Letter of appreciation, per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

Dear EE,

We were rivals in high school. It was unspoken but we were. Whether we admit it or not, we were. Or was I the only one that was competitive? You were so pretty; you had fair skin- the type that would be chosen to be Miss Finland or Miss Holland on United Nations Day. You spoke so softly. You always made sure that you put your name last on any lists, which made you look humble in our teachers’ eyes. Teacher’s pet, that’s what you were! These are teachers whose children are also in the classes they taught and wanted to make an example of your humility despite your physical beauty.


Of course you were trying to earn brownie points with the teachers. They absolutely loved you. Every boy in school had a crush on you. And I just hated you, that’s all. I felt like you were always in my face, in every corner that I turn. I was too special to share the stage with anyone let alone a kid who is as smart and pretty as you were. I was glad that you were in the play “Half an Hour in the Convent” with me and my friends. You were the rebel and I had the opportunity to hurl hurtful words at you, at the behest of the playwright and director. We exchanged dialogues that stung in the name of theater. Boy did I love it! And we all got "Best Drama Performers” for that production.

In 2007, you came to a dinner I was hosting in Manila for our mutual high school friends. This was thirty six years after high school. I was very surprised to find my old nemesis, or what I imagined her to be. Little did I know this reunion was going to be a beginning…

You were speaking softly and you sounded so genuine that I had to tell you, “Oh you really are sweet!”, and meant it. I thought your demeanor in high school was just a put on. How wrong I was. You were smiling and was genuinely pleased to see me and the others. I was floored!

In 2010, my husband and I went to Australia and you made plans to see us and take us around Sydney. You and your husband took us to the wineries and we had a lovely time together. During the trip, you shared so many poignant memories of your youth, your struggles and your triumphs that I knew nothing about. I felt so honored listening to your stories.

I am so proud of you, for becoming the woman you are today, a wife and mom, a professional,- a proud and accomplished Filipina. You are not a woman of many words and the few you have to say are wise and insightful. Thank you for considering me worthy of your friendship, you of the exquisite beauty of face, mind, spirit. Thank you for spending time with us while touring your beautiful part of the world. I am proud of you; you show the Aussies how smart Filipinas are!

I wish you well, I wish you the best and from time to time, when you send an email to our group, with your exquisite Tagalog, I wish we could be teen-agers again, but instead of being rivals, we would be in the same team. We could be part of a clique, the “intellectual snobs” and impenetrable clueless fools, aware of our intelligence and looks and nothing else. In retrospect, had we been friends in high school, Jaime Garces would have probably hesitated to tell me to stop liking him because anyone who is good enough to be a friend of EE must be special. Ahem.

An officer, but a gentleman?

Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff… and it’s all small stuff”


Dear Staff Sergeant,

So many years ago I was madly in love with you. Then you broke my heart into little pieces and stomped on whatever was left of it. But I have always been a survivor. I thank you for 730 days of total joy and 1,825 days of total anger confusion, hurt, resentment, and bitterness - you name the emotion, I went through it. However, I thank you more for the wonderful things you brought out in me. With your encouragement, I relearned to believe in my inner goodness, I started to believe that I am an intelligent and capable human being once more.

At the same time, from you I learned that no one person completes the other. You cheated on me. It was sudden, unjustified, unreasonable, and downright dirty. You were a serial cheater, with the temerity to bring your lover literally a mile or so within my air space. As a result, I walked away from you. I walked away from the life I cherished, from the comfort of its material accoutrements. I decided, amidst the unbearable pain that I do not have to be hostage to a relationship that was based on lies and denials. I burned your memory along with the hundreds of photographs that bore witness to our relationship. I found my inner strength and loved again, and again, and yet again.

Thank you for your loving me those years; I loved you back. Thank you for staying as my friend, being literally at my side when I met the next person who I will forever love unconditionally. My son is an amazing gift that I received. No BMW, no tickets to Europe, Gucci purses or $150 silk blouses or trinket can equal the joy I get when I see him smile, when he kisses me and tell me “I love you, Mom.”

Now I will recall how it ended for its sheer tragi-comedy the time when our mutual beloved friend Joel tried to get us talking “civilly” to one another. He wanted us to break up amicably. He took the whole day off, shopping for dinner at his apartment. When we got there, the table was nicely set. He poured wine for us. Joel was going to facilitate this “summit.” The goal was to let us talk without getting too emotional so we can come to a place where we can at the very least be friendly. I pulled out my “To Talk About” list. I had about 15 items on it. I had it in an outline form, even. Always the listener in the relationship, you allowed me to start reading off the list.

Item 1: You had me leave my job to spend three months in Europe with you and you were having an affair with a maid? Are you fucking with me? Do you know that you hurt me and insulted me and you….

You started defending yourself and Chairman Joel could not get a word in.

Item 2: You took your paramour to Paris in a private car in a fast train? How dare you? You treated her like a queen, asshole, and I have not been back to the USA for a fucking week? Was it my money that paid for that too? Asshole!!!

You started cutting me off. Chairman Joel had his arms as if trying to separate us.

We were getting louder and on each other’s face and I was just getting started. In an instant, I hurled a pork chop at you. You grabbed and threw a piece of broccoli at me. I returned the energy by hurling green beans at you. Oh, but we must have still loved each other at that point because we did not throw flatware at each other yet… But I upped the ante and dumped a whole bowl of rice on your plate. “You are insane!” I said, “I am insane and you are a lying dog father!” I even surprised myself. That was a new one. You said, “You are a whore! You make me sick!” Ok I admit, I am bad when it comes to idioms and such. I said, “Asshole! A pot cannot say that to the kettle!” I caught you and Joel looking at each other. I dumped beautiful, steamed jasmine rice on your plate. “Pig, tangina mo! Eat the whole stupid thing, sige!” All my hurt, my venomous pain released like water coming out of clogged gutters. I fight to win.

I threw wine at you. Red fucking wine. Joel’s one and only white linen tablecloth messed up, you looked at Joel apologetically. He was by now yelling at us, “Hoy, tumigil kayong dalawa. Stop it. Normita, bruja, sit down!” You took your glass of water, always the neat freak, and threw it at no one in particular. Then you raised your hands in resignation. You grabbed my list, tore it up and threw it in the air like some confetti then you headed for the door. I grabbed the last piece of pork chop and threw it at you but you already closed the door. "Just say your'e fucking sorry! Oh my God!" But you were gone. From my life.   Joel looked at me and said, “Leche kayo, ang mahal pa naman ng pork chops ko!” (Damn you two, those pork chops are expensive!).


Later, we both moved on and reconnected briefly. Thank you for allowing me to be your friend, even if only on my own terms. I apologize for the scenes I made, hurtful words I hurled at you, scaring the hell out of your other girlfriends, sorry for the water or wine I splashed at your face in anger. I no longer cared if you never talk to me ever again but thankful that you called me on two occasions 1) to ask for my contribution to your charitable endeavor; 2) to say hi just because. The worst part was my inability to recognize your voice. I thought a hobbit was calling me, or that midget on Fantasy Island saying “The plen, the plen!”

Admittedly, I must have hurt you as well when I told you that I was leaving. You just did not get it that your military assignment did not give you the right to sleep around. Our soap opera had to have a final chapter. In ours, the heroine, (that would be me) left with her Gucci purses, Spiegel silk blouses, Chanel No. 19 perfume, and her Saab and some cash. You told me I would regret it. That I would obviously not choose a Honda over a Mercedes. Fuck you! I don’t stay for stuff. I can buy my own.

You prevented me from taking anything with me. Even furniture I bought from my own money. Nevertheless, “up yours,” I say when angry. I grabbed the first thing I could, a four-feet tall candelabra, got out the door and that was all I took with me. I realized how comical I must have looked, dragging it all the way to the lobby. I still have it; it is a reminder of that moment that I gave you up. “Keep every god damn thing in this house, this one is mine.”

It has been thirty years since I met you, twenty three since we had broken up. I have stalked you, embarrassed you, missed you, loved and hated you. I told myself that I would be healed, that my goal is to become indifferent. I prevailed. Merci beacoups for your acts of kindness to me and my son. You are actually a lovable person, you are. You are a parent of a young son now. I sensed the pride in your voice when you talk about him. I wish you and your wife a long life. Bitch. You are both too old to have a kid in grade school, seriously. Bastartd. I cannot resist the dig. Sorry.

"I braved a hundred strorms to leave you. As hard as you try, no I wll never be knocked down." ( from Turning Tables, sung by Adele)

Chihuahua Kisses and Broken Dreams...

Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author of Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, and it is all small stuff…



Dear Edwin Alimbuyugen,

You are one of those skeletons in my closet, my very dark secret, that I was forced to disclose during my first high school reunion eight years ago. One of my very best friends, asked me “After Bob Abada, how can you choose Edwin of all people? We expected more from you.” “Like who, Bogs Adornado?” Oh, dear God. I am sorry Edwin but I really have to be mature now so here I ‘fess up.

Thank you for teaching me about French kissing, practicum. Was that kiss good as a croissant with cheese and guava jelly in it or what? Or was it like hot pan de sal with a dollop of Anchor butter on it? Was it sweet as a ripe mango, fallen from the tree? Or picked up from the ground, perhaps? I remember it to be as good as a horror movie when you do not know if the monster is going to grab you from behind. It was exciting. However, it had no flavor. None whatsoever. Flat as black decaf. Thank you for turning me into a closet bona-fide sinful shameful slut on the night of our senior prom. Not that it was such a bad thing when I think of it now! It was good like a veinti, double espresso, with room, wings, jesus christ whatever!

We went to the “lover’s lane” behind the Administration Building of my future university in Diliman, Quezon City. We found a bush to hide behind so we could make out. Alas, the security guard found us ,and shining a flashlight on us like some freaking military police, we were caught in the act of Making Out 101, all wet kisses that made me feel like I was being licked on my pimple prone cheeks by a Chihuahua my mom owned, Breeze or Tide they were named, while you groped “below the neck and above the waist.” That’s it! BUSTED!

My dreams were about to get squashed. But dreams, I found out were only as high as what you have in your pocket so you paid up the avenger short Filipino security guard so he would not call my parents to tell them that I was going to marry the first boy who kissed me and touched “below my neck and above my waist.” Mahabaging Dios! (Merciful God)

That evening, I became a sinner in the eyes of God, the UP Oblation (Oble), UP prexy SP Lopez, and in the eyes of the little man that had a whistle, a baton, and a badge that identified him as an avenger of sixteen-year-old hormonal boys and girls. He probably prevented me from being an unwed mother whose dream of becoming a diplomat, lawyer, doctor, political science major, drama queen was compromised that evening of my prom. Whoever that little man was, I thank him, honestly.



Anyway, back to you Edwin. We stopped seeing each other after that incident and would largely ignore each other or pretend we did not know each other after that. After all, you were not deserving of being BFF. You were a jock and that was all and horny. Yes. That too. In the meantime, I was destined for bigger things –let us see, like being a student activist and a B student at the state university of the republic for which the Filipino flag at that time stands. Kind of earth shattering success at that point, right?

Thanks to you, the next time I made out with another boy, I was already aware of what a proper kiss must be and you also taught me to be picky when it comes to boys. None of these boys with a Beatle haircut and none of these awful last names that sound like a frigging bumble bee. None like you, sorry Edwin. Because I tell you, I would not be changing my name to Bumblebee or Buzzword in this lifetime or the next.

I have not seen you and we will probably continue to ignore each other when we see each other again. You were a kind young man, I really should not disrespect you. I hope you pursued your dream of becoming an engineer. I hope you have a good life with children that adore you and a wife who loves you like I love my husband. Please keep your mouth shut about that incident because it was not a big deal. When I disclosed this secret to my friends, and I tell you we were in our forties, they all told me it was lame. Not when you are sixteen years old and you are playing tonsil hockey with a boy, or another girl for that matter!!

I found an “Edwin” on the Web. Could this be you??!!

Letters of Gratitude

I have a copy of  Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...and its all small stuff by Richard Carlson, Ph.D.  I read a page every now and then and one day he suggested that one should write a letter of gratitude to someone dead or living or something.  I thought it is a brilliant idea and thus, I promised to write as many as I can before I become compost.  So in the following postings, you will be reading them, numbered in no order of importance, although I try to go chronologically. They are also found on my Facebook page (Munam Goodwin Villorante): Here we go:






1st Letter of Gratitude:


Dear Miss Reyes, my 2nd-grade teacher,


Thank you for letting me take countless water fountain breaks, you must have sensed my dread of learning English then. Thank you for letting me learn it on my own terms and for being supportive when I say amazing sentences like "I like to become an atay-at- low sum day!" I finished at the top of my class despite your telling my Dad and writing on my report card that: "She is very intelligent but very very, very talkative in class. She will be an atty-at-law someday." Seriously?


2nd letter of gratitude:


Dear Jose, my classmate in 2nd grade.


You bullied me & taught me to fight back. I still remember you had front teeth extending all the way to the Rock of Gibraltar. I hope you succeeded enough to afford to have them braced. I always remember you with amusement. You made fun of my provincial accent, I having been transplanted to Manila from Central Luzon. You pushed and shoved me on the playground until I learned to push back and made fun of your teeth! So Bozo, if you are still alive, let's have a discussion, in Spanish!


3rd Letter of gratitude:




Dear Miss Piedad Gomez, my 3rd grade teacher,


You were 95% bitch, 3 % dictator, and 2% educator. You screamed your lungs out at us for no reason at all. You emotionally battered the whole class. I do not remember what I learned from you. My friend reminded me that you taught us water therapy- to drink water as soon as we wake up. Now I know why you taught us that: either to clear our heads from our nightmares of you, or so we could all pee our pants when you scream at us at 8:00am: QUIET! GET YOUR BOOKS OUT!!”

Forever and a day, your'e in my Heart to Stay - ode to Jessie

I miss you night and day


I miss you everyday,


... But I will think of you, as though you're just away


Are you smelling heaven's flowers,


Are you chewing on heaven's grass?


And then throw up by the heaven's door,


And make the angels laugh?



Miss ya, miss ya, miss ya!


Bojo misses you a lot too;


He looks at me as if to say,


Now it is me and you.


Grandma Goodwin and the Orlovs


Sent cards with funds to honor you,


To Morris Animal Foundation


To help kittens and stray dogs too.

 Is it ok, my dearest Jess if I adopt another you?


I'll call him Jesska "two," I'm sure he'll talk like you,

Bojo will have a brother, a tomcat sweet as you,


And I will love him just as much but never more than you!

Hover around me Jessie, I love you forever and forever...

Jessie, "Goodnight, not goodbye, with 7 kisses for luck..."

I took Jessie, my family’s 9 year-old kitty to the Veterinary Hospital yesterday.  He is in the equivalent of DC’s Children’s Hospital for pets. As I sat him on my lap wrapped in his blanket, I stroked his head gently and kept telling him that I am getting help for him, that he would soon be back to normal.  After a half hour of waiting, I got restless.  I put him back in his carrier and told the receptionist that I was leaving because I cannot make my cat comfortable in their waiting room.  The receptionist face turned stern. “Okay, you will just leave.  Let me tell them.” She went to the back. “I will follow up with calling for an appointment tomorrow but my cat is not comfortable. I will take him home.”  I rushed him to this hospital on an emergency basis; Jessie has not eaten or drunk in the past three days and I was starting to feel claustrophobic and helpless in the sterile examination room and no one has even peeked at my cat except the intake technician.

Finally, a vet technician came into the room. “Hi, I am so sorry, we are just swamped as there are many pets that are sick.” “I am sorry too, “ I said, my voice starting to break. “I normally would wait but I did not bring my cat here for a diagnosis. My cat has been diagnosed with a tumor in his nasal passage.  That was just two days ago and we were referred to a surgeon in this hospital.  I have not made his appointment yet but my cat has not eaten or drunk in three days and my goal today is for you to just hydrate him.  Then I will take him home, get him out of your way of treating your other patients and call for an appointment with one of your specialists tomorrow.”  “No, you don’t have to do that.  I will now take him to the back so a doctor can look at him immediately.”  She took Jessie in his carrier. I got out of the examination room to sit in the lobby and I took a seat facing the gloomy day outside. I could not keep my tears from flowing.  How could I have not paid attention more closely to him?  Why did I think he was just having a cold?  It was my son who said, “Mom, you need to take Jess to the vet, look at him!” 

In the late summer of 2002, we decided to adopt cats from the Montgomery County Humane Society. After being screened to make sure we would be fit pet adoptees, we were given clearance to adopt.

We first adopted a brown tabby whom my son named Bojangles or Bojo for short. He kept howling on our way home. I turned to my husband and said, “Turn the radio on to classical music. It will calm him down. I did that for Kris when he was a baby.” He changed the station to classical. And it calmed Bojo down. Bojo was so small and fragile and we took him away from his litter. He would not eat.  I mashed his food in a garlic press and wet it. I put him on my lap and made him smell the concoction from my hand.  He started eating.  When my husband (HB) came home, I proudly showed him that I was able to feed the kitten.  Then HB said, “He is purring. You made him purr. He is happy.”

I have not had an up close and personal relationship with cats.  When I was growing up, my mother would always have a couple of cats and dogs. We would always know that she was talking to them; lecturing them, or complaining to them or telling them something funny.  I was too self centered to even care what those pets meant.  Then I became a Mom and all the skills I have learned in taking care of an infant came into play in being a pet parent.  I whisper sweet nothings to them, I sing to them, I speak foreign languages to them. My husband begged me to stop speaking Chinese with the cats, "You are driving them and me crazy." That ended my goal of speaking Mandarin but it is okay, "wo hen hao" anyway.

Two weeks later, we went back to get a brother for Bojo.  There was a litter of grey kittens and one of them was tagged “Sateen.” We decided to adopt it.  When we came back the next day, the tag was not attached anymore and we were not sure who Sateen was anymore but we picked whom we taught was our Sateen.  He was so tiny and helpless and we took him home and named him Jessie after a Dutch friend of ours.  I did not know that in their world, Bojo was the dominant one.  One day, we came home and our son was very upset. He said through tears, “Bojo keeps beating up on Jessie.”  Jessie would hide behind doors; only about four inches long, and a few pounds, he was hissing with all his might to keep Bojo away.  I saw Bojo literally sat on Jessie while he ate. Thereafter, he would let his brother eat only after he is done eating. 

Then came Thanksgiving that year.  Both Bojo and Jessie have been growing and with that, we all fell in love with them.  They were loving, warm, playful. I gladly let them literally walk all over me while I slept.  Bojo chose my HB as his human, Jessie chose me, and they both loved our son.  I have seen either cat riding on my son’s shoulder while he played video or curled in a “nest” in between his legs while he watched TV.  Jessie would go on top of my chest every morning, kiss me gently on the face and extend his paw to lightly pat me.  He woke me up every day, my personal cat alarm.  We took them to their vet for neutering.  They both got out of that procedure valiantly.

 The day after the procedure, we heard an awful commotion in the kitchen. I rushed to the kitchen and saw Jessie, hanging and choking from a grocery bag that contained a whole frozen turkey in the sink.  He was trying to get the turkey, which was heavier than he was and he slid and got caught in the bag’s handle.  My husband said, “Jess, you just survived surgery and now you are trying to commit suicide!”  I have caught him carrying a grocery bag with a whole cauliflower in it or a tupperware bowl in a bag.  I was never sure what he was trying to do with these conquests. HB said that when we move out of our house someday, we would find things that we thought we  have lost put away somewhere by our cats. I have not given up on finding my dental guard someday.

My brother-in-law Nick and his wife Sarah and kids came to spend Thanksgiving with us.  With them came their cat, Taz, legendary for his alpha attitude.  Nick was proud to say that Taz will not back down from anyone.

The moment Taz entered our house, he made it known that he does not care about Bojo or Jessie. He climbed on a chair and pummeled Bojo and Jessie on the head.  Earlier on, we knew Jessie is just a laid back, “I am just happy to sit here” type of fellow. Bojo on the other hand, would not take it lying down under any circumstances. After being pummeled too many times, he took on Taz and boy did he chase him out.  Taz started to hide under the bed.  Bojo was openly challenging him.  The next morning, Nick said, “Well, Bojo slept with us.  I don’t know where Taz is but this morning Taz was looking at me like saying to me ‘not only did you let him beat me up, you had to sleep with him too!’”  I felt a certain satisfaction realizing that Bojo was “da man.”  HB told me not to say anything to Nick as his pride might have been bruised that his alpha cat was trumped by our kitten.  Go Bojo!  In the meantime, through it all, Jessie was just an onlooker, “Cool. What is going on? Huh? They are fighting? Really?”

Seasons changed; our son went to middle school, high school, then college.  We never noticed that our cats were getting to be adults.  They welcome us when we come home, they respond to their names being called,  we have them with us in our bed, in our lives.  We stroke them, watched them, took photos of them, and told stories about them. They suffered through winters with us without power, enjoyed summers with us with my bringing in pollen laden flowers from my little garden.

In July 2011, we took them for their vaccinations.  Shortly thereafter, Jessie started sneezing with his right eye looking swollen. We took him to a nearby Vet who diagnosed him with a virus.  He was prescribed antibiotics and a supplement to fight the virus. After a two week regimen, he did not get well. He was getting worse.  I read up on the virus and came to realize that it may not be the virus after all.  He has started to make awful sounds like he wants to expectorate but could not.  I told my husband, “I do not believe the virus diagnosis anymore. That virus sheds in three weeks and it is now past a month.  Something is wrong.” He said, “Give his body time to fight it.”  But it has taken this long to fight and maybe he needed help in fighting it. HB said, “Okay, take him to his original vet if it makes you feel better.” I did not want to feel better. I wanted Jessie and I both to feel better.  I cannot let him fight this solely on his ow, I should be his advocate.  I took him to the Vet on Friday, December 30, 2011.  My husband left that same day to spend a week with his family in New England.

The diagnosis stunned me and my husband.  “He does not have a respiratory problem. He has a mass growing in his right nostril, that is why he could not breathe properly. This can be a just a benign polyp but it can also be cancer.” When they took Jessie to be x-rayed, I felt an immeasurable sorrow for my helpless cat.  I am his spokesperson, his caregiver, his advocate. How could I have not been more observant? When Dr. Salazar returned, she showed me how to forcefeed him. She was very kind and told me that he has to eat to prepare him for what lies in the future for his treatment plan.

His lungs came out clear. All other tests came out fine except for that growth.   Dr. Salazar told me to take Jessie to a specialist in a specialty pet hospital as her clinic is not equipped to deal with his problem. “It is not an emergency.  So you can call them for an appointment.”  Never tell a pet parent or a parent that their pet or child’s aliment is not an emergency.  I wondered if she thought that I would end up euthanizing Jessie so that anything I do for him is not an emergency to allow our family to spend more time with him.

As I started to drive out of Dr. Salazar’s veterinary hospital,  the reality that we might lose him hit me like a ton of bricks. I stopped the car on the shoulder and I turned around to Jessie.  “I am so sorry Jessie. We will get you some help. I will never let you down.” I cried all the way home.

I called the group of specialists’ office as soon as we got home but it was after office hours on a holiday weekend and the surgeon will not be in until January 2, 2012, Monday.  I kept Jessie comfortable. He loves sitting on my lap when I sit on the recliner.  In the last weeks,  I have rushed to get home so that I could just sit there and stroke him.  This time, as he moved from the couch to me, my heart was filled with such sadness and love for him. Bojo, kept circling about and I apologized to him because I was neglecting to give him attention but I know that he sensed that something was not right with his brother.  When he sees me force feeding Jessie, he would go near him, put his nose next to Jessie’s face and groom him. He would then look up at me as if asking me to explain what is going on. 

Saturday passed with Jessie hiding under the bed or on my lap to be stroked.  At times he woulf lift up his head and look at me.  I would stroke his head and tell him I love him and that help is on the way. I read that animals in the wild hide when they are weakened to prevent predators from attacking them. He would not eat nor drink.  Only a few days ago, he would jump at the opportunity to have his treat of chicken breast. Now, he largely ignored it.  He would not touch the food the Vet gave for sick cats.  I had to “torture” him by forcing it into his mouth. I could never do this without thinking that I was an abusive pet parent. I would start shaking after each feeding. 

 I spent hours on the web researching about cancer, polyps, malignant growths and the hits were all depressing. I was on denial.  I want to believe that it was just a polyp. Why did the Vets who diagnosed him with respiratory problem not see the growth? I learned that this growth multiply within days, they are vicious, fast and furious. 

I also learned that Terror Taz died from the same ailment; only his parents put him to sleep. When my husband told me this, I simply would not accept it to be Jessie’s fate. “I cannot kill Jessie. I have promised him that I would not let him down. I want to give him a fighting chance.”  My husband said, “We will.  You take Jessie as soon as possible and you let them do what is necessary to take it out.’  I felt a lot better knowing that my husband is with me all the way on this one.  He lost a pet years ago before we met and he had the Vet put him to sleep. He understood the emotions I was going through.  Jessie is part of our family. He is our sweet Jessie. Then HB said something, “Taz was so dehydrated that even if the vets could do anything for him, they could not find a vein to put meds in.”  My antennae was up.  After I heard that, I started to think quickly. If I waited until Monday, two days later, Jessie might not be a good candidate for surgery anymore so I decided to call the hospital and said “My cat has not eaten nor drunk in the last couple of days. He has a diagnosis that needs to be surgically taken care of in your office. Meantime, he is getting dehydrated.” “Bring him over. He will be taken in. That is an emergency.”  I grabbed my purse, wrapped Jessie in a blanket, took his carrier and off we went. The Mercedez was going in an imaginary "auto bahn." I was flying on Route 270. If a cop sees me, I swear I would be able to convince him to escort me to the Vet. Then, Jessie who was whimpering earlier was silent.    I could not see him from the rearview mirros so I said, “Jessie?” Then his little voice came out an impish “Meow..”  That is my Jessie. He talks.  He responds.  He wants me to know he is near. He was curled up behind me in the driver’s seat. I reached out to stroke his head.  “I love you, Jess.”

“Hi,  are you  Jessie’s mom?” “Yes” I answered through my tears.  “I am Dr. Sanders. Let us go back to the exam room.” We sat down.  “I am sorry that you had to wait. We have so many patients.” “Doctor, I apologize for my behavior.  I am desperate.  My cat is not here for an examination. He has a diagnosis. He has a growth in his nostril.  My goal today was only for you to give him some nutrients through an IV. Then I am willing to make an appointment with the surgeon. I am sorry I had an attitude earlier.” I wept.  “I understand completely. Don’t worry about it. I am also sorry.  We will hydrate him.  We are admitting him today. ” 

She continued, "Jessie has a tumor on his right side and it may be cancer.” “What made you say it is cancer?”  “Because it is asymmetrical.  If it is an infection, then his whole face would be swollen and also he does not have a fever that will tell us it is an infection.”  It may also ba a fungal infection. Both of them are hard to treat and sometimes cancer is easier to treat.  “There are options.” “Doctor, I need for you to do everything possible to get it out.”  “Okay. When it is taken out, it can be cancerous and there will be ways to treat it. There is chemotherapy, radiation… or we can just take it out to help him breathe better.”  “Yes, just help him out of this and my husband and I will discuss what further treatments we will get for him. I cannot bear seeing him suffer this way.”  “I have another question for you and I want you to please take a moment to think about it.”  I nodded. “He can die while on the operating table. Would you like us to rescucitate? There are two types of rescucitation. One is outside of his chest and one where we open the chest to get his heart going…” “If you were my sister, Doctor Sanders, what would you advise me?” She put her stethoscope on her lap and looked at it. Then she looked at me,  “It is a very personal and difficult decision but I will not open my pet.”  “Thank you, Doctor. That is my decision. No opening of Jessie’s chest.”  I said, “Let him go peacefully if he does not respond to outside rescucitation,”my emotions betraying me.  She handed me a box of Kleenex.  “Alright. Let me note it down here.  Doctor Saylor will be the one doing the procedure.” “How much is the procedure going to cost?”  “It will be from four thousand to five thousand dollars.”  “Okay,  do it. I will pay the down payment today.”  She said, “My first cat was like your cat. He was grey like Jessie.  A grey tomcat, he was the cat.  He is the reason why I became a vet.”  I smiled through my tears.  “I love Jessie, I cannot let him die without a fight, Doctor. “I understand completely.” Then she asked me if I wanted to see Jessie before I leave.

She brought him out.  He looked fine; he did not look like he wanted to go anywhere. It seemed like he felt that now he is in good hands.  I kissed him many times, whispering to him, “Did I not tell you I would not let you down, that I would get you help? Here it is, okay?”  As I turned to the receptionist, I said to her, “I appreciate you. Thank you very much.”  I turned away, with Jessie’s blanket and the carrier with me. I wept like I have already lost him. I called my son from the car to tell him that Jessie is in the hospital. He texted me, “Mom, Jessie is going to be taken care of now.  That is a good thing, I am glad he is in there. Please promise me that you will now rest.”  I started to drive out of the parking lot.  I have a vision that Jessie will come out of it, healthy and purring in my lap, thinking “What’s the big deal? You are such a drama queen.”

I called my husband and he was relieved to hear that Jessie was admitted. Then I started negotiating “against myself.” “This is going to cost a lot and I am willing to pay for it from my own savings…” Before I could even finish, HB said, “What’s good about being financially off if we cannot pay a couple of thousand dollars for Jessie? I know it is going to cost that much. Don’t worry about it. Jessie is a sweet cat.” Indeed. Jessie is worth more than a few thousand dollars. 

Jessiebobo, please hang in there.  You are going to be okay.  I promise.

---My son and I visited him tonight, Jan 2, 2012.  He was hooked to an IV and is on pain killers.  He looked up at us when he heard our voices. We stroked him and told him we love him.  He purred. I asked him if he was okay in Spanish, my crazy way of holding small talk with him.  I put out the shoestring that he and I play with. He grabbed it eventhough his grasp was weak. That touched me deeply.  He's stable. We were not.  We were tearfully telling him that we want him back home.  Finally, I whispered to him that tomorrow is his turn to kick butt.  Tomorrow is primetime for our beloved Jessie.  We are rooting for him. Go Jess! Go Jess! Good boy!

-Jessie has an aggressive form or sarcoma. His prognosis is death within 3-6 months.  However, the surgery gave us those months and we took a chance to allow him to spend those months with us, full of love until the end.  He has an enlarged heart according to the cardiologist. His heart is so big that it is not able to contain all the love he gives and receives.  He survived the risk of his heart giving out during surgery.  I went to visit him at the hospital last night January 3, 2012. I stroked him and offered him his string. He tried to extend a paw to touch it. Then I touched him under his chin and he purred. I started singing You Are My Sunshine to him, all the Beatles Song that meant a lot to me I sang to him. All of a sudden, I started singing an old song that used to move me deeply...and I quote, "Hey, look what you have done, showing me the sun, and now it's coming through, it's nice to be with you...Each time that I give my heart to someone new, they just turn it blue. But this time is my time, and it's all the time I have to be with you...So please, never go away, say you'll always stay, and make my dreams come true. It's nice to be with you..."

I have taken a chance on Jessie and I am preparing for the inevitable...it can be next week but like my good friend Richard said, "Life is about taking chances..." I kissed Jessie seven times for good luck before I left, whispering that I would come back to get him home the next day.  He looked fragile but otherwise still sweet and handsome.  I came home and explained to Bojo what was going on. He then ran upstairs and started howling...What do we know about  creatures small?

--

With the heaviest of hearts, Scott, Kris,& I decided yesterday, January 15, 2012, that Jessie is not getting better despite the surgery and the medications. He played with his string, ate a little baby food and yogurt but he has not been drinking and he is on steroids and pain killers. He was animated after the medications were given to him but we knew this is not how we would love him live the end of his life. We recorded him as we knew him, playing with us, eating, meowing in response to our conversation with him.

We said our last goodbye to our beloved cat Jessie at 10:15pm Washington, DC time, January 15th,  at the VCA Specialty Hospital family room. As he laid on his favorite blankie, comforted simultaneously by Scott and me, we told him how much we loved him, kissed him goodbye, thanked him for all the wonderful years he spent with us, whispering how much we would miss him, how much I loved and will always love him. As we did so, his doctor put him to sleep peacefully, free from his pains at last. We continued to tell him we loved him until we could not feel any movement from him anymore...

Jessie, we will always love, remember, & miss you...Jessiebobo, tu sabes que te amé mucho y que te amo ya, y te amo para siempre; que te voy extraño muchisimo, que dios te bendigas mi gatito preciosisimo. Duerme bien, mi amor. Siempre, siempre, siempre, te prometo a ti mi corazon, siempre, Jessie... You will always be in our hearts and I expect you to hover around me and in your favorite spots in the closets...

I LOVE YOU, come home.

Wrong Spell-ing!

I started to watch a DVD I bought on sale. It is called “Practical Magic.” It reminded me of a phase in my younger years when I believed that I was destined to be a high priestess. I read astrology and fortune telling books I could get my hands on, marked a deck of poker cards so I could tell which one is upside down (position having different meaning) and made it my business to read my sisters’ fortune. I am sure they were humoring me but it was always fun to say “You will get a letter today, well maybe if not today tomorrow or next week.” Then the electric bill comes and I could say, “I told you, you would get mail.” My sister Cora was my loyal client. Both she and I believed in the cards’ meaning.”You will receive some money and your boyfriend loves you.” My Dad sent her $10 and her boyfriend probably told her he loved her! I know because she absolutely believed what I told her. “You will hear news today about a certain man.” The news said that President Marcos declared martial law. I kept my deck of cards under my pillow and willed it to be truthful. I kept my fortune telling book hidden as the non-believer might jinx it. I read up on spells.



One of the spells called for a strand of hair and an egg. Bury the hair of the person in the egg and then bury the egg in dirt where the person might be passing through. Someone told me that she tamed her husband that way. I think the egg is a good fertilizer and maybe the guy would stop to admire the flower that hides the egg underneath. In turn, he is nice to his wife for the healthy garden they have. Another is to take a photo of your crush, and say some abracadabra to it and put it under your pillow. I did this many times and the guys never paid me any attention. The ones that gave me attention, oh well, once they found another girl, they dropped me like a hot potato. No amount of spell could undo that! And also Paul McCartney did not know I existed.


Later on, I learned a spell from my Persian neighbor, Azzam. I went to her apartment one day to have tea and it smelled like she was having a kabob, minus the lamb. I asked her what she was doing and she told me she was casting a spell. She was casting a spell so that her ex boyfriend would give her back the Volvo he used to let her drive. I think she had a buzz because I could not understand what she was saying; maybe she was saying the spell in Farsi but I was convinced that I would burn the building down if I do the same thing. First I get 7 pieces of charcoal briquets. Then I light it when they turn into embers, I get a pinch of salt and say my spell “Oh powerful fire of the universe, go get (here you can name a certain individual) him to love me with all his heart and soul; make him marry/shack up/date me (choose one). “


You can also be very specific in your spell as you sprinkle the sea salt over the briquets as follows:“Oh powerful fire of the universe, make (NAME) give me a condo/townhouse/Gucci watch and purse/Acura/jewelry from Zales/gift certificate from Bloomingdales as symbols of his love for me.” Whatever... Okay, it may sound like a bunch of baloney, but it was really fun doing it with this gorgeous Persian drunk friend of mine!


I tried it and I ended up with granules of charcoal on my nice dining table. I was asking the universe to align the stars so that I would meet some prince disguised as a frog. Instead, I met some toads. And oh by the way, Azzam’s ex boyfriend offered me a Jaguar and a condo unit at Skyline if I would marry him. I respectfully declined the invite. I think Azzam confused the gods of spells and inserted my name on the template. I also told him that it was rude to ask to marry the friend of your ex. Kodah Hafez. (Chao!) I actually met someone during the time of my charcoal briquets spell lessons. I was driving to my ballet class and I almost rammed into a Metrobus. I stopped my car and this guy in a Rolls Royce, I am not kidding, stopped to ask me if I was okay. I was. But he followed me all the way to my condo community. The guards let him in; they probably concluded that he had to be a nice guy driving a Rolls for crying out loud. He told me his name was George Pappas. He said he was looking for someone to spoil; said he was an architect who just arrived from Saudi Arabia. I concluded that either Mr. Pappas was a butler, chauffer, or a cousin of Ted Bundy, a serial killer with good looks. I thanked him and told him I am okay; I did not invite him in, we did not exchange information, and after he left, I complained to the guards that they allowed someone without authorization to go through the gates. The epilogue in Mr. Pappas was that, I actually googled him a few minutes ago. Every George Pappas in cyberspace either looked like Reverend Sun Yung Moon; there is one who owns a “Quality Lawn Care”; one is a “Sub-lease optometrist at Sears Optical.”


Back to spells: I once had a very good friend named Molina. She liked this guy Vincent. One day, I told her that she should cast a spell on Vince. “Will it work?” I said, “You never know.” The spell called for her burning a strand of her hair in putting it in his food. “Then what?” she asked. “Then, that’s it. He will fall madly in love with you! You will be part of his body.” “Is this forever?” “Well, the point is whether you are ready to be with him. I am not really sure how long his intestines are. You know, it will travel and the spell is inside him!” She said, “You are crazy!”


A few days later, she told me that she had invited Vincent and his friend Pepe to have dinner in her place. I was invited so that we could learn how to dance Brazilian. We had the best “bacalao” a la Portuguesa, white wine, plenty of laughter and dancing. Then Molina whispered, “Now is the time.” I said, “Okay, go do it!” She made coffee in the kitchen, came back and passed the coffee in dainty, cream-colored cups. Then, Vincent complained, “Oh, what’s in my cup? There are black things floating in my coffee.” Mollina looked at me with horror. I said, “That must be the toasted saffron! Quick, give it to me.” I collected it and went with Molina to the kitchen. I was ready to burst with laughter but she gave me a horrified look, so I said, “Quick, it is not too late, spit in his coffee and then come out like normal, ok?” She was frozen with fear. “Molina chica, wake up, you need to spit in the coffee. Come on!” I went back to the living room and pretended like nothing was happening.


Molina came out with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands and handed it to Vince. We all relaxed and drank our coffee, ate the flan, continued the party. After an hour or so, Vincent said they needed to leave and we said our good-byes. I excitedly stayed behind so that Molina and I could go over what happened. “So, I said, tell me, tell me, did you spit in his coffee?” She said sadly, “No, I didn’t.” “Why not?” “I was so nervous that every time I tried to spit in the cup, it landed on the saucer and my mouth started to get dry. I gave up and I decided the coño does not deserve it!” We both started laughing. The damn spell was broken; she was no longer interested in Vincent.



Spells, like my youth, are in the past. Life is charmed to the extent that I work hard to put myself in a position to get the outcome I want. I have been told one time by a palm reader that I have a  huge problem. She recommended that to cleanse me of my problem that we had to buy candles that weighed the same as I did. That would have been 110 lbs when I was in my early twenties. She was going to take the candles to the mountain and form a shape like me and she would melt it to melt my problems away. Really. My editor and I decided that it was going to be the funniest article ever if I actually went through with it. However, our newspaper went out of business before I could write my article on Madam Zorayda. Today, I weigh 130 lbs, bigger me, bigger problem. I need a spell. I do not need to burn candles; rather, I need to burn something else. 

My spell should read, “Oh my ever expanding body, I will it to eat no carb...oh fire of the universe, burn calories like when I was twenty...”