to each other for support and care. We are the original family and we started out as children living together and it would not be inconceivable to see ourselves in the dusk of our lives reuniting and living together again, experiencing the original togetherness as a family sharing the same blood coursing through our veins.

When I started out I have all sorts of dreams. My soul actually craves more adventure and passion than what my competencies and opportunities can provide. I constantly hunger for new experiences, to know more, to try new things, to taste whatever is exotic ,even strange. I have said my motto is, unless potentially fatal by all common sense deduction, “I’ll try anything once.” I want to be amongst kindred spirits. But I’m also enamored of history. During this VMC we are looking at our family history and we are getting desperate because mama is the only living link and we have not mined her knowledge yet of our family history. History helps put our present in perspective. It is playing out in very familiar form, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our brilliant plan, Bonnie’s and mine, given birth during a moment of madness, in retrospect, is not original at all. It’s as old as the sands around Virac and Pasacao.

This all began when the neighbors began circulating a protest for a zoning request on Buice Rd. to build a dozen houses on 31/2 acres. Why that’s the acreage I have on our property. I never realized you could put that many houses on 3 acres, although I had a dream when we built our house here that I’ll build a gingerbread Victorian guest cottage in the woods behind the tennis court and when the kids have their families and we’re retired we’ll pass along the big house to one of them, most likely Jay-Jay, and Johnny and I will move into the guest house. Now, that’s exactly how mama and papa planned it when they built the apartment complex on Ateneo Ave. They envisioned keeping us all together, just like papa’s generation of Vargases have that family compound in Virac. Without thinking about this I had the same ideas for our own children. You know how these kind of plans turn out. No self-respecting child wants to live with parents in the childhood homestead, the children all want to see and live in the world.

I had envisioned keeping this house, with romantic family fantasies of being a permanent place to come home to, for the children and grandchildren, a solid, reliable physical haven, which will always be there no matter where they’ve been in the world. But no one is interested. Not the children towards the parental home.

But it’s a completely different matter for siblings in the empty nest phase of their lives to regroup and live together again. We are all looking for a place to build to retire to, we have already broached the idea of buying property adjacent to one another or at least be closer to each other, this is where the light bulb switched. I can subdivide my property into 5 or 6 building lots, get an architect or a developer to draw a really nice cluster housing plan with shared common areas like the swimming pool, transform the tennis court into a shuffleboard area or something, or have a lawn installed for croquet or for the grandkids to romp about, have an area for flower and vegetable cultivation, landscape with footpaths around the various cottages, for I see the cluster homes as cottages maybe Victorian or farmhouse style in feel with front porches and open plans with one-level living with master on the main floor and maybe a loft with extra bedroom or two for the kids and grandkids when visiting. Each sibling will own his/her own cottage and build according to the master development plan. The big house will be the center of shared family activities. I am envisioning that we will have evening dinners together and on certain nights may dress nice, have guests, we’ll have music or movies or mahjong. Holidays we may have grand reunions with our kids and grandkids. We’ll hire a cook and housekeeper and groundskeeper and assess each family a sort of club association fee. We can form a corporation and have bylaws to regulate our fiscal behavior.We’ll elect officers and have quarterly business meetings since we will surely have a complicated financial relationship which we would not want to interfere with our personal relationships. And being a corporation, we can start entrepreneurships. There’s so much talent and ideas for a business between us siblings, I don’t see why we shouldn’t pursue this in retirement. Just think how exciting this would be. I’m also thinking we can plan vacations together and get special group discounts. All these joint activities does not preclude personal time and privacy as we all have our own private homes and it’s up to us to decide whether to have company or enjoy solitude. As siblings age and retire they will be joining this group and eventually all of us will be back in the fold. Come to think of it this may also address our dilemma about mama. She can join us in this venture and she will be the first to build a cottage since she’ll be the first to qualify for supportive living. As we start getting infirm, we can add a nurse to our employees. We can stay in our homestead until we die, no one among us has to go to a nursing home and no one among us has to put any pressure on our kids to take care of us. When we die the subdivided property can be passed on to our heirs, then they can decide for themselves. You know, Martha Stewart is not the only one who can invent a life style and profit from it.

Woman Doctor

Woman/Doctor, Where Does The Twain Meet?



It was the last semester of pre-med and I was having second thoughts about entering medical school. Many of my classmates were changing majors, signing up for BS Chemistry, or Zoology. Medicine was intimidating. It was hard to qualify for a spot in the University of the Philippines College of Medicine and the study was too long and hard. Out of over 500 applicants only a little over 100 were accepted and among these women figure in less than 15%. I was having a crisis of confidence, but I didn't know it was about that then. I told mama I wasn't going to medical school, instead, I will continue towards a BS Chemistry degree. Imagine! Well, mama was unhesitating, she put her foot down and there's to be no argument. I will go to Medical School and I will be a doctor. And so it came to pass, FRV, MD, UP Class '67.

When I think of how I experienced folk medicine in Pasacao when I was growing up, I shudder! I could have died, I could have aspirated and have a collapsed lung or I could have had an embolus and died of a stroke. I had asthma in childhood and when I have an attack I feel like I'm drowning. I feel like I'm going to die. The folk remedy is to drink blood directly from the gushing neck arteries of a baby crow. Four grown-ups would pin me down, force my mouth open to gulp the fresh blood. I'd resist, thrash about, and fight with everything I have. If I had a fever the treatment is to heat suction cups and place it on your body to suck the fever out. I also remember leeches; they suck out whatever was poisoning your body. Well, I survived these and amazingly without apparent post-traumatic stress injury.

The interview in medical school ironically, was the traumatic one. I didn't know how to label it then but it was the first encounter with the many varied presentations of sexual discrimination. It becomes operational when you enter the world populated by men and begin to take away from their share. Up until then I was in my proper place. In undergraduate school its good for a woman to be educated so she can marry upwards socially and economically. She will not take away from a man's share because once she's married she's expected to stay home and take care of the family. But Dr. Katigbak, bless his soul, he's now dead, the Secretary of the UP College of Medicine who interviewed me for admission to the college, put it very clearly to me, "Why would you take up a slot in this class when it can be filled by a man and not be wasted, after all, you will get married and stay home and never practice medicine!" And perhaps he thought it was a compliment to me, so he added," Why don't you work in a bank, or become a stewardess, you'll meet eligible, ambitious young men and get married." In those days, women who work in these places were mostly mestizas, supposedly alluring and beautiful women, educated in Catholic private schools, sought out in marriage by eligible ambitious young men. I didn't know what to think then but I had a very uncomfortable feeling, a mixture of shame, anger, insult, and confusion. I must have mumbled some inane stock reply like, " But no sir, I'm dedicated to a career in medicine because I want to serve humanity!" When I think about this today and can see it for what it is, I become livid! I should have slapped the jerk across the face, kicked his balls and tied him to a tree and cut his penis off and feed it to the buzzards! And there were many more encounters to come. The obvious ones are easy to handle, but those that come disguised as compliments or gestures of caring are really difficult to confront.

I take pains to present myself professionally but men and invariably women don't hesitate at all to make a comment on my appearance during hospital rounds, meetings or during patient contacts. My male colleagues do not get greeted with " My, you look nice, where do you shop for your clothes" or " What do you eat, you never gain weight" I understand these are intended as compliments, but very subtly it undermines my professional status and trivializes my influence. I notice patient and staff take my time with an attitude of entitlement, unlike my male colleagues whose time is more guarded from frivolous intrusion. It appears one can chat up a woman doctor and not be thought of at all as being interrupted from her work, whereas a male doctor is perceived as doing serious and important work whose time should not be wasted. I have patients who can't address me as Dr. V, all the while knowing I'm their doctor, instead they address me as Miss or Mrs. Occasionally I play a game with this and remind them to call me with my professional title, they apologize and correct themselves but before you can say boo again, they lapse into the lay title. Male colleagues are addressed with the professional title Doctor automatically. Older patients or veteran hospital staff have called me "Honey", and treated me in a childlike or patronizing manner. Others had an outright belittling attitude challenging my decision or professional opinion. I had to rely more on formal accreditations such as Specialty Board Certificates or Citations and Diplomas to establish my professional authority. I also find that I need to give more educational information to patients for them to trust my recommendations and medical opinions not so much because they seek the information to understand for themselves but for them to hear that I know what I'm talking about. In quasi-social situations where spouses are included, it is assumed I'm the spouse and John, the doctor. I have to exercise high level diplomacy to be accepted by the female spouses, to avoid any antagonism, at the same time avoiding being encircled in their midst, otherwise I miss valuable networking opportunities and professional identification. It's a catch-22 dilemma. Professional networking is most effective in these quasi-social situation, people are more forthcoming with information, you get the early rumors, you get to know people better. The men invite other men without any qualms, to their homes or to have dinner or a drink in a public place and discuss business. I find that I have to befriend my male colleague's spouse so everyone will feel comfortable in this situation. It helps tremendously also that I am married.

The response I get when I do something exceptionally well has bewildered me. In this professional accomplishment people have behaved as if I have done something so extraordinary and they are elated and very proud of me. I was president of the Hospital Medical Staff at a time when we were facing many challenges; corporate control, budget cutbacks, staff lay-off, declining insurance revenues, medical staff discontent, and professional peer review problems. What I did was keep the focus on the issues, maintain dialogue, keep everybody involved, adopt a realistic and down-to -earth perspective, and hang in there with everyone. I did a good job and I avoided ego trips for myself and for others. But the effusiveness to acknowledge this gave me mixed feelings, because men are not fussed with in this manner. It is assumed they can do this as an ordinary matter. Frankly, I thought it was patronizing, but what am I supposed to do? Of course, I have to play my role right and smile and thank everyone, and be nice like a woman. It was the very same flavor I tasted when I returned with 11 male colleagues from an Outward-bound Wilderness Bonding Exercise in the North Carolina Grandfather Mountain. It was 4-day program. I carried a backpack as heavy as the men's and I weighed half of any of them. They elected me to lead the hike across mountain ridges with only a compass for orienting to our direction and they also elected me to lead the crew in our raft when we descended the white water rapids on our last day. I accepted these because I wanted to avoid being relegated to cooking and setting-up camp duties. When I look back there were 12 of us and I didn't need to have all these responsibilities, but to a man I believe they unconsciously conspired to set me up. If I fail, nobody loses face because I'm a woman, but to have me lead them avoids the possibility of failure for any of the men. Interestingly this group of men is particularly mindful of not appearing sexist by studiously avoiding offering me any kind of assistance. There also was no concession at all to physical privacy, I slept in the same group tent with them and performed toilet and grooming functions in their midst. I was thankful I did not have my menstrual period that week. I've always been a good sport in the company of guys. I've survived medical school by behaving like one of the guys, and growing up in Bicol I was a tomboy. The individual challenges posed by Outward-bound, like walking a log twenty feet high or free falling from forty feet or scaling a forty-foot wall, were familiar adventures from my childhood. When we returned, the buzz about the weekend filled the hospital. It seemed everyone knew about it from administration down to maintenance and later on among the spouses of my male colleagues. Everyone, male and female was just elated and tickled and so proud of me, they were so amazed that I did it! I was confused, bothered, and bewildered, but I was programmed to be nice, so I smiled and thanked everyone. Just try and protest and call this sexist, and see what kind of response you'll get. I didn't dare, I have too much to lose. It was early in my career, and for a woman this condescension was a necessary evil to get your goal. The glass ceiling may be raised in this generation but it's not broken yet. In many ways we're still living in Mary Ann Evan's time when she had to hide behind a male pseudonym to publish her " Adam Bede" as George Elliot in 1859.



To be a woman doctor and have a career that's competitive in professional prestige and financial success and networking power, and to have a life, I'm convinced, is not the same for my male colleagues. It is easier for them because first of all they have a wife. We all know wives are worth twice their weight in gold for the way they facilitate and enable their husbands to succeed in their careers by allowing them to focus on their work and taking stress away from them by dealing with family and life problems. Johnny has been very supportive but he is a husband. I have to be the wife and simultaneously, the doctor too. To make it as a woman doctor one must have a solid sense of oneself, have a toughness within as well as having a tough hide, competitiveness, an Attitude, and a solid grounding in nurturing relationships with other women.


I was going to be an architect and being a Colegiala I was planning like all good catholic girls to go to the University of Santo Tomas for college. But mama had a different vision for me. She saw me as a Doctor who will graduate from the premier institution in the Philippines, the University of the Philippines. I was amazed, I never had enough confidence in myself to see me going to medical school in the University of the Philippines. But mama was so certain about me and I'm glad that she was so decisive and held fast when I wavered later, indeed seriously considering shifting to BS Chemistry, because My Life would have been very different otherwise. Still sometimes I wonder, where would it have led me, the road not taken?

Debutante's Ball

The 4th Fil-Am Triennial Debutante’s Ball


The Marietta Conference Center & Resort was abuzz with giggles, gasps, and the swoosh of full-skirted ball gowns on September 20,2003, as flushed and excited Fil-Am debutantes find their places for the formal picture-taking before the cotillion. I am reminded of Dega’s paintings of ballerinas. And indeed these 12 young Filipina-American ladies in the peak of their youth is a picture of loveliness, of health, of self-assurance, of boundless expectations, and full of joie de vivre. Gaite Parisienne, the theme of the Ball, how very apropos.

It took long preparation to produce this Debutante’s Ball. First, there is the search for debutante’s which happily is an easy task since the Debutante’s Ball had become a much-awaited event every 3 years since it’s introduction by 1994 Fil-Am President Gloria Sabiniano. Little girls have seen their older sisters or family friend’s daughters participate and have dreamed of one day being a part of this sparkling and joyous occasion. Word had gotten around among young people about how wonderful the camaraderie is and how one discovers so many fun and accomplished peers who like them are of Filipino heritage born in America and have unique experiences to share. Romances have been ignited and many lasting friendships have been formed. It has become a family and community event and fulfills its mission of proudly introducing young ladies and gentlemen to our Filipino-American community. For our youth it brings them awareness of their Filipino identity in a milieu they can be proud of, and for our elders, it provides an occasion to mentor on the cultural traditions, mores, values, and history of the Filipino people.

This 4th triennial bash is a transition of sorts, indicative of it’s progression and maturation as a tradition. The old guard remains and continue to paint their strokes on the event but there’s a lot of new talent and new ideas are being incorporated in the production as we witnessed this year’s Cotillion. When our second generation Filipino-American youth comes of age, the daughters of previous debutantes, we will all have replaced the founding managers and who knows what surprise is in store for us! I’ll wager we will continue to be delighted and entertained and amazed.

The first 3 Cotillions bear the hands of Didi O’connor, who was Choreographer and Director. The debutante’s danced an Austrian quadrille, the “Laendler” for the 1994 Cotillion and waltzed in their father’s arms to Johann Strauss’ Blue Danube. In 1997, they danced a cotillion of graceful Filipino Dances and brought their audience to the nostalgia of old romantic Philippines. The Debutante’s Ball of 2000 was a Houdini-like production of magical transformation, marking the Centennial year with the Cotillion theme “ The Filipina: A Century Ago and Today”. The debutantes made their grand entrances in elegant Maria Clara gowns and at the end of their Cotillion re-emerged with their gowns sans the flowing Maria Clara sleeves, looking the luminous and confident young ladies of this century.

This year’s Debutante Ball brings the audience to the global community, in a cotillion themed “ Gaite Parisienne”. The backdrop mural, by Lilok artist ----Alberto, a tryptich with the Eiffle Tower in the skyline, is unmistakably Paris. Our cake artist, Elsie Vidanes, is not to be outdone with her calorie-laden but melt-in-your-mouth multi-layered buttery confection, centered in a tableaux of arches and bridges, for the debutante cake ceremony. Twelve enchanting well-rounded young ladies with amazing accomplishments in school, in church, in social activities, and community involvement, together with their similarly accomplished and good-natured gentlemen escorts were announced by 2 of our lively and smooth-talking youth volunteers, ----Pascual and Joel Salgado,who seamlessly emceed the program along with quips and oops!, with a few jokes that fell flat as a doormat. But they were having a good time and the audience of parents, families, guests, and supporters is felling very indulgent and proud of their young people on this night. Many have come from far and wide to share this special occasion. Hours of practice and hard work have paid off in a production that was pulsating with energy, enthusiasm, and style. Everything came together. Even the parents danced their number with pizzaz before the debutantes were presented , a good thing since once the young ladies came on, nothing can command attention from them. And this is a magical moment for fathers, with their daughters, and it showed when they took the floor for a spin accompanied by “You Make Me Feel So Young”. Why mothers do not have these precious rituals with their sons is a shame, for this will be repeated in even more exquisite fashion, when fathers give their daughters away in marriage. But let us not begrudge the fathers, for their daughters were floating and beaming in their arms, a perfect picture to capture forever in our memories. Here are our dozen stars and their escorts: Jamie Alberto and Henry Estacio, Mia Burns and Christopher Elliott, Cindy Caranto and Roy Alberto, Christine de los Reyes and Cris Dizon, Brittney Elliott and Bobby Peterman, Melissa Estacio and Kevin Hagler, Pria Faraon and Mikko Mamagat, Jihan Kamalvand and Ashton Uppaluri, Jennifer Petty and Michael Jirasakhiran, Jessica Prosianos and Rodell Ocampo, Stacey Sado and Brian Bray, Lauren Soriano and Marc Buenventura.

The evening also honored former debutantes ( insert names here) and recognized all the parents and Fil-Am Association of Greater Atlanta officers and volunteers who produced this event.

Insert here the names and titles of the production crew and officers, and all those you want acknowledged, Nene.

Then with “ I Love Paris” spinned by DJ Erik Mojica, it was dance the night away and bask in the glow of affection of friends and family. C’est Magnifique!.

Surviving State Hospital Employment

Lessons From My Clinical Director
The First 4 Weeks: State Hospital Psychiatric Admissions Chronicles

I’m the new Admissions Unit doctor, having been reassigned from the Children’s Unit which was closed by the State on June 30, 2002. The state decided it will no longer hospitalize children and closing the unit will be the best way for the hospital to stay within its budget. The Admissions Unit had been without a doctor for almost a year. When the assigned doctor quit, the position was not filled. The thinking was that this will narrow the budget deficit. To continue operating the Admissions Unit the other doctors were asked to cover the enormous workload on rotation on top of their more than full schedules on their respective Treatment Units. So my arrival was met with great relief and earnest anticipation that the perennial and myriad problems in admissions will be solved, once and for all. This great expectations of course doomed my chances of integrating smoothly into the milieu from the beginning.

I wanted to meet jointly with the Clinical Director and the Program Manager for orientation to my new assignment before my arrival but this was never scheduled. On my first day I expressed my request again to the Program Manager asking her to schedule a joint meeting with the Clinical Director. Then the Grady van arrived dropping off 9 patients which occupied me for the rest of the morning, skipping lunch until very late because another group of 4 patients came after them. Earlier before the patients arrived I expressed my preference that the staff complete their contacts with and have the PE ( physical examination) ready before I see the patient. In this manner I will have on hand the necessary information I will need to evaluate and decide on the patients admission to the hospital. With 9 patients in the waiting room and 1 staff out on sick leave and another out on personal leave and 1 nurse practitioner to complete physical examinations, it took a long time before the completed contacts were turned over to me for evaluation. It was obvious that I will just have to go ahead and see the patients and let everyone catch up on what they have to do to complete the admissions process. Somehow the waiting room was cleared and each patient was evaluated and sent to their respective destinations.

The next day my Clinical Director wanted to meet with me to orient me to my new position. But it appears the Program Manager had already met with him and her own Supervisor to discuss my first day at work. My Clinical Director wanted to be helpful and wanted to advise me as to what qualities I should develop so I can perform well in my position. He said that I should be flexible. It seems I trespassed on some inviolable principle when I said I wanted all preliminary information and processing completed before I see the patient, never mind that I actually violated my own declaration and accommodated to the situation when it became apparent quickly that it was not going to work given the shortage of staff and the volume of patient.

Within the same week I was called again by my Clinical Director because it seems I’m making a lot of non-admit dispositions. Apparently this puts a lot of stress on staff because they have to make several phone calls to complete discharge recommendations for outpatient follow-up and in some cases they have to look up resources for transportation or housing. But what’s most stressful it seems is when a patient makes repeated inquiries from staff as to when they can go home or when they request to make phone calls to tell families and to arrange pick-up, and when some of them became really impatient and became belligerent and demanding. My clinical director again wanted to help me become successful in my new position and offered his advise that maybe I should not make too many non-admits in one day and if I have to maybe I should not tell the patient first until staff had made their contacts and completed their paperwork and was ready to attend to the patient. I felt caught in a bind now with this advice because he just told me to be flexible, and in being flexible I was seeing the patients before the staff had seen them when there are several waiting and pacing up and down in the waiting room. I said I can follow administrative directives to make admit/non-admit decisions based on what’s not stressful for staff and maybe outside the clinical criteria for hospitalization but I wanted a written policy which applied to all doctors. And as far as not telling patients about a non-admit disposition until much later, I said that may be hard to accomplish as feedback is given to the patient in the course of the evaluation to help the patient gain an understanding of the problem and simultaneously education is provided in the interventions necessary to apply to the problem. If the patient is waiting without information about his disposition, it seems to me he might be more anxious to know and approach the staff repeatedly anyway to find out what the doctor decided. This to me does not solve the problem of stress for the staff because a patient is asking or demanding when he can leave to go home. Besides it does not respect the patient as an equal partner in the decisions made about him, and also it does not respect patient wishes to be in touch with significant others right away who might be waiting to know and many are anxious to notify for pick-up right away as some may have to come from great distances, and many may have to call several sources to find someone able to pick them up, or they may have to use public transportation and desires to leave before traffic gets bad. That’s why they want to have as much lead time as possible. So I said I cannot comply. However, I told my clinical director that I was mindful that the Admissions Unit is short-staffed and that is the reason there is a back-log of processing patients and, therefore I inform patients that there are other procedures we have to complete before they can be sent to their destinations and for them to please wait until the staff can attend to them But the back-log in admissions can be 6 hours on some occasions and surely that’s unreasonable for anyone to wait patiently.

Then there’s these 2 children who came within the 2nd week of my assignment. You must remember that the State decided not to hospitalize children anymore and the Children’s Unit is closed. There is an involved policy governing the admissions of these children requiring pre-certification from several agencies and division heads, and no children should present themselves in admissions without going through this process. Both these children managed to by-pass the process so they were at our door. With one, after lengthy and multiple phone calls involving numerous department heads, administrators and myself, a resolution was provided by the community agencies.The patient was returned to be managed in the community. The Community Mental Health System took active responsibility in this instance because the child was developmentally disabled and the State mandate is to serve these children in the community primarily. This was not well-received by the parents but they were assured by the community agency director that the necessary service will be provided. This was appropriate clinically, the child’s interests will be best served outside of the hospital. However, the final outcome was not achieved until after several hours of negotiations. And when the decision arrived the child was very restless and the parents frustrated.
The 2nd child came because her local community agency did not know that the State no longer hospitalizes children. Her case manager thought that we admit children to the adolescent unit then send them to Central State. She did not know that she has to obtain pre-certification from her Director and 2 other State division people before sending any child and it was a Friday and her supervisor was gone and she had no one to consult with. The child was a previous patient on the Children’s Unit so I know her and the problem well. She needed to return to her previous medications and does not need hospitalization, it is a non-admit. But the mother could not pick her up, she was exhausted, she will have to drive from a distance, but she’ll call her case manager and see what is possible. Since the situation appeared uncertain I decided to admit the child for 24 hours to allow for discharge planning. In the meantime the child was very restless in the waiting area not designed for children to wait in and had become very hyperactive and impulsive and started grabbing at anything she can find. She found a pin from the crevices of the floor and started to put it in her mouth, she saw a cord dangling from the TV and she pulled it. She did not respond to verbal structuring. Then the mother called and said she found a resource and someone will pick up the child, but clearly it will be several hours more as they were coming from another county. I cancelled admission and wrote medication orders to manage the child in the waiting area until her pickup arrived. The child balked at taking the medication but finally cooperated and in half an hour she was calm and able to sit still and watch TV as she waited. I understood when I returned Monday that the child waited a long time and the medication effect was wearing off by the time her pick-up arrived. That week I was summoned to a summit meeting to address these two situations. In attendance were the hospital CEO, my Clinical Director, the Nurse Executive, the Program Managers for the 2 Developmental Disabled Units, the Adolescent Unit Program Manager, and my Program Manager. The Adolescent Unit psychiatrist should have been there also but no one informed him. It seems, the discussion suggested, that the particular situation could have been managed better in admissions if I had ordered medications sooner or just admitted the patient. Thankfully, the group also recognized that the Admissions Unit is not set-up with children in mind and the staffing pattern does not allow for supervision tasks. Until the Children’s Unit closed these children were routed to the unit directly for processing, bypassing admissions and therefore there were no procedures in place in the area to manage them..The meeting ended with a task for me to write a policy on the management of children in admissions.

During this first 2 weeks I was also getting calls from various areas in the hospital to take care of patients from the Treatment Units and was sent an employee 10 minutes before my scheduled departure to evaluate for work-related injury. I requested a meeting with my Clinical Director to clarify what my duties are. He said that the unit psychiatrists actually should be available to take their staff calls and if they are not around the 2nd call doctor takes the call but if the request will only take up a few minutes of my time that I should just take care of it rather than have the staff spend time tracking down where their doctors or the 2nd call are. And regarding employee work injury there are assigned doctors on a workmen’s compensation panel who are supposed to be called but only until 3:30 PM to give them enough time to complete evaluation without delaying their scheduled departure at 4:30 PM. The admissions doctor will be called after 3:30 PM, the policy states, never mind that the admissions doctor has the same departure time of 4:30 PM as the other doctors. I requested a review of these policies and suggested an equitable change and asked that the procedures be disseminated again for staff and doctor review. My Clinical Director declined changing the policy at this time but suggested that if I didn’t want to satisfy the improper request I can tell them so. What I learned from my Clinical Director here is that as admissions doctor I should develop graciousness so staff and other doctors are not inconvenienced and if I wanted to follow policy I take the consequences of being unaccommodating.
I was reviewing the previous day’s census when my Program Manager rushed into the consultation room to ask me to drop everything and come check this patient about to get off the ambulance because she thinks this is an inappropriate patient to be admitted here. I said the ambulance can let her off and I’ll evaluate the patient. She said I have to decide before the ambulance leaves so if I didn’t admit the patient the ambulance can just take her back, and that the previous admissions doctor did it this way all the time. She was so insistent that I go with her to confront this situation at the ambulance level. What was so problematic apparently was because the patient was in a wheelchair and “ we don’t admit patients in wheelchairs here”. When I went out to the ambulance dock I met a patient who was about 300 lbs and uses a motorized wheelchair which had run out of batteries and needed recharging. She can ambulate short distances and was not in any acute physical discomfort and did not have any acute medical problems, but I couldn’t evaluate her psychiatric status by just eyeballing her so I said the ambulance can go and they can leave the patient. Besides the ambulance crew wanted to know if they did not leave the patient where would they take her? They clarified that their responsibility was only to transport the patient safely.
The patient didn’t met criteria for acute psychiatric hospitalization. She had a complement of outpatient resources with regular psychiatric follow-ups and case management from her community mental health center and in fact she had a clinic appointment that afternoon. The patient was agreeable with the decision to go home, and wanted to keep her clinic appointment. However, she needed transportation since her wheelchair did not have sufficient electrical charge to allow her to get on the bus, which she was accustomed to using. The staff effort to secure transportation for her failed. No cabs would take her, and an ambulance was out of the question since this was not an emergency. In the meantime she was charging her wheelchair batteries while waiting in admissions and may be able to use it briefly. The staff devised a plan to transport to the bus stop just outside of the hospital gates but this required navigating a road uphill for about 500 yards The staff thought that hospital security police may allow the use of their handicap-equipped van which they agreed to do however, the van was outside the premises and they had no idea when it will be available. In the meantime, we were planning for the patient to keep her 2:30 PM outpatient appointment and by this time it was way past. Now the goal is for the patient to just get on the bus before dark so she can get home safely. The staff thought they could push the patient manually in her wheelchair if they can get assistance from security police to manage traffic on the main road so the patient can cross to the bus stop opposite the hospital gates. The police chief said it can’t be done as she won’t jeopardize her officers’ lives exposed to that dangerous traffic in front of the hospital. I became aware of all these maneuverings when the staff, in frustration came to me for help because, they didn’t know what else to do. As what seems to be always the case, these types of novel situations present themselves when key managers are not available and the staff did not have information as to who is covering in their absence. I stepped out of my role and became involved and tried to accommodate the staff. In the nick of time before the staff pushed the patient up the road, a handicap-equipped van became available from one of the hospital departments. The Program Manager arrived after all these was resolved and immediately she was displeased by the way this was handled, even before inquiring as to what efforts her staff had applied first and intimated that it was a problem because of my actions, after all she thought that I shouldn’t have let the patient off the ambulance in the first place. When my Clinical Director summoned me the next day it was to review what I presumed was the Program Managers critique of my part in the situation. I came away feeling that the report was accepted as is because his advice was for me to essentially stick to my function as a psychiatrist and limit myself to merely evaluating patients and making clinical decisions and I gather not to get involved in anything else.
You know working in admissions is like what Forrest Gump said, “ It’s like opening a box of chocolates, you never know what you’ll gonna get!” And I wonder what Forrest Gump would say about my Clinical Director. I don’t’ know if he’s wise man or a fool, but one thing is for certain: he’s definitely a State Bureaucrat!

Diary of a Mad Doctor

Diary of A Mad Doctor: The State Hospital Psychiatric Admissions Chronicle #1


They all come here. Emergency rooms and the police and mental health clinics and doctor’s offices out there send them here. Private psychiatric hospitals who had exhausted managed care’s authorized hospital days send their patients here. Jails and homeless shelters and families themselves, they all send them here. Children and adolescents come here. The mentally retarded come here. The addicts, alcoholics, the homicidal and suicidal come here. Mentally ill individuals of all persuasions come here. Gay, heterosexual, the elderly, men, women, the medically ill, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, those who speak different languages, their own autistic language or tongues of nations far and away, the few rich, and many in poverty, they all come here. They represent the multitude. They all come here, we cannot turn them away, we are the last resort, the end of the line.

This past weekend the hospital was 35 over census. The nursing administrator can’t find enough nurses and nurses aides to man the units. Sleeping cots had to be brought in. Social workers and doctors had to scramble and force discharges of still very sick patients but stable enough not to be an immediate danger to themselves or others. Many of them had no place to go but to shelters, and the mental health centers more than likely will not be able to provide intensive outpatient support services to maintain their gains. There are no resources for supportive living for the chronically mentally ill. Soon the 5-day medication supply that the hospital provided would run out and they are back again in admissions, transported by the sheriff or police, decompensated, and we’re back to square one.

Admissions Unit is the gate to the hospital. Everyone passes through here. I’m the gatekeeper. The workload can be intimidating at times, like when the Sheriff, who is mandated by law to transport legally committed patients to emergency receiving facilities, brings in a dozen patients all at once in varying degrees of agitation or dyscontrol, even violence. But there are times when meeting some of the patients bring awe and wonder, or insight, or humor, or inspiration, or disbelief and outrage, or an awakening to the realization that human beings everywhere are indeed made in god’s image. These are gems of experience that are priceless and I bet you won’t have the opportunity unless you are working in this setting.

The other day a young man was brought by the police. He hasn’t slept or eaten for days. He was wandering the streets, mumbling, preoccupied, earnest, but disturbing the neighbors. He had bruises, someone assaulted him. He said he was looking for himself, he wasn’t sure of his name. He looked puzzled when I called his name and hesitated to respond. He was very polite but very tense, he couldn’t sit still. He was clearly accelerated, dehydrated, and exhausted but he couldn’t rest. He said we are on the edge of a revolution. So I said, “Tell me more.” And he went on to describe how he is the center of a music revolution that the world hasn’t seen the likes of yet, not even the Beatles, or Elvis can come close. He believed this with all his heart and had been telling everyone and had been announcing the revolution with religious zeal, at the same time feeling lost in his identity. He was anguished. He was not mean or violent. He was quite sincere. His beliefs decided his actions .He was committed and dedicated and single-minded in his purpose, just like any high-achieving scholar, researcher, politician, inspired leader of a cause, or multi-national business executive. I admitted him. In the Treatment Unit he’ll be prescribed medications and in a week or two he’ll be aware of the world as you and I see it and he’ll be no longer doubting his identity. He will leave the hospital somewhat depressed and clearly lost in his spirits because he no longer has a mission.

I didn’t have any patients waiting so I chatted up a man who was dropped off by the police after being arrested because he posed a danger to himself and others wandering the Interstate highway. He had been traveling from FL, hitch-hiked to GA, and he was tired. He was looking for a place to rest until he can be on the road again. He spent the night under the I-20 exit ramp. He was not on drugs or alcohol. He used to hear disturbing voices but now these voices are just a faint background in his consciousness, nothing malignant as before when they scared him or made him do bad things or spoke all at once which made him scream and lose control. To stop these deafening voices, he used to hit himself or hurl himself into walls or destroy objects or even hit other people. Now the voices just comment on what he’s doing, they keep him company. He used to be in and out of hospitals, and he hasn’t taken his medication for years. He had been all over the continent, left FL because he was ready for a change. His face was lobster-red, badly sunburned, his hair, shoulder length and frizzy and matted, his beard likewise, down to his chest. He didn’t want to come into the hospital, he felt fine, he didn’t need any medication. He liked being homeless he said. He is free. To eat, he panhandles or if he can find odd jobs he works, and he knew where the shelters and soup kitchens were. He is free. The hospital can offer nothing that will change the outcome for him. He is in the residual stages of chronic mental illness. What will impact his situation is obtaining disability benefits, supportive group living, psycho-social programming, a sheltered work environment, case management and psychiatric medication monitoring. All these will be cheaper compared to the cost of several days of acute hospitalization multiplied many times over the years, but despite the much-heralded political de-institutionalization of the mentally ill, the community support services have not materialized. It reduced the numbers of hospitalized patients and closed down many State hospitals and reduced State budgets for mental health, but we also saw a dramatic rise in the numbers for the homeless. So I let my man go, advised him to stay away from freeways, and wished him the best.

Homelessness does not discriminate. Next I had a woman who had been without any address for a year. She lived in abandoned cars, in buildings under construction, occasionally in shelters, or in “cat-houses”, the latter abandoned houses often occupied also by drug addicts and dealers. She was an addict. She was sober for 7 months until she slipped again a year ago and she had not emerged from that yet. She keeps herself clean. You wouldn’t know just by looking at her that she’s homeless. She knows where to get donated clothes from charity organizations, and where to get food when she can’t find odd jobs. She was adamant that she does not steal, to eat or to support her addiction. If she can’t find work, she sells sex. For her that is a commodity she possesses and can barter by choice and she thought that out very clearly. Her value system about such things were unambiguous and her actions were consistent. Unfortunately she did not practice safe sex. I admitted her. Her drug screen was positive for cocaine and she was crashing. She was trying to kill herself by walking in front of traffic. The police picked her up. She also said she’ll shoot her brains out. She used to be a member of a gang and she knew how to get her hands on a gun. During her periods of sobriety, she was competent in the regular life skills. She had an education, she was a computer network technician, she had an apartment, nice clothes, a car, friends, and she saw her family. When she’s using she lives in her homeless world, she didn’t want to upset her friends, and family. Medical science has cracked the genetic code and can mix and match gene characteristics in a dish, but hasn’t found a way to treat addiction effectively yet.

Well, tomorrow is another day.

Methuselah,hello!

Our Aged, Elders, Ancestors

(Excerpts from a Lecture delivered at the Annual Meeting of the Organization of Chinese-Americans)

Methuselah, hello! He lived to be 969 years, the oldest person in the world, the grandfather of Noah, of the Ark’s fame. It’s possible to live this long again. Some optimists claim the science can be achieved to do this by the middle of this century. All we need to do is control the 10 leading causes of death; cardiovascular diseases *at the top then cancer and stroke , AIDS, and non-disease factors like accidents and suicide. After this we need the science to control aging or organ deterioration, and we are getting there. We know that loss of antioxidant enzymes, failure of protein synthesis, and failure of DNA repair mark the cell deterioration process and we are discovering new things everyday that gets us close to influencing these processes. But do we want to live this long? With the current trend in world overpopulation it is staggering to think what problems in resource utilization this will present.

*With improved health care and health-conscious lifestyles, life expectancy has increased dramatically from between 30-35 years in the 17th century to 76-80 today. In the USA we all know that the elderly population is rapidly swelling in numbers with the maturation of the generation of baby boomers. In the year 2030 there will be 70 M older persons, more than twice their number in 1990. Minority population elders represent 25% of this number. Women will continue to outlive men; 7 out of 10 babyboomer women will outlive their husbands. Women can expect to be widows for 15-20 years. This is quite significant because women are the caregivers for children, spouses, and parents.

Searching the internet on the subject of Filipino elders in the US yielded very minimal information. Filipinos are lumped together in the group Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders and we know how diverse this group is and how very little we resemble this group. Included with us in this group are Asian Indians, Cambodians, mainland Chinese, Guamanian, Hawaiian, Hmong, Japanese, Korean, Laotian, Samoan, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, and others. You know, we don’t identify with this group and I don’t believe this group considers us Asian enough either and mainstream America doesn’t think of us either as Asians or bonafide Americans . Many of us have Spanish surnames and mistaken for such or Mexicans, but most of us doesn’t speak Spanish. So we are neither here nor there. Just think what that does for our identity. For our young growing up Filipino in America, that can be very confusing and I’d love to be able to have a forum on that subject someday. But who are the Filipino elders?


Currently there are about 500,000 Asian American and Pacific Islander elders in the US representing 6% of that minority population compared to 12% older adults in the general US population. The recent wave of Asian refugee immigration will swell this number to more than 7M in 2050 representing 16% of this minority population. The first wave of Asian Immigration began in the mid-1800’s with the importation of Chinese men to work in the railroads, farms, and mines in CA, Hawaii and other Western States. Then came the Japanese in the late 1800’s after Chinese immigration was stopped by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. As this population increased, they were again subjected to discrimination leading to the Asiatic Exclusion Act of 1924. This paved the way for a dramatic increase of Filipino immigration since the Philippines was made a US territory after the Spanish-American War and Filipinos were exempted from the restriction. The Filipino immigrants were primarily men seeking work in agriculture and the canning factories. With the onset of the Depression anti-Filipino sentiment became widespread because of intense job competition. This led to the passage of the Tydings-McDuffie Act of 1934 which restricted Filipino Immigration to 50 people per year. Many of the young Filipino men who immigrated earlier remained alone living in hotel rooms and rooming houses in urban centers. They could not marry and have families because of anti-miscegenation laws. Most of these Filipino men were recruited as cheap labor by the agents of the Hawaiian Sugar Planter’s Association. In the 1920’s Filipinos comprised the largest ethnic group working in the Hawaiian fields. Many eventually moved to California after two major strikes in the Hawaiian plantations. In 1930 there were 30,470 Filipinos in California .These men were viewed as outcasts and since the ratio of Filipino men to women was 14:1, many remained unmarried and those who tried to date white women were persecuted leading to anti-Filipino riots in California. In 1930 a judge handed down a ruling classifying Filipinos as members of the Mongolian race which invalidated mixed marriages in California These elder’s education levels and English skills tend to be low and they are predominantly poor. By the mid80’s there were 50,000-60,000 older Filipinos in the US with men outnumbering women 4 to 1.These elderly men were the survivors of the earlier immigration era and experienced much hardship. When the quota was abolished in 1965 there was a second surge of immigration from the Philippines composed largely of young educated professionals. With them also came some elderly, predominantly women, who tended to live with their children’s families in the middle class suburbs.. By the year 2010, this second surge of mostly professional and middle class Filipino immigrants will join the US babyboomers coming of age. Currently this group is dealing with their parents, elders who lived their lives in the Philippines but has now joined their children to live in the US.

The current elderly, our parents’ generation mostly live in extended family units with their mostly employed or professional children and are mainly supported by private funds or their children. If they need care most are receiving unpaid care from family members and they remain at home. A very small percentage live in nursing homes or institutions. Compared to the Anglo elderly who are institutionalized in 23% of cases Asian and Pacific Islander elderly are in institutions in 10% of cases. The difference can be explained by cultural practices and beliefs about the elderly that are deeply rooted in tradition and religious beliefs. The extreme practice is repesented in ancestor worship. There is strong influence also from Confucian philosophy of the importance of order within families and society, so roles, responsibilities ,and status in the family is clearly prescribed. I can see this influence in Filipino practice even if we are also strongly influenced by catholic principles. We are raised to respect and honor our elders ,authority and responsibility are assigned to the oldest. Many of us who came to work in the US sent the bulk of our paycheck to the rest of the family back home. The oldest who was sent to college at great sacrifice by the parents and extended family is expected to help support the younger siblings when he graduates. It is just expected that parents will be taken care of by the children when the time comes. This expectation continues to the extent that immigrant families become assimilated or adapted to the American experience. This can develop into varying degrees of intergenerational conflict depending on the extent that immigrant families have become Americanized and have loosened up on the observance of tradition. The presence of elders among the young born in America can be very enriching and helps the young in incorporating their culture and heritage in their identity and consolidate their image and self-esteem positively.

So how does one try to live long? Factors have been identified and in fact in use in actuarial statistics used by insurance companies. You can assign certain points to each item and come up with an estimate as to how long you can expect to live. So if we live so long how do we live well? Maintaining optimum mental health is the key. Studies have shown that there are recurring factors that foster optimum mental health in the lives of elders. Notwithstanding physical health or financial circumstances so long as the basic necessities are met, some of these factors I have listed below, and take note , nothing is revolutionary and all is just plain common sense. To observe these practices are all within our power and ability. These are:

*Control Blood Pressure, Diabetes, Total Cholesterol, HDL Cholesterol
*Avoid Cigarettes and 2nd hand smoke
*Exercise and Strength-Building
*Sensible diet low in saturated fats, Supplement of Vitamin E, Vitamin C and Folate *Abundance of fish and fruits and vegetable in the diet and regular Breakfast
*Control driving speed ( accidents, # 5 cause of death)
*Manage Stresses
*Stay married or have a significant Other
*Stay Productive
*Maintain a social group where you see a friend regularly at least once/month
*Maintain sense of humor and optimism
*Treat Depression and
*Have the right parents (genetics)

You may just live as long as Methuselah.

Ako Ay Pilipino

Ako Ay Pilipino

It’s always an ordeal to make a trip home to the Philippines. The 14-hour trans-Pacific flight and another 4 hours in the air if you’re coming from the US East coast is interminable. I booked with United Airlines, which flies over the North Pole to Hongkong or Japan which cuts the air time one hour, but it has a stopover in Chicago O’hare and that’s a hassle. On US airlines the flight crew is abrupt and curt, bordering on the rude, so I now prefer flying on the Asian airlines, including Philippine airlines, where the crew, service, and food are much better. I have no problem with seat space as I can get comfortable easily and can sleep like a baby on the journey, so paying premium price for first class or business class is not my thing. That may be worth the price however on certain flights especially during the holidays, where there are just too many crying babies on board.
I don’t know why I’m making the trip again after just 10 months. In February I was home for a 2-week golfing trip, then this December home again for the UPCM homecoming, for my class ’67 Ruby Jubilee. This visit felt different for me. Having that 2-day period relaxing in my friend’s Antique beach, with nothing planned to do except to sit by the sea and watch the waves come to shore, I was thinking with a melancholy mood, what’s there for me now to come home to? Since mama died, there is no reason to go home to Naga, and outside of the Jubilee activities, there was no other purpose for me to be home. Except for my friend Lynn, who drops everything to make my visits full with things to do, I suddenly realized, I have no real business to be in the Philippines and I don’t feel at home anymore and there is nothing special about it for me which I cannot get to easier in other parts of the world.
At the Sofitel Philippine Plaza, where the reunion activities for my University of the Philippines College of Medicine homecoming was held, the ambience was international eclectic. It looked and functioned just like any tourist hotel in major cities across the globe. Golf in the Philippines is like golf anywhere else in the world, with added irritation and without historical significance for the game. Others have raved about the Philippine caddies, mostly the men golfers as the caddies are exclusively women. I find them a distraction in the game, and not really helpful as they are not true caddies who are knowledgeable about the course and the game and can analyze your skill to be able to make helpful game suggestions, but they merely serve as assistants who hand you your club, clean your ball, sweep the bunkers, carry your clubs, hold an umbrella over you, and fetch whatever you need, drinks, etc. As a group they try to ingratiate for tips or tell sad life stories to enlist your sympathy for more tips. The men fall for it. That’s what distinguishes Philippine golf, plus having to go through the annoyance of being treated like an interloper since these courses are supposedly private courses for use by members only. However the golf tourists are admitted as paying guests , but not accorded the respect and solicitousness given to guests. The courses have no regard for prompt tee times, for the pace of play, and they make such a big to do about non-cash transactions (since in a membership course, members do not use cash but charge to their accounts all purchases) with tedious and self-important procedures for temporary issue of credit slips.
At Boracay, advertised as an island paradise destination, getting there remains an iffy proposition. Our flight had to return to Manila after hovering over Kalibo unsuccessfully waiting for the clouds to dissipate so the airplane can land. We had to book another flight in a smaller aircraft so we can land in the smaller Caticlan airport, beneath the clouds which interfered with visibility access to Kalibo airport. Since we were billeted at the newest plush resort in Boracay, Discovery Shores, which at over $300 per day, we were spared the hassle of negotiating a price for the banca crossing from Caticlan to the island, and having to find transportation from the airport to the banca launch area. Instead we were met at the airport by a hotel van, our luggage taken care of, then we transferred to a sleek covered boat with a hostess for the 20-minute crossing, then whisked to our hotel destination in an air-conditioned van, greeted at the hotel with a mint drink, led directly to our room and registration accomplished in our room, which has glass ,chrome, granite and wood finish and contemporary furnished with a floating bed and with fresh fruits and flowers, our luggage followed without a hitch, then we sat down for a foot bath and massage, and at night our beds were turned in and ice and fresh pandan drink and leche flan served for bedtime snack. The rate included a full breakfast buffet. We were there for a wedding, staged romantically on the beach with a gazebo festooned with garlands of pink roses, and fireworks in the nighttime sky.
The beach is sugar fine and white and the sky clear and blue, but I’m not sure about the freshness of the aquamarine sea. I have known visitors who came home with red eyes from the sewage contaminated waters . Our hotel location is a bit removed from the crowded Boracay beach, where beach vendors accost you with various offers of trinkets, boat rides, massages,hair braiding, pedicures, etc. Unless you’re a golfer there’s only shopping at D’Mall as an alternate activity. Fresh seafood chosen from the market and cooked to your specification is always a winner. I am told that to have a true island experience and for spectacular diving and snorkeling, one must go to Palawan.
So I’m thinking if I return to the Philippines I will be a tourist and see the Philippines from Batanes to Jolo. Perhaps I can discover the land with a new sensibility and also discover who I am.
Am I Filipino? Who is the Filipino?
I feel different, I think different, and I act different from those I know who never left the Philippines. I became an adult in the USA, and I have become an American citizen, yet I don’t feel I’m American and certainly I’m not treated as an American in the US or in any part of the world. Am I a different breed then as a Filipino-American?
My Filipino friends say, yes, it’s a great idea to tour the Philippines, but don’t go to Batanes, there’s nothing to see there, it’s a very poor province, and don’t go to Jolo, that’s where the Muslims are. You must visit Vigan, it has all the preserved historic houses and old churches. I am from Bicol, and frankly I have no idea about the Visayas and the rest of the country. I went to Manila to study medicine in the University of the Philippines, and that’s all I did. I left for the USA after college graduation, also with very little knowledge about my destination except for what’s portrayed in Hollywood movies and the fantasy of the American dream.
I must have been an ostrich with my head buried in the sand when I was growing up in the Philippines. The 2 days spent in my friend’s private Antique beach was an eye-opener. Antique is one of the provinces of Panay Island of western Visayas, where Boracay is a barangay in the province of Aklan, and Capiz and Iloilo completes the 4 provinces comprising the island. Outside of Iloilo in Miagao, we stopped by to view the restored baroque church built by the Agustinian order in 1786, and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. In Kalibo in Aklan, they have the Philippine tourism marketed festival of Ati-atihan, associated with the Christ child, Santo Nino, and the indigenous Ati tribe warriors, a very colorful Mardi Gras type of street revelry. There are similar festivals all across the region, like the Salakayan in Miagao, and Dinagyang in Iloilo. My childhood memories of the Philippines during the holidays is similarly religious-inspired, the misa de gallo, dawn masses 9 days before Christmas, acccompanied with a festive atmosphere of food stalls in the church yard selling puto bumbong and other delicacies and the pastores de belen, caroling in homes after Christmas to commemmorate the visit of the shepherds to the manger, and the feast of the 3 Kings on the 12th day of christmas, january 6, where, on the eve children hang their stockings at the window for the 3 magi to fill with gifts and goodies. The Spanish derived religiosity of the Filipinos is pervasive. I was taken aback by a public mass held at the airport and similarly at the shopping malls. In the US, when I organized a public festival commemmorating 100 years of Filipino-American migration, I was not given permission to hold a public mass as part of the festival since it was being held in a public space. In the US, Filipinos continue this religious traditions according to the region they come from, such as the Penafrancia fluvial procession of the Bicolanos, the Santo Nino celebrations, and others.
While lounging in my friend’s Antique beach compound I received an education about how different dialects are derived to explain why contiguous regions not divided by any natural barrier such as mountains or sea speak very different dialects. In Panay it is the oral tradition that back in pre-Hispanic times datus from Borneo came to the island and occupied different sections of the island and brought the language in toto. The language did not evolve there but from another land. The Malay influence in the language can be observed in the various dialects. It would be interesting to research if this tradition is historically supported by similar accounts in Borneo. In the Mindanao and Visayas region where the Spaniards made first landfall in Magellan’s time, the Spanish influence is added with the Chabacano dialect particularly intriguing. I was also educated about the social heirarchy in these regions, with the elite converging in IloIlo, as the elite class consisted of Spanish descended Filipinos, many continue to speak Spanish, and the wealth concentrated among them, as being originally Spanish, the group had exclusive access to resources and privileges in colonial days. Filipinos it appear continue to regard these families with awe, curiosity, and adulation reserved for movie stars and royalty. I came from the poor barrio of Pasacao in Naga City, Camarines Sur in the Bicol region, and we only had one Spanish family who sprung from there, yes, the wealthiest in the town, but small fry compared to the Iloilo barons, and since the demise of the patriarch, the fortune had been dissipated by the heirs.
To be like a Spaniard in looks, in privilege, in association, in upbringing, in education, in manner, and in pedigree is the ultimate pride for the Filipino it seems. Who is the Filipino mother who did not inspect the color of her baby’s skin at birth and the shape of its nose, to see if it looks like a Spaniard, fair and aquiline, and beamed with pride? To associate with mestizos, to speak Spanish, and be accepted is a mark of belonging. Even the bastard children of Spanish descended liasons carry this aura.
We speak of colonial mentality, and how this keeps Filipinos in the bottom of progress and national pride among its Asian neighbors. I am so aware of this thinking and feel I must be always alert to its negative and oppressive forces. It saps creative energy. It shares dynamics with slavery, with traumatized, terrorized or victimized groups. Many are now familiar with the Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological phenomenon used to describe the sympathetic and bonding behaviour of hostages to their captors. Colonial mentality is the societal expression of this bonding behaviour. The elements are satisfied by the characteristics of Spanish imperialism in the Philippines. The captor is realisticialy all powerful and there is little hope for resistance, survival of the captive is dependent on the little kindnesses and benevolence of the captor, the captive is isolated from other influences by preventing the natives from learning the captor’s language, there is suppression of indigenous ways by the introduction of Catholicism, and over time, the captives begin to adopt the captor’s ways as the better way since it is equated with survival, and seeing their own ways and own characteristics as inferior. This ultimately extends along racial and genetic lines as the supreme way of identifying or being like the captor. In the Philippines this is even more pronounced in the ever increasing preoccupation with achieving caucasian characteristics by the proliferation of skin lightening products and cosmetic surgery.
It is unfortunate that unlike our Asian neighbors, who have achieved national and cultural identity before being subjugated by foreign powers, the Philippines was a disparate land of unorganized small tribes, with none dominating to imbue the archipelago with a unified kingdom. We were not a nation nor a culture. We were a collection of regional tribes, to which we identified our allegiance even to this day. Hence we see ourselves more clearly as Ilocanos, Tagalogs, Bicolanos, Visayan, etc., rather than as Filipinos. We compete with each other, and undermine each other as part of this tribal upmanship.The Spaniards put us under one rule and made us a nation, and as a nation we adopted the colonial identity which we carry to this day. We are still trying to be like a Spaniard, the Filipino is still the Indio, and the Filipino-American? He is living the American dream, Hollywood style, all show, no substance, for he exists still as an outsider and his color and ethnic looks in white racist America continue to remind him that he is different in an inferior kind of way. Many individuals of course have crossed the threshold among his friends and those who know him, but until that happens, the Filipino-American is judged in America and around the developed world by the color of his skin and by the height of his nose.

Diary of a Whistleblower

Diary of A Whistleblower
September 29,2007

I have a 15-year old cockatiel named Scarlett, and if you whistle to her, she whistles back and then asks you, “Did you fart?”. I should ask my employer that because what they did to me this week really stinks.
My hospital had been in the local news regularly since January this year because of unsafe conditions and sub-par patient care, leading to the forced departure of key hospital administrators, the typical way the division had tried to solve this problem. This notoriety led to the Department of Justice investigation of the hospital last week from September 17-21 for violations of the law under CRIPA (Civil Rights of Institutionalized Persons Act). The week before the site inspection, division leaders and lawyers briefed all hospital personnel about how to conduct themselves in the investigation. Staff were told that a division lawyer will always be present during DOJ interviews, that staff should answer only the question asked and not to add information or elaborate on the answers, or to volunteer information. Staff was also told that the lawyers may tell them not to answer certain questions. The atmosphere in this briefing was heavy. It had the feel of a courtroom trial. We dreaded the coming week. The month before , the division hired consultants to conduct a mock DOJ survey so deficiencies can be identified and corrected before the real investigators from the Federal government arrive. The State has a lot at stake. DOJ can shut the hospital down and the State will forfeit Federal dollars. It can mandate corrective actions and force the State to allocate emergency funding to get the hospital in compliance. The leadership warned hospital staff that they could lose their jobs if the DOJ finds adverse conditions.
On the 4th day of the DOJ visit, September 20, a code was called after a patient acted out violently during his interview in the office of one of the psychiatrists. For several agonizing minutes, the psychiatrist was trapped in the office and could not summon for help. During the debriefing, the focus was to demonstrate to the DOJ the policies and procedures of the hospital governing these incidents. Up to this point, with only one day remaining for the investigation, none of the adolescent unit clinical staff had been interviewed, management staff had been the only ones providing information. I could see that the other psychiatrist, a new hire and a very petite woman, was still very shaken, and I became angry. I interrupted and declared that this incident illustrates the inadequacies of staffing and unsafe condtions of the unit and there are many concerns that bother us. This prompted the DOJ to invite us to express our concerns, and I and the other doctor and 3 nurses talked with them. I took the lead and outlined all the problems, then the rest added their piece. The hospital lawyer and division medical director were there, and did not make any comment. I was waiting for the lawyer to structure my answers but he didn’t say anything. The next day, Friday, at morning rounds I joked that if on Monday the team hears that I’ve resigned, that they should not believe it, they should know that I’ve been fired.
On Wednesday September 26, I was summoned by the division medical director at 11:30 AM and informed that there are numerous complaints about me by staff and parents, necessitating my transfer to the adult unit, and requiring that I receive counseling from the hospital clinical director so that I can improve both personally and professionally. Furthermore, although this is the first step in a disciplinary action, this will not be written up and therefore will not appear in my personnel file. This change will be effective on Monday, October 1st. Wow! I was astounded and commented that after all this is accomplished I should emerge shining. I asked for details of the complaints but he couldn’t give any. He referred me to the hospital clinical director and I met with him the next morning. The latter could not give me any more specific details. I asked where are these complaints, so I can have my rebuttal, as is my prerogative. He informed me that it would be to my benefit if all these is not in writing, but he’ll look into the files and show me the complaints. I asked for a copy of my personnel file. I commented that this change could be very demoralizing to the team. He dismissed it, pointing out that my transfer would be best in the long run. I said I will not be subjected to counseling even if it is not written up, as I do not accept the connotation. When I pressed he reminded me that my position is unprotected, that my being transferred is at the discretion of the medical director, and he advised me that it is in my interest to comply. My jaw practically dropped, I saw what was happening, and I couldn’t believe it!

The other unit psychiatrist, who I recruited and on the job only 2 1/2 months was seen by the hospital clinical director while I met with the division medical director and encouraged to remain in her position, and assured that improvements will be taking place. The adult psychiatrist whom I’d be replacing so he can take my place in the adolescent unit was flabbergasted and his staff very upset.

I informed my team during Thursday’s morning rounds, telling them simply that effective Monday I will be transferred to the adult unit. There was stunned silence, then an outpouring of sentiments and a spontaneous mobilization towards action. A letter was drafted and sent to the hospital medical director, team representatives asked for a meeting with the hospital leadership, and as a unified body, the unit gave me its support. I was deeply moved, and I was overcome with my emotions. This gave me the confidence and courage to reassert myself and restore my self-image, and emerge from that state of confusion, self-doubt,helplessness,impotence, and fatality.

Now I’m on a roll. I have a cause and I am right. I called friends who can give me advice. One is a director of a mental health system in New York who deals with state personnel matters, one is a lawyer who was a successful litigant in a discrimination suit. I had an appointment immediately with my cognitive therapist so I can sort out all the distortions and manage my emotions. I googled the Department of Justice website, the US and Georgia State Labor department, the ACLU, the Georgia state government and personnel policies, OSHA, the EEOC. I filed a phone complaint with EEOC and am following up with research on which agency has jurisdiction over my case, and what laws apply. I’ve set up an appointment with a law firm who had succesful litigation experience with similar cases. I cleaned up my office and safeguarded my correspondence and documents. I went to my family and friends who reminded me I’m a good person, and that I’m loved and I can just be the way I am. It was serendipitous that we took our child psychiatry fellow for an end-of-rotation dinner on the evening when this case burst open. Bathed in the light of the harvest moon hanging over my balcony, I smoked a Havana and sipped Remy Martin with this young man who used to follow the Grateful Dead, and I was reminded of my youth in the 60’s. Then where the times were a’changin’, we dreamed of a world of freedom and love and peace. I’ll see what Monday brings.

Paris

Bonjour Paris! Pour Deux S’il Vous Plait
August 25-September 1, 2007

We were in Paris less than 48 hours when we got yelled at and called, “ You fucking bitches!”, by this deli chef in this neighborhood of Passy, in the 16th arrondisement, where we rented a 1-bedroom apartment for our pied-a-terre for a week in this lively, incomparable city of lights, la ville de lumières.
It was on our 2nd day, a Sunday. We slept late, catching up with the 6-hour jet lag and the 4-hour flight delay from the States. Evelyn wanted to go to church, but all the masses in our neighborhood were over after 12:30 PM, so we decided to start our sightseeing in Sacre Coeur, hoping to catch a mass there. We bought a discounted packet of 10 metro subway tickets for E11, a saving of E3, took line 6 to Pasteur, then line 12 and got off on the Abbesses stop for what we thought was a short walk to Sacre Coeur. We didn’t know until we reached the top of the stairs at Abbesses that there was an elevator. We emerged out on Montmarte panting and with tachycardia after an ascent of over 30 meters up endless steps winding around and around a colorful stairwell of tile mosaic and painted walls and art nouveau lighting fixtures, and out into the street through an art deco bronze and iron cast gate, just one of 2 remaining original metro entrances designed by famed architect Hector Guimard. Well, that was ahh, exhilarating, and really lovely. We walked to a bustling and festive street scene with a carousel on one street corner and street musicians and happy children playing, and bistros and cafes and shops lining up the narrow cobblestone alleys and the sun bright and warming the cool air and rendering brilliant red and pink geraniums on balconies, and we were filled with excitement. This was how we envisioned our Paris visit would be. We sat al fresco at Cafe Consulat and had a marvelous lunch and a glass of wine. Climbing steps again to the Montmarte butte, where the resplendent Basilica of the Sacred Heart stood majestically over Paris, we passed the last remaining wooden windmill of Montmarte and the smaller cemetery of St. Vincent. We had luck on a mass at 4 PM and so we felt fulfilled in our obligations. We took the funicular down to Pigalle just for the fun of it, cruised the souvenir shops, and because of Evelyn’s objections, I passed on checking the sex shops for toys and passed on the Moulin Rouge Cancan Revue. She also declined to dine in the Pigalle area, so we took the Metro back to Passy and since it was very late, we decided to just stop by the Deli Cafe a block from the metro station and pick up a carry out. The deli chef was charming and was bantering with us, asking where we’re from, showing off his English, joking, even flirting a little, we thought. Then he started adding our purchases in French and we couldn’t keep up with the numbers, and he said his cash register wasn’t working right, so he couldn’t tally the items, then he wouldn’t accept a credit card, and when we pressed, he said our card wasn’t going through, but he was swiping it wrong and we were showing him how to, and we asked him again to review our purchases for accuracy, when he got all bent out of shape, and became upset, and accused us of calling him a liar, so I told him to stop and and just focus on completing our purchase, and he got all excited about the credit card not going through so I said, Ok just get this over with and I’ll give you cash but listen, I’m very displeased, and if we were so inclined we’d go someplace else, but we prefer to go ahead with the purchase. then he started to yell that we can take our business somewhere else, and started to say something about you Philippine women, so I told him, don’t go there, and just shut up and finish. That’s when he went into apoplexy and called us the b-name for everyone on the take out line and the seated cafe patrons to hear. We got our food and told him he can count on us not to set foot on his premises again, and I decided not to give him the finger, and we left calmly instead without saying another word.
We have planned this trip for a year after reminiscing about Julma, our high school classmate from Colegio de Santa Isabel in Naga City, who became a nun and who we learned was based in Paris in the mother house of the Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. Sr. Julma C. Neo, Daughter of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, is serving at present as a General Councillor of her Congregation, the first Asian to be elected to that position. Before her election to their General Council, she was Provincial of her congregation in The Philippines. In that capacity, she also served as Chairperson of the Association of Major Superiors of Women Religious in The Philippines. She has assisted her religious order as writer, participant and as speaker / resource person. Before her investiture in the order she was a TOYM awardee.
On the 18th of July 1830, the Holy Virgin appeared to Catherine Labouré in the chapel of the convent of the Filles de la Charité, La Chapelle Notre-Dame de la Médaille Miraculeuse 140, rue du Bac 75340 Paris cedex 07. Catherine Labouré was at that time preparing herself to become a sister. On the 28th of November, the Holy Virgin entrusted Catherine with the miraculous medal and this gave birth to a new devotion to the Blessed Virgin. At the time of Catherine's death, two billion miraculous medals had already been made. Today, two millions pilgrims visit the chapel each year. Fervent celebrations are held everyday and make the chapel the second pilgrimage in France after Lourdes.
Evelyn, Noy and I had developed a tradition after Johnny’s death, of spending August summers around my birthday in Evelyn’s lakeside home in Sturgis MI. We googled Julma there while hanging out last year and I wrote her at the Rue du Bac address. She e-mailed back promptly, so excited to hear from us. Her calendar was very full and we managed to find mutually available dates for August but when our trip finally came together for the week of August 25-September 1, she was suddenly called to go to Indonesia, leaving only August 25, my birthday, available for our visit. Noy could not make it as she had a car accident last winter which disabled her for months and consumed all her leave days. Evelyn, who suffered flying phobia which severely curtailed her mobility, had to pull herself by her bootstraps to muster the courage to make this trip. Having a reunion with Julma after 48 years was the motivation and she distinguished herself with a purple heart on this trip. She was a trouper, and the Lady at rue du Bac proved her miraculous powers. Evelyn is now cured of her flying phobia and is already making plans for her next trip.
Our US flight was 4 hours late of its 8:24 AM arrival at CDG and Julma had checked on our arrival twice already, so our gardienne, the apartment landlady, informed us, and was waiting to have lunch with us. So we put our bags down and without changing our travel clothes, we took the metro to Sevres Babylone and crossed the street from Bon Marche to 140 rue du Bac, and there was Julma and us all choked up after leaving each other as girls in 1959 and meeting again for the first time across oceans and continents and time.
We walked in the convent’s tranquil and bright gardens, she introduced us to her colleagues, all very touched and happy about our remarkable reunion, we toured the conference facilities and the public quarters, she talked about the challenges of dwindling religious postulants, her work in southeast Asia, her experiences in Paris, her wish to return and do work in the Philippines. We observed her attitude of obedience and service, her calm and serenity, her open-mindedness and lack of proseletyzing, and I marvel. Of course, she’s fluent in French. She took us around the convent’s neighborhood, among its streets and alleys. We looked for a place to have a late lunch and most restaurants have stopped lunch service, so we ended up in a Vietnamese fast food place and lingered over coffee until we couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer, and had to go. We stopped at Bon Marche food section to purchase take out food for dinner, and threw in a bottle of wine and some cheese and pastries for breakfast. It was great to see Julma, it felt like we’ve always been together, just picked up where we left off. I have since reviewed what’s in google about her. I’m very proud of her and very happy for her. I told her I cried and I was confused when I learned she entered the nunnery, that I felt sorry for her, that I thought the sisters brainwashed her, and why be a nun when there were so many young men we knew together who’ve got crushes on her. I know of course that she gave this deep thought and that she’s very learned about her catholic religion and she has actively chosen this life, and the elusive thing I cannot grasp, she has faith. I honestly cannot say that I gave much thought or active choosing of the life course I’m living, but I love my life just the same.
Evelyn and I were on our own then in Paris. We decided to take the hop on hop off tourist waterbus to see the sights. I was familiar with most of the tourist sites as this was my 4th trip to Paris, but I was not taking charge in any of those trips, and here Evelyn was counting on me to have a memorable trip. The waterbus route was super. It offered a unique view of Paris from the Seine, it did not have to contend with traffic and the noise and heat of concrete and exhaust fumes. We had a cool and sunny day to explore the Musee d’Orsay, which was closed on Mondays unfortunately, the Notre Dame and the Latin quarter, St. Germain-des Pres, the Hotel de Ville, which now is the seat of the City municipal government and the nearby le Marais, emerging as the trendsetter of Paris chic and urbanity, the bridges, Pont Alexander, Pont Neuf, Pont Royal, Pont des Arts, Pont de la Concorde, and the bridge to Passy where our apartment was , Pont de Bir Hakiem, which was a mere 10 minute walk to the Tour Eiffel. We got off at the Louvre, went under the glass pyramid to check out the amenities, the mall, restaurants, the underground lay out. We skipped visiting the art galleries as we had no time, reserving this for a more leisurely visit, instead we shopped the museum mall for souvenirs. I bought 3 children’s books and a pair of medieval masks which I forgot on the bench at the Louvre waterbus stop, and 3 days of checking with the tour company did not succeed in returning them. We strolled the nearby Tuileries gardens and found a shaded bench to watch people pass by and to rest our feet. The waterbus terminus is at the foot of the Eiffel tower so we put this last on our tour, planning to have dinner at the halfway platform of the tower at the Jules Verne Restaurant, but alas, it was closed for renovations. We stopped by a bistro in the Grenelle neighborhood. On the way home, as we crossed the bridge to the right bank of the Seine, the Eiffel tower stood against the night sky, bathed in golden light. In the train every night as it crosses the Bir Hakiem bridge we can see the Eiffel emerge from the tree tops, and if the time is right we can catch it covered with twinkling lights dancing all over its surface. I caught it one night alongside the moon, and I got a great picture.
We wanted a taste of Paris shopping so on the 4th day we took the metro to the Opera, and started on Haussman Boulevard, and checked out Galleries Lafayette, and Printemps, then took a breather at Cafe La Paix for lunch, then proceeded to Place Vendome and checked out all the mouth-watering baubles at Cartier, Van Cleef and Arpels, Boucheron, and the like. We lost ourselves browsing on rue St Honore, the boulevard Capucine and rue Royal. We splurged on Louis Vuitton presents. We went home excited with our purchases and wanted to deposit them before going out for dinner in a nice restaurant. By this time we were getting tired of bistro menu, we’ve ordered them all and we wanted something real nice, like grilled fresh fois gras or cotes de veau. Horrors, we forgot our key inside the apartment. We got into the ante foyer by using the code at the door 3436B, which we remember by thinking of bra sizes which do not fit us. We got into the inside foyer through a resident who happened to arrive. The gardienne, Lydia, is the homebody sort who was always around the whole time we were there until tonight. We have waited over an hour until Danielle, a resident in the building for 25 years arrived who knew Lydia and knew that she was babysitting for a friend that night and knew how to contact her there by phone. Lydia arrived all flustered to discover she left her keys too in her apartment! Mon Dieu! But not to worry, her son lives upstairs and has a key to her apartment. Voila, we all got in and found our keys where we left them on the mantle. By this time, it was too late to eat anywhere but we found a Chinese buffet in Passy, about to close for the night but the owner allowed us to have the remaining scraps in the trays. The next day we took the RER train for a day of designer outlet shopping in La Vallee Village, 35 minutes east of Paris. You get off one stop before Disneyland Paris, at Val d’Europe. We had to learn the hard way that the Paris metro tickets are not good for the suburban RER trains. The exit turnstyle wouldn’t open for us until we paid the supplement price of E4.50. I didn’t get too excited in these outlet stores, as I can get better deals at Loehmann’s and at Sak’s and Parisian when they hold their super discount sales.
Everybody goes to Versailles when they visit Paris, so we took another RER to travel 25 minutes southwest of Paris to view the setting of the opulent lifestyle that took the monarchy down, and cost Marie Antionette her head. It was a beautiful day, we took our time, lingered in the gardens, took long walks to the Grand trianon and the petit Trianon and to Marie Antionette’s hamlet. What a grand way to play country maid. We had a delightful lunch at the La Petite Venise, a wonderfully conceived restaurant in the old boat house that once housed the King’s Venetian gondoliers and oarsmen.
Ho hum, this touring is already wearing us down and we’re just about ready to settle to a quiet day of reading or watching TV but our TV is all in French, and the apartment does not have enough lighting good for reading, and we have places we haven’t been yet. We’ve been losing sleep because this charming apartment with its high ceilings and lovely embossed ceiling trays, herringbone-patterned wood floors, antique furnishings, and art on the walls, has no sound insulation at all and in fact the walls acts like conductors of the feeblest sound from elsewhere in the building. We could hear footfalls above, the rustling of paper, conversations,the rush of water in the pipes, the roar of flushing toilets, and the heavy metal clang of the iron elevator outside our door. Lydia, who communicates with us in Spanish since she knows no English and we know no French, bustles noisily in the early morning in the courtyard dragging garbage bins and rattling them every which ways and running the water hose inside the bins which acts like a drum in a marching band. But she’s a dear otherwise, very helpful and friendly. She arranged our airport shuttle and gave us tips and directions. We gave her a bottle of Bordeaux in appreciation.
On our last day we took the metro to Etoile and visited the arc d’ triomphe, then walked down Champs Elysee to the Place de Concorde. We hunted down the restored art deco covered shopping arcades and galleries, popular Parisian hangouts at the turn of the century, the prototype of the modern shopping malls. We started on Rue Rivoli and Rue du Louvre to track rue Jean Jacques-Rosseau and find Galerie Vero- Dodat, then Galerie Vivienne and Galerie Colbert. Along the vicinity of Palais Royal and Rue St Denis we stumbled on Passage Jouffroy , Choisuel, de Perron,among many. These are in various stages of restoration.They are very charming with mosaic tiled floors, wood paneling at store fronts and glass domed ceilings. We meandeared along the Grand Boulevards, des Italiens, des Capucines, Rue royal, watched a dance performance on the square at Place Colette. We found ourselves on Boulevard Montmarte and was amazed at the distance we’ve covered. We had dinner in a nice restaurant and went back to Passy to pack. We didn’t have any problem getting our VAT refund at the airport and the flight back was almost on time, just half an hour late, and customs was a breeze, after all we didn’t bring in any Frenchman! Au revoir Paris, vous voir bientôt.

UPMASA 2007 LAS VEGAS

UPMASA 2007 LAS VEGAS SLIDESHOW