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

Computerization of the UPCM

Wellness, Wit & Winning at the Wynn
UPMASA 22nd Annual Grand Convention
July 1-5, 2007
by Miman Class '67
The recently concluded 22nd UPMASA AGC held at the fabulous Wynn Las Vegas was attended by over 600 registrants and over 300 University of the Philippines College of Medicine alumni. It is an annual ritual of bonding, earning CME (Continuing Medical Education) credits, and renewing allegiance and inspiration from the alma mater. One of the CME lecturers, Dr. Alvin Marcelo, UPCM ’99, TOYM Awardee in 2005, Director of the Medical Informatics Department in the UPCM and the head of the Buddy Works Philippine Tele-health Project, delivered the Johnny B. Pellicer Professorial Chair lecture on “ Integrating the Philippine Health Care System Through Tele-health”. This lecture excited a lot of the alumni. It was inspirational. It moved one alumna to direct her donation to the cause specifically. The project embodies all the ideals that a UPCM graduate holds, to offer the best of himself to serve the greatest need of the under-served Filipinos. This project brings to doctors to the barrios the capability to connect with UPCM and all its resources in the care of the local patient in remote areas of the Philippines. UPMASA has played a major role in its development.
Ten years ago, UPMASA visionaries headed by Wee Besa, UPCM ’67, who was the Computerization Committee Chair then and for several years after, doggedly persisted in convincing UPMASA leadership to support the computerization project in the UPCM. It was a struggle as 10 years ago the cost of internet connection was $550 per month, and a computer cost $1500 compared to today’s $400. Through graduated phases in the project UPMASA built the infra-structure slowly over a period of 4-5 years. The UPCM LAN Project distinguished the College to be the first in the Philippine academic community to link all its buildings and departments together with a broadband connection. Various components of UPMASA helped with the computerization. The Delaware Valley Chapter under Joe Pamintuan’s presidency in 1997 built the first Multi Disciplinary Laboratory used by the Basic Sciences Department where Anatomy, Physiology, and Biochemistry are taught and simulated computerized experiments replaced animal physiology experiments. Class ’71 donated the first 10 computers to the medical library and supported a subscription to Ovid/Medline database, through its EMERALDS Project. The Baltimore, Michigan, and Philadelphia Chapters held fund-raising events to support subsequent phases of the project. Delaware Valley Chapter has its Laptop project for needy undergraduates and post-residency physicians. It has extended its support to provide laptops to physicians in the Doctors to the Barrios program, an important piece in integrating the Philippine health system through Tele-health. Individual donors, Linda Gambito ’66, $50K, Nicki Nicdao ’67, $45K, and many alumni helped. The PEF (Permanent Endowment Fund) supports its maintenance by funding the salaries of 4 MIU employees and allocating an annual $17K budget for computer maintenance and replacement. Most recently, Class ’57, headed by its president Joe Peczon, had undertaken the computerization of the Orthopedics Department Health Records as its class Golden Jubilee project.
The Medical Informatics Unit in the UPCM developed a database system called CHITS (Community Health Information and Tracking System) in conjunction with the UPCM Community Health Department and the government of Pasay City where UPCM interns rotate. The software is in Tagalog, and barangay health workers are trained to enter data in the patient health registry. It asks, “ Ano ang pangalan mo?”, “Saan ka nakatira?”, etc. And true to Filipino ingenuity and frugality, MIU recycled old computers and introduced new technology and new skills to the barangay health workers. This Urban Community Based Health Program over the period of 3 years as a demonstration project, will ultimately reach 75,000 residents in 10 barangays, train 200 lay volunteer health workers, 100 community leaders and local government officials, and benefit 320 medical students, and 50 local health care professionals. UPMASA Southeast Chapter is supporting this project with $36K over the 3-year period. PEF donated audio-visual equipment for training health care workers. This project will lay down the infra-structure for the Pasay City government to provide basic health care to its constituents. CHITS has caught international attention as a model of medical informatics technology and was a finalist in the Stockholm Challenge in 2006.
Bringing the Tele-health technology to the barrios will require upgrade of the 10-year old infra-structure. When the cables were laid down in 1997, the MIU was young and had no experience in building a network. With subsequent increased demand, the LAN expanded without structure and order. The system had become congested and is constantly breaking down. It will require the services of a certified network engineer to evaluate and audit the system and recommend fixes. Upgrading into a wireless infrastructure with industry-grade connectivity is also indicated. The Dean had identified the UPCM Network Rehabilitation and Upgrade project as #1 priority. To have this system running smoothly will open up challenging opportunities for international collaboration in Telehealth. Already the Shriner’s Hospital in Hawaii is about to commence testing its system and many are waiting in the wings.
During the pre-convention activities, the Dean of UPCM Dr. Bert Roxas articulated his vision for the College in the next 25 years, in the Conversation with the Dean pre- 4 Doctor’s in Concert segment. He seeks to restore the UPCM in the forefront of technology, innovation, develop a research program, build academic excellence, nurture faculty and employees, develop sustainability, and produce graduates who are imbued with nationalism and social accountability, rendering service to his community and his country. When we entered the College of Medicine, we were all asked in our admission interviews why we wanted to be doctors. I bet we all answered because we wanted to serve humanity. We thought we’d train in the US and return and serve our country. But of course, life happened, and we got married, had children, acquired a mortgage and credit card bills, and we got stuck. We had good intentions and we wanted to somehow make things right. UPMASA allows us to give back to UPCM and PGH, and to the Filipino people. When we learn of how much colleagues like Dr. Alvin Marcelo make a difference because of the work they do, we become nostalgic of what it may have been for us if we traveled the other road. The next best thing then is to support UPMASA, because if we do, we help colleagues like Dr. Marcelo do the things that we would have liked to accomplish if we did our work back home. Ahh, C’est la vie. During this 22nd AGC, with its theme of Wellness, Wit & Winning at the Wynn, my Class ’67 had pledged to support the UPCM Network Rehabilitation and Upgrade Project as our Ruby Jubilee project. This is a winner!

A Price Above Rubies

Rubilarian year book

I love red

Red lipstick, red shoes, why not a red dress too

And a red hat, and the attitude to go with it

I have come a long way baby

And I’m pulling all the stops to celebrate

For now I realize I’ve reached the benchmark

And my price is far above rubies.

What did an awkward girl from Pasacao know

Without her mother’s dream?

The UP was where she had a glimpse,

There’s a lot of world to see.

Imagine crossing the great Pacific Ocean

To the other side of the earth

I grew up in America

I grew wings in America

I grew horns in America

That’s what mother would say

When I acted too big for my britches

And forgot for a moment where I came from.

I got my ass kicked in America

But hey, I got to kick some too

And here I am, coloring my hair red-brown

To hide the gray and force the look

To match the heartfelt feeling of being alive and young

Of being twenty-five forever and not changing

Even if life’s triumphs and tragedies have visited

And irrevocable in history.

I had a love that made me understand

What Sonnets to the Portuguese was all about

Or why Holly Golightly and Moon River

Seem meant for me and the 120 of us

Who passed the halls of the UPCM in ’67.

Now 8 are gone

My beloved is gone

We pedal the life cycles, 3 generations after

What does it matter, be it power, riches or fame

Prison, or death, betrayal and divorce or financial ruin

We’re all brothers and sisters

We share our lives always

We Live!

“We're after the same rainbow's end,
Waitin' round the bend,
My huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.”

100 Years and Counting

Memoir for the UP Centennial
UPCM Class of ’67

I was stunned when my mother said I was going to UP and would enroll in pre-med. I graduated from Colegio de Sta. Isabel in Naga City, Camarines Sur in 1959 and assumed I was going to UST. I wanted to be an architect. My father was an engineer and I grew up reading Popular Mechanics and Photography magazines, as my father was a photo aficionado. I remember he had a makeshift darkroom in a closet off the kitchen. I’d spend hours there fascinated by what he’s doing and eager to be his gofer. I was mesmerized watching images slowly come to life as they traveled through a series of trays he’d instruct me to dip the photographic papers in. I fancied I’d be good in architecture since I can visualize a finished house from floor plans I’d study from my father’s magazines and I was good at sketching. But my mother said I was gonna be a doctor and I would go to the University of the Philippines. Imagine! The idea never occurred to me. But then, when my mother put it in my head with such certainty, I didn’t find it alien at all. In those days to be a doctor is to be next to god and so I never thought I should think that. But since my mother declared it, it seemed to me I could be that, if she thought I could. There were those among my circle who thought it was heretic to go to the University of the Philippines. A good Catholic girl should not do that. But at heart I was rebel enough and with my mother’s endorsement, I really got excited.

Ignorance is bliss. I didn’t have any idea about how competitive it was to enroll in UP. I just did and I started the pre-med curriculum. I did notice some elitism and exclusive congregation among those who came from private catholic schools in Manila, but I was living in the campus dorm Sampaguita, and quickly found camaraderie and friendship from the girls there. Two I met from the start remain my very close lifelong friends. Perhaps the UP milieu was indeed socially and economically egalitarian and only scholarship mattered as status that I spent my years there oblivious of whose parents were powerful or rich or well-known. I settled very quickly feeling confident among the sophisticates there when on the first day of English class no one could spell bourgeoisie but me. From then on I got me respect including the teacher!

Coming from the province, I was amazed by the sheer size of the campus. The Oblation and the administration building behind it with the open columned center, it seemed from another world with the modernity of the architecture. The open circular catholic chapel was something from the next century. I thought, how open, how free, like it was saying come in, welcome everyone. I like to remember the exuberant feeling I’d get whenever I approached the driveway lined with rows of lush and graceful fire trees bursting with color. It saddened me when I learned a typhoon destroyed those magnificent trees. I’ve only been back to Diliman once in 1980. I still have the campus of my pre-med years in my mind’s eye, and I want to keep it that way.

Diliman then seemed idyllic. There were many afternoons reading on the grass and listening to the bells of the Carillon. I am glad to contribute to the restoration of the Carillon. I am outraged and sad that it went silent. I always think of UP Diliman whenever I hear carillon bells chime, wherever I am. Where I live now in Atlanta, Georgia, and since taking up golf, I like to play in Stone Mountain Park, where their carillon plays every hour, Georgia on My mind, Amazing Grace, Broadway tunes, and Christmas Carols during the holiday season. The bells sing and UP Diliman comes to life, as if I’ve never left it at all.

I was so impressed by seeing my first stage Broadway musical Oklahoma! performed by an ensemble from a US University, under the university cultural exchange program. It was so magical, and omigod! They kissed right there on stage, live, in front of everybody! That was so shocking and also such an eye-opener. It was then when I realized there is a lot of world to see. Shortly after Breakfast at Tiffany came out, I was in first year medical school in Herran, and its theme song Moon River struck a chord in me as with our whole class. It became our signature song and our UPCM class of ’67 won the inter-college choir competition in our rookie year.

These first impressions and early experiences in UP to me are seminal, including the ignominious sexist interview for admission in the College of Medicine in 1962. I thought I was the only one treated that way, and as is true with those who experienced humiliation and trauma, I kept it secret for years. Until I grew up. Until I grew wings. Until I grew horns here in America. Then I spoke about how my life flashed before my eyes when my interviewer challenged my bid for admission to medical school. He intimidated me by asking why I was wasting a slot in the college when a young man could possibly have it and not waste it, as I would, since I’ll eventually get married and have children and will decide not to practice medicine. I became cold and my heart stopped for a moment when he said that, I thought he’d deny me admission. I blurted something like “Sir, I will never do that because I’d like to serve humanity!” Whether that did it I’ll never know, because he’s now dead, but I did get in and later when I was able to define what happened to me I became livid. Then I became confused when other women said they were told the same thing but excused their interviewer because they believed he was trying to make them tough. They assured me that that was the practice in those days, that that was the culture, that those men were the products of their time, that one should just accept it. I’m still bewildered. As a product of those times, I guess I should see myself as without expectation about how I’m treated, that I should let others do with me as they please because they have reasons for what they do, that I should stuff that agonizing if brief moment when my entire being froze and my entire life flashed before my eyes, because it was akin to dying, when there is a threat to your dream. I hope that is not happening in admissions interview now. Among my contemporaries of both genders, the view of that kind of behavior is very benign, and sympathetic to the one with power rather than the applicant, and the pressure is for the applicant to forgive.

I’m glad that I’m not god, therefore I don’t have to forgive. Therefore I can ask for apology from the UPCM for the systematic sexist practice that its admission officials perpetrated on women applicants to the UP College of Medicine and condoned by the institution during my time. One hundred years should matter in making progress in this sphere of gender relations.

I am Woman

November 16, 2006

I am Woman

I was just talking with Evelyn, calling to see how I'm doing since I just had surgery, and recovering at home and i'ts been a week to the day and I'm beginning to have cabin fever. Friends have been dropping by to bring food and keep me entertained, and my sisters Minda and Hazel drove 14 hours from Reston VA to hang out after I came home from the hospital last Friday. My daughter JayJay left her family to accompany me to the hospital and remained until she saw I had plenty of company. My son Stephen, was very sweet. He blocked off his weekend to hang around me and was very charming and solicitous to all the Titas, debating the affairs of the world and discussing philosophy, the war, god,redemption,the US midterm elections, etc., even sitting down with them to complete a quorum for mahjong and stayed up until 2 AM to lose $5. All this attention for a very routine hysterectomy, which half of the women I know have done long before me. Evelyn had hers removed in the 80's, the old way, by opening her belly. I had the benefit of new technology and new philosophy in women's health, preserving the quality of life. I had the supracervical laparoscopic hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, to remove an ovarian cyst that had doubled in size in the last 6 months. They took out all my unique defining female organs through a small tube inserted through a tiny cut just below my belly button, and left no incision scar after the procedure. Because it left the cervix still anchoring the vagina, I was spared dissection in the pelvic floor which accounted for some prolapsed bladder and low back pain in some women, and the new sensitivity here is that it left the vagina intact, whereas in the old way the vagina had to be shortened to close off the part where the cervix was, and this accounted for loss of sexual responsiveness and painful intercourse in some women. Like this would be a major need, since Johnny had been dead 2 years and the dating game had never been one I enjoyed playing. But hey, it's good to have it preserved, you never know. So here I am, a truly liberated woman, I have gotten rid of the organs that kept me victimized, from feeling bloated and fat and cramping pain, from being smelly and messy during certain periods every month, from being penalized with unwanted pregnancy if I only go for sex for pleasure and throw contraception responsibility to the wind, from having too many sites where something can become diseased and kill me, uterine cancer, ovarian disease, breast cancer, cervical cancer, etc,. So I feel truly free. Now this discourse is for the benefit of those who were inquiring if I am getting depressed because my womanhood had been cut away. Oh my! Don’t they know that womanhood is in the brain, and the sexiest organ is the brain? That it is the seat of orgasm? I bet you I can have an orgasm rivaling Meg Ryan in that movie restaurant scene without anyone or myself touching any body parts! So I’ll keep my brains, thank you.

But I am very grateful for the caring and attention I have received from everyone, I feel very lucky.

 

Tampa

 

Southeast Chapter Tampa Oct 28.2006

 

Pista Report

Report of the PACG Heritage Centennial Committee: Pista Ng Pilipinas

Pista Ng Pilipinas, the Philippine Festival celebrating 100 years of Filipino American Migration, held in Atlantic Station Central Park, 17^th St. Midtown Atlanta on June 11. 2006, was attended by about 3000 people, and raised $23,000 from 22 corporate and individual sponsors, 12 participating Filipino American organizations, 13 vendors, 9 in-kind donors, and 67 advertisers. After expenses, it netted $ 12,000 towards the PACG building fund. Dr. Josephine K. Tan, the Chair of the governor’s Asian-American Commission for a New Georgia cut the ceremonial ribbon, and Gov. Sonny Perdue proclaimed June 12, 2006, the anniversary of Philippine independence, as Filipino American Heritage Day.

Pista fulfilled its aims of increasing the visibility of Filipino Americans in Georgia, of contributing to the rich cultural diversity of Georgia, fostering solidarity and cooperation among various Fil-Am organizations, preserving and showcasing Philippine heritage, and mobilizing Filipino American youth towards embracing its cultural heritage. It was evident from the attendees, who came from Alabama, South Carolina, and all over Georgia, that Pista fostered feelings of pride and kinship and solidarity among all Filipino Americans. In addition Pista was an effective fund-raising vehicle that opened doors to new relationships with the Asian American community and with the general community at large.

Pista created an expectation and a momentum that must be sustained so that these goals can be maintained.

Recommendations:

1. Pista should be a major annual event supported by all Filipino American organizations in Georgia. This is where everyone must agree that there will be only one Pista. Pista should be built as a major tourist attraction and should develop recognition in the city much like the Greek Festival or the Cinco de Mayo celebrations. This requires big commitment and resources planning that span several years at a time. A 5 year business plan should be developed and updated annually.
2. PACG through its Heritage Committee can take the leadership role in development and planning. All Filipino American organizations should be invited and not limited to Federation membership. It is proposed that the Presidents of all organizations should be part of the overall Pista steering committee and from its roster, the executive committee can be chosen which will be defined by the project tasks. The Chair of the committee can be rotated among various organizations annually and that particular organization will take the leadership role for the year. This is where positive competition can be expressed, as each organization vie for who can present the greatest Pista every year. Every Pista host must satisfy the mission and vision laid out by the Centennial Pista. A system of fundraising revenue sharing must be developed so that host organizations can be recruited and rewarded for producing the Pista. This may require amendment of the PACG by-laws. The Executive Committee will consist of the leads for the Solicitation Task Group, Program and Entertainment, Vendors Relations, Marketing and Publicity, Venue and Administrative Management, Communication and Website, Youth Coordination, Souvenir Program and Sponsor Relations. It is recommended that projects undertaken by the PACG Heritage Committee comply with the mission and vision articulated in the Centennial Pista. In this way, because of its large scope, it does not compete with projects launched by individual organizations.
3. Pista was a free public event. Unlike projects undertaken by the Fil-Am community in the past which were private affairs attended by individuals invited by the community held in contained venues, Pista was open to anyone who happen to be around. To fulfill aims of increasing Filipino American visibility and of educating the general public on Philippine heritage, Pista must be a free public event held in public places where it will attract a new and casual audience. Location is critical, access is critical, built-in casual audience traffic is critical. Pista cannot be held in isolated venues where it is the only destination.
4. As an open to all and free public event there are city ordinances to comply with such as special event permits, vendor licenses, food permits, electrical hook-ups, thrash removal, security, traffic, regulations. Advance planning is necessary as permits may require 3-6 months for the approval process. Event insurance is required. It is recommended that PACG purchase annual event liability insurance to cover all of its activities.
5. Corporate solicitations require several months for the request and approval process. It is recommended that advance research be done, as much as a year in advance, to identify the corporation’s pattern and amount of giving and when applications are submitted for review. Inside contact resource is very important to walk the application through. Solicitation letters and materials should identify the level of sponsorship being requested, without information initially on other levels of giving. It is noted that when choice is offered there is a trend to choose lower levels of sponsorship. Major sponsor targets require special planning and handling, and may necessitate, presentation to boards and committees, visits to corporate offices, or individual presentations in any way access can be obtained such as with dinner invitations, golf outings, attendance at banquets, etc.
6. Publicity, marketing, and public relations can be developed further. This is crucial in bringing Pista to the general public’s attention, and important in achieving increased visibility. Important contacts to develop are editors of newspapers and magazines, and radio and TV broadcasts. Celebrities from local media can be invited to enhance exposure. Media have websites and their policies about publicity and celebrity requests and event placement in their calendars and bulletins can be identified. A dedicated task group should be deployed to canvass, plan and create media releases to all outlets and update the information. County, State and City governments also have event calendars that can be accessed. Grass roots publicity through churches, bulletins, announcements at social functions, etc are very effective.
7. It is suggested that subsequent Pistas do not have to be scheduled in June, which can be very hot as in the Centennial Pista, plus volunteers were spread thin because of other commitments with other organizations traditionally celebrating Philippine independence anniversary in June.
8. It appears religious service is a desired component, an acknowledgement of cultural characteristic, and an interdenominational offering is preferred to include the major faiths practiced. This has to be scheduled outside of the published festival hours. Public venues do not permit the holding of religious service, so that alternate venues will have to be secured. This program enhanced attendance and interest in the festival.
9. This project generated valuable networking contacts, for sponsors, partners, participants such as performers and vendors, media, and volunteers which should be collected and updated in a database. It is recommended that PACG initiate this immediately before it launches its next project.
10. Every project completion can teach valuable lessons and insights about efficiencies in organizing that need not be reinvented for the next projects and can identify mistakes that need not be repeated. A Pista organizing manual should be created and updated after each event, after committee review and critique of the project. Key members might be retained as an Advisor/Consultant to the next Committee.
11. PACG might consider applying for a credit card to enable donors to charge contributions and for project committees to charge project expenses.
12. Volunteers need to be acknowledged for their generosity of valuable time and talent and expertise. Tokens of appreciation go a long way in creating camaraderie and cooperation, which enhance creativity and efficiency. The Centennial Pista Committee was pleased to offer free Souvenir T-shirts, copies of the Souvenir program, handcrafted name badges, and the Twelve Hotel hospitality Suite on the day of the festival. For the youth ushers, an additional lunch supplement of $5 each was provided. It is recommended that PACG acknowledge the volunteers further with a party/dinner/reception in their honor.

Enclosures:

Pista Brochure

Pista Poster

Pista Souvenir Program

Pista Program Flyers

Pista Financial Report

Music to My Ears

I was thinking I’d share the treats I enjoyed on this trip with my friends, as soon as it’s my turn to host dinner. By the time I completed the tour I have the whole evening planned. The house will glow in candle light and smell of lavender from the hills of San Sebastian. I will await their arrival with Ravel’s Le Tombeau de Couperin, and greet them with his Jeux D’eau. I’d switch to Debussy’s d’ Images during cocktails, and I’ll pour my prunelle and pomme liqueur aperitifs from Navarre, and serve hors d’oeuvres of aged goat cheese, and shaved monk’s head cheese from the Basque region, and of course foie gras with sauterne will be on the cocktail table too. Perhaps duck will be the main entrée and dessert will be the easy confection described by my new gourmand friend from Indiana, puff pastry filled with fresh raspberry marinated in Grand Marnier and a sprinkle of sugar, topped with real whipped cream. Uummm! That would be lovely and will go down well with another Basque liqueur, armagnac with honey and herbs, then finish the meal off with coffee and nibble on chocolates from Foucher’s of Paris.
For the meal I’ll pick some good Bordeaux from my favorite sommelier, the Dekalb Farmer’s Market. Under the influence of these distilled nectars of the grape, my guests will be a captive audience and will indulge me as I recall the pleasures of this last trip.
“ What is more beautiful than a road?” ,
asked George Sand, AKA Amandine Aurore Lucie Dupin, baronne Dudevant, 19th century French novelist and feminist who among others was Chopin’s mistress. She and others are some of the exciting personalities I’ve discovered as I embarked on this Spanish-French odyssey to follow the lives and music of Ravel and Debussy.
My concert pianist friend from Baltimore, Linda had been asking me to come with her on this musical tours she’d been participating in for the past 5 years. Most of the participants I’ve learned have been coming for the last 7-9 years and had come to know each other like old friends. Of the 34 participants, 20 are music professionals, either as pianists or teachers, or serious piano students. My own musical background consisted of inventing clever ways of avoiding piano practice or dodging piano lessons from the stick-wielding and stern Sister Cecilia, of the Colegio de Sta. Isabel, where I was a boarding student throughout high school. I remember being in a piano recital, and I‘ve forgotten what piece I played, but I messed up, and felt so embarrassed I wanted to disappear. So I marvel and am so in awe at the skill and artistry that I witnessed from the young concert pianists presented on this tour, Marie-Laure Boulanger, Martin Surot, and Jean Dube.
This trip started to shape like a misadventure with a 2 ½ hour weather delay in Atlanta which caused us to miss our Bilbao connection in Madrid-Barajas, which caused us to miss joining the rest of the group coming in from Charles de Gaulle-Paris, for the hour bus trip to San Sebastian. We had to find our own way in a taxi to the Bilbao bus depot then in a public bus to San Sebastian. We had 5 minutes to spare after purchasing our E8.65 bus ticket, and made it to dinner with the group at our hotel. Voila!
Madrid-Barajas BTW has a spanking new terminal, a marble and steel work of art rising up from the semi-arid Barajas landscape with a roof undulating like a wave and its grid supports fanning out of a center spine like fish bones. Inside was chaos. Long lines at the economy ticketing counters and check-in stations, while the business class counters were empty and manned by several staff just standing around. Service was nowhere to be had. We could have made our flight connection if we were allowed priority check-in, but we were brusquely denied and sent back to the end of the line. The next flight would be 4 hours later.
But why are we in San Sebastian? It’s to appreciate the Basque influence in Ravel’s music for his mother was Basque, and women who helped raise him sang to him Basque lullabyes and folk songs, and these rhythms found expression in his Alborada del Gracioso and the opera "L'Heure Espagnole" , La Valse, Rhapsodie, and the famous Bolero. He was going to write a Basque Concerto Zazpiak Bat, but he never finished it. Truth to tell I was only familiar with Bolero, because of the movie 10 and Bo Derek, but that piece written in his later years was an embarrassment to Ravel. He considered it trivial, and wondered why “a piece for orchestra without music” would be so popular.
We’re also in San Sebastian to understand Ravel, the man. He never married, he lived with his mother, and when she died, it sent him to despair, and he was a meticulous dandy and in his house in Montfort L’Amaury, Le Belvedere, just outside Paris, where he worked until his death of some say Pick’s disease, he decorated it himself and filled it with collections of first editions, Japanese prints, tiny mechanical toys, and many small beautiful, fragile objects like a woman’s house. His sexual orientation is still a mystery, but there is no doubt about his place as a big figure in French music. He was quoted to say that a Basque is full of passion but only reveals it to a few intimates, to counter critics who viewed him as aloof and reticent.
Our hotel in San Sebastian atop Monte Igueldo, offered a spectacular view of the city and the beach and the Cantabrian coast, reached by funicular from our perch. As you descend the view is picturesque with houses built against the hills following the terrain down into the sea, their windows spilling over with flowers, and the hills covered with lavender. The beach is dotted with cabanas and holiday visitors spread out on the sand, many women sunning with their bikini tops off. There’s a mile-long promenade lined by bistros and cafes and benches for watching the world go by. Across the beach is the pedestrian shopping area, festive with lots of people milling about the shops. We wandered into a Picasso exhibit of his bullfight watercolors, which I’ve never seen before. When I visited the Picasso museum in Barcelona 3 years ago, the last trip I took with Johnny, I brought home prints of his erotica drawings. Here I marveled at how this master never failed to emphasize the bull’s erectile parts in every frame!
On the way to Ciboure, the French Basque, Ravel’s birthplace, we listened to his Alborada and Rhapsodie on the bus. I learned the significance of the numbers you see around these parts, 4+3=1. The Basque people is fiercely independent and has a unique language and culture and had been involved in separatist struggles for generations. There are 4 Spanish Basque provinces, Alava, Guipuzcoa,Viscaya,Navarre, and 3 French provinces, Basse-Navarre, Labourd, and Soule. Bilbao and Guernica, are the famous cities. We stopped in Bilbao to visit the Guggenheim Museum. It is a soaring winged piece of art on the banks of the Nervion River, right smack in the center of the city, designed by the American Frank Gehry, magnificent, structurally complex, and its reputation well-deserved. The flower topiary puppy at its entrance gives one a homey, warm welcome. It was showing RUSSIA! an exhibition of art in the USSR during the cold war. There was an art installation there showing through mixed media of pictures, video, sounds, 3-dimensional compositions and participatory viewing, how psychiatry was used to control and repress, through electric shock treatments of dissidents. It was very disturbing for me and destabilized my stance of maintaining an arm’s length with the state hospital policies that I have to apply to the psychiatric patients I work with. I don’t know how I’d ever go back to work but I’ll think about it tomorrow. In Ciboure we stayed in the neighboring plush beach resort of St. Jean-de-Luz, across the river Nivelle, along the coast south of Biarritz and Bayonne. Ciboure is having the Raveliad festival, featuring winners of the Academie Ravel Music Competitions. The 3 nights of concerts we attended were held in the Eglise Saint Vincent, a 16th century church where Ravel was christened. Ciboure has a medieval background and old World charm dating back to the 13th & 14th centuries with a lot of historic monuments around the town. There was plenty of time during the day to explore and shop, lay out on the beach and savor fresh seafood from the Basque coast.
We stayed for a night in Amboise after a 7 hour drive from the coast through the reforested swamps of France and Bordeaux and the Loire Valley, and to stop briefly on the way to visit the chateau and gardens of Villandry. We are in the storied and ancient Loire Valley to visit Chenonceaux, and to discover its significance for Debussy. Marie Laur Barcat, a history professor at the University of Tours, and an expert on Chenonceaux didn’t know how Chenonceaux was important to Debussy, but she is curious and agreed to research the subject and she was taken on a road of exciting discovery and adventure. She was full of life and inspiring when breathlessly she couldn’t wait to share everything that she’s unearthed with us. She has this experience as part of her work. I was thinking how I dislike my work environment and how I long to feel energized and excited about my work and to have people around who are eager and creative and inspiring. I’m beginning to question whether it’s a reasonable trade off being a robot at work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week for 2 more years in exchange for Georgia state retirement benefits.
But Marie Laur had us spell-bound with the intricate connections of six degrees of separation relationships that she discovered about the protagonists at Chenonceaux and Debussy. It goes like, Aha! Enlightenment! Voila! We urged her to publish her lecture.
After visiting Chenonceaux ,built spanning the river Cher,a tributary of the Loire, we stopped briefly for liqueur tasting at the Fraise D’or, then Vochek, our Polish bus driver efficiently took us through the streets of Paris to settle at our hotel near the Opera Garnier. The familiar sights went by, the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, Place de la Concorde, Notre Dame and Isle de Cite, Champs Elysees, then we were on the left bank of the Seine, there’s Pont Neuf, Musee D’Orsay, the Tullieres gardens, the Louvre, then the shops along St. Honore, Avenue de Capucines, down Avenue d’opera, then our hotel on Rue D’Antin. Dinner that night was a 5-course wine paired affair at Le Train Bleu, an elaborate belle epoch restaurant in Gare de Lyon. On our 2nd day in Paris, Thursday, August 10 we woke up to the BBC news of foiled terroristic plot to board at Heathrow and blow up 10 planes in the sky on their way to the US. We wondered how it will affect our return trip, but we went on with our program without a hitch. We’ve been from the countryside and the Basque coast, the Loire Valley and these seemed like an unreal world. Picture perfect villages, flower boxes on every cottage window, giant planter baskets exuberant with blooms hanging on town square lampposts and lining the streets, bucolic rural scenery of farms and trees and cows, neat wine trellises planted in perfect grids, brilliant sun and cool weather, homogenous people of one race smiling and friendly. Now we’re back to reality, well, almost.
The big controversy in Paris was over the proposed city ruling to ban topless sunbathing and thong bikinis during Paris Plage. Now on its 3rd year, for a month in July to August the river banks of the Seine in Central Paris is transformed into a tropical beach with 2000 tons of fine sand trucked in and palm trees brought in and then beach chairs and umbrellas are layed out for sweltering Parisians to take in the sun as if they’re in Palm Beach or Mallorca. Only the French can dream up something like this, never mind the 2 million Euro tab. They have just dismantled this when we arrived, but I saw remnants of it as I jogged along the Seine every morning we were in Paris.
From Paris we visited Ravel’s house in Montfort L’Amaury. There on Ravel’s piano, our tour organizer from San Francisco Bill Wellborn and Parisian Marie-Laur Boulanger gave a concert of Ravel music.
The next day we visited Debussy’s house in Saint-Germain-en-Laye where the noted French pianist Dominique Merlet gave a lecture on Debussy and a dissection and demonstration of the chords and scales he used in his compositions, and gave a recital of Ravel, Debussy and Liszt. A concert of four hand piano by Ravel and Debussy followed with Bill Wellborn and Marie Laur and a newly married couple who played Debussy together with such rapport and finesse, it breaks your heart.
On our way to the Channel Island of Jersey, we listened to Walter Gieseking play Claire de Lune, a recording so ephemereal and exquisite, you can caress the moonlight.
I didn’t know Guernsey and Jersey are part of the Channel Islands, I thought one was a cow, and the other was where New Jersey was named for. We crossed the channel from the medieval town of St Malo, where at one point was controlled by pirates, and from whose port Jacques Cartier sailed from to discover Canada. On the ferry during crossing there was a group of happy girls and one of them was wearing a makeshift tiara and a band across her chest saying Bride to Be. They were in St. Malo for a bachelorette party and she was getting married next Saturday in Jersey, where she and her fiancé lived. They were so cute I took their picture, and getting off the ferry later they squealed in glee to see me again and introduced themselves, the bride to be was Emma and her bridesmaid Sophie was her sister. Jersey was part of our tour because Debussy was a ladies man, and he ran off to Jersey to tryst with his mistress Emma Bardac, whom he later married, after she divorced her much older and rich husband, and after her affair with Faure. We’re now in British territory, and English is spoken here, though, they claim an independence from Great Britain, and circulates their own Jersey pound which is not negotiable in England or anywhere else so you have to spend it on the ferry before getting off on the St. Malo side when you return. It is a beautiful if rocky island resort. We had a private concert in the old church concert hall by Jean Dube, a Liszt piano competition winner. He was fantastic, a perfect finale for this musical tour which combined musical pleasures with history, gastronomy, eonology, culture, and a wonderful group of people. After a visit to Giverny to relax in Monet’s garden, we checked into an old Manor in Rolleboise, overlooking the Seine just outside of Paris. There we got dressed up for our gala dinner and said goodbye. My return trip was uneventful, despite the terroristic alert, the only telling sign was their confiscation of my red lipstick, classified as forbidden item on board.

L-R Lani,Baby,Lynda
Volette,Johnny
Noy, Eloi,Hec
Mars,Norma,Alice,Gerry 

Sweat Shop September 3, 2007

L-R Norma,Mars,Gerry.Lou
Lani,Baby,Lynda
Volette,Johnny
Cecile,Freddie,Demetrio 

Sweat Shop

L-R Norma,Mars,Gerry, Lou
Lani,Baby,Lynda
Volette,Johnny
Cecile, Freddie, Demetrio 

 

Moon River

Class '67 Labor Day Weekend Sweat Shop. 

Happy Birthday Puring

To Mama, On The Occasion of Her 80th Birthday

We're the Vargas 8, could've been nine if Mama's first seed survived,
I became the first-born, stronger and I was told already had a will when birthed
Four other girls in between and the last, of three boys he's named Mike, he surprised us all when he arrived long after it was thought Mama's years of birthing was past.

Then came Nancy, who had been first a nurse, then flew the world wearing Eastern's badge now Eastern's no more, she went to the University of Maryland, She aced calculus and got herself a CPA, 2 girls named Lara and Maya, and a witty hubby, good ol’e boy Barry

Hazel, fancified, we renamed Anneteele
Has Sara by her side
While Minda, a souvenir from Mindanao
Has Zak carrying the hopes of our youth now past
Bonnie bones, no longer as shy the youngest and last of the dames, can't get a word in edgewise among us, now thrives among her flowers in her garden of dreams

Juan, Jr., Ivanhoe, Banong, or Ban
Carried on his shoulders the expectations of a clan, the first-born male, after 5 tries
Why do you think we grew to eight?
But as these things go, two more came after, So there were three to carry the name in the generation after. Juan, Lemuel, Miguel, the charmed brothers, all have wives but none have sons, it remains for Mike to bear one with Pilar for as of now Zak stands alone to carry the hopes of the clan

We’re the Vargas 8
We sprung from Pasacao, then Mindanao
We were children and adolescents in Panganiban, Naga and Manila are where we saw the possibilities of how big the world can be but not without Mama’s imagination, for it was her dreams and hopes that we carried
When we crossed the big Pacific Ocean, To the other side of the earth, Ahh, the USA
We became grown-ups in America
We grew wings in America
We grew horns in America
That’s what Mama would say
When we begin to act too big for our britches And forget briefly where we came from

So here we are, all graying, what you see now is what you get, we hope we make our Mama proud, we hope we helped fulfill her dreams, it is such a small thing she asks, to be here on her 80th birthday, and remember the times when we Were children at her feet, with Papa at her side, smiling and believing that life will be beautiful and fulfilling for us all

To Mama on her 80th birthday
We can never count the ways we love you
And thank you for all you do for us
Happy Birthday!

A Mad Hatter's Triumph

XYZ

After the stirring and emotional Closing Ceremonies of the Avon 3-day at Piedmont Park, Rahrah, (my 2 ½ year old granddaughter) rushed into my arms and right away noticed the smiley stickers on my walker ID tag and cheerily informed me that she gets those stickers too for going to the potty like a big girl. I said I got those for the same reasons, for stopping at every pit stop and using the porta-potties! I drank gallons of Gatorade and water as we were told over and over to hydrate and I swear I've never emptied my bladder as much as these 3 days!

The porta-johns lining the route on every pit stop every 2 miles or so is memorable in this event as much as the sea of blue tents, 3000 plus, lined up in alphabetical grids every night in our movable campsite. My tent address was H-81 and that was my gear and duffel number too and we bring these to the gear truck marked H every morning when we dismantle our camp and the crew transport them to the next site. Every campsite is a veritable city. Again there were hundreds of porta-johns everywhere. There was a huge dining tent where spicy chicken gumbo was served up the first night and pasta marinara the next. After dinner the mess tent was transformed into an entertainment center where local bands and acts were brought in for us to relax and groove. There was a concierge tent where every night a selection of complimentary Avon products were offered. There were the podiatry, chiropractic, medical, and massage tents. There were hot shower trucks and you can sign up for towel service for $4 so you don't have to pack wet towels the next day. It rained the first night at camp and some tents were in 2 inches of water so some had to move their tents in the night or slept in the dining tent. My tent was spared the flooding and I only had to put up with a slight surface dampness. I was profoundly exhausted the first night. We walked the longest the first day, 21.9 miles. I did not think to plan my pace and pit stops so I got into camp late and couldn't get into the massage list anymore. So I took 800 mg Ibuprofen and a long hot shower and zipped into my sleeping bag and I didn't even know that the camp was flooding until morning. The next day I was wiser. I was one of the first 300 to arrive at the campsite and I went to the massage tent right away and got the full treatment within the hour. Aahh! Sheer bliss! I had a blister, a pea-sized no account beginner but I took it to the podiatry tent anyway and they drained it with a syringe, put a band-aid and it was gone the next day. That night the temperature dipped to 40 degrees and when you have to go because you filtered gallons of Gatorade that's when you wish you were a man so you can urinate in a bottle right there in the warmth of your sleeping bag.

The final day was a glorious day and excitement has built up. There was this Harley riding volunteer crew of flamboyant characters in their sleeveless vests with names like WASSUP showing off biceps and wearing ponytails or the belly types showing off bald heads but shod in cowboy snakeskin boots nevertheless. They came roaring vroom vroom in their cycles first thing in the day. They opened the route and we couldn't start walking until they checked the road ahead and said go! They parked at intersections and held the cars, their radios blasting motivational songs like Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again" or YMCA. Everybody loved them and of course they relished their role as support and protector. I heard they have been volunteering for the past 3 years and this group had a monopoly going, no one else can sign up unless one of them quits.

I did it! I walked 60 miles for 3 days on October 5-7 and raised $8413 for breast cancer from all of you dear friends who supported my effort. The Atlanta Avon 3-day, 2300 walkers all and at least another thousand crew and volunteers brought in $4.4 M to the Breast Cancer Fund. Sixty-three cents for every dollar is returned to the fund which supports medical research, education, and programs for early detection and treatment among medically underserved women. Last year The Winship Breast Cancer Institute of Emory University and Grady Memorial Hospital received $15.3M from the fund. THANKS to all of you DANKE, GRAZIE, MERCI, GRACIAS, ARIGATO, MAHALO, MARAMING SALAMAT PO!

It was great fun for me all the way. From dreaming up the Mad Hatter's
auction-fundraiser, to writing those corny (but effective!) poems and sending out my ABC, to camping out for 3 days and now I've come to XYZ. The whole effort was a super adventure and a grand party for me. But all good things must come to an end. So I'll start another one. On July 4th next year I'll run the 10K Peachtree Road Race. There will not be any fund-raising for this so no need to take out your checkbook, it's just the biggest road race in the world and I've got to do it!

Embracing Life

We came home from the Filipino-American New Year’s Ball at 1:30 AM, January 1, 2004, exhilarated by the excitement of welcoming the new year in the company of dear friends we have known for 24 years. I was still revved up and wanted to watch the re-run of the Times Square celebration. He said he was going to bed. He felt very fatigued at the party, could hardly walk back to the car, but gallant as ever, he insisted on getting the car and picking me up at the curb. I climbed into bed half an hour later, and as I dozed I heard him gasp. I can’t believe what was happening. I dialed 911 and started CPR. I couldn’t do it properly on the yielding bed, so I rushed downstairs to wake up my live-in houseman so he can help me bring him down to the floor. But as I pumped his chest I was computing in my mind the elapsed time that he didn’t have a pulse. My trained persona as a doctor knew. But I was saying to myself, he couldn’t be dead. I knelt by his side, unbelieving, numb, I felt detached, like I was watching someone else. I screamed to rouse myself. I asked him is he dead, what the devil did he do that for? I scolded him and then I could cry. The EMS crew arrived and I was like a robot. I just followed what they told me to do. I called my daughter, and in an hour friends started coming, friends we just parted with 2 hours ago. When they took the body we sat around in silence, stunned, and then I remembered we were keeping a bottle of Dom Perignon chilled for special occasions. We popped the cork and drank to Johnny. It was the special occasion.

I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of grief, support and love from friends, family and colleagues. It was not enough to stop after the eulogies and then go deal with this loss privately. His golf buddies held a golf tournament in his memory in the dead of winter. Community organizations dedicated dinners and conferred honors. Many wanted to know if they can give money to a cause he supported, in his memory. People just sent money to me outright and I didn’t know what to do with it. My sister suggested funding a scholarship. His career was related to medical informatics. He was well known in my alumni circle as he was sought for his opinions when our class was evaluating our alumni project for our alma mater, which was computerization. It was an AHA! moment when the idea struck, and it proved to be a perfect fit. I knew exactly how I would do it. In the year when lupus reared its ugly head, in 2001 I walked 60 miles in the Avon 3-day Walk for Breast Cancer and raised $857I by throwing a party on my birthday. Instead of bringing gifts, friends brought treasures for auction, in a Mad Hatter’s party where everyone came in original hats to vie for fun prizes. I would recall my Mad Hatter’s team and throw a big auction fund-raiser party. And we did, and raised $20K to endow the Johnny B. Pellicer Professorial Chair in Medical Informatics in the University of the Philippines College of Medicine and we had a blast of a party!

I love life and always had fun as far back as I can remember. Growing up in the Philippines, I spent an idyllic childhood of romps on the beach digging for clams with friends and getting into mischief and receiving punishment as the ringleader. I was adventurous and curious, and even if I got into trouble, the experience always seemed worth it. I loved life before I met Johnny and I loved life when I was with him for 35 years, and I haven’t changed after I lost him. If anything his death taught me to even love every second of life as long as I live. When I saw him across the room for the first time, fireworks burst in air. He gave me an experience I will never forget. He had bad genes. I had a preview of what was going to happen through his identical twin brother’s life who died 3 years earlier, being older in the order of birth. Both had gout, diabetes, hypertension, and then late onset lupus that accelerated the worsening of all conditions leading to complications, in their case, coronary artery disease, kidney damage, and painful neuropathy. During the 3 years of Johnny’s illness I endured with him open- heart coronary bypass graft surgery, lithotripsy, gallbladder laparoscopy, and IV chemotherapy. He wanted to live, and he lived until he died. He succumbed to a second massive coronary when he went on that final sleep. My son wrote in his blog, “ My mother taught me how to live life, but my father showed me that life is worth living. ”

I have many lives. I have my work life practicing medicine, my family life, life with friends, community life, life of personal pursuits and solitude, and I had my life with Johnny. I’m surrounded by loving people with whom I enjoy indulging varied interests, such as golf, mahjong, the theater, dancing, dining, wine, tennis, travel, skiing, karaoke singing, solving world problems, and exchanging scatological and titillating jokes. I laugh loud, and sometimes find myself rolling on the floor.

I’m continuing my life as I lived it before Johnny died. On the year of his death I had the auction fund-raiser and was attending all the community functions held in honor of his memory. I went to Venice during Thanksgiving as that was planned with him before he died, and I discovered I needed respite. It provided me with solitude to find my bearings. On December 24 of that year my mother died. In the first year after his death I went to Antarctica , then I was a principal organizer of our Annual Medical Alumni Conference in South Beach, and after that I went for a retreat in a Zen monastery in Tassajara. This second year of his death, I had a New Years Day open house to gather friends to pray in his memory, then I went to East Africa for a safari, and now I’m chairing the committee to celebrate the centennial of Filipino-American migration with a cultural festival at Atlantic Station in Midtown Atlanta. My life is busy and fulfilling. I’m the Miman of 2 beautiful grandchildren. But there is that part that was my life with Johnny and it’s irreplaceable. I may have another relationship. That will be a new adventure. Life is exciting, it is worth living indeed.