#ALSO did like a full general exam and took a look at his joints and he is in super good health apart from his foot :)

[aidenwaites]

Renfield saw a different veterinarian yesterday and I've always liked the people at this place but this guy in particular was SO great

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 01053: Hardcase (Yet Again)

Kix kept a clean medbay. Not only was it a necessity, but he took pride in cleanliness. He tucked starched sheets under the last medbay mattress and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

The beds were neatly made, sheets and blankets folded to crisp GAR standard. Every medical tool had been sanitized and tucked back into its proper place. Kix had even found time to organize his medical cabinet and desk - as long as one ignored the stack of uncompleted paperwork. The floor shone so uniformly that it almost served as a mirror to reflect the perfection of the rest of the empty medbay.

"Hey, Kix!"

Kix's shoulders immediately shot toward his ears as the peace of the medbay was shattered by a too-familiar voice, and the medic immediately started making his way toward his desk by the entrance.

"Hardcase," he groaned on the way, his view of the hapless trooper blocked by one of the privacy curtains separating the beds from the medbay entrance. "If you come in here any more often, I'm going to start charging you rent for a bed."

Hardcase laughed, but the sound ended in a pained wheeze. Kix stepped around a privacy curtain to find that the trooper was being held up by Appo and Fledge, both of whom were trying to support as much of Hardcase's weight as possible. Kix would have to make a full exam to be sure, but it looked like Hardcase was suffering from what was at very least a severely sprained joint in one leg.

"Put him on the bed, men," Kix ordered, motioning toward the first bed in the neat row.

As they did as Kix had said, Hardcase's eyes closed, his tattooed face tense. When Appo accidentally jostled the leg that seemed to be damaged, Hardcase let out a curse so loud that his voice broke before he could finish it.

With a quick scan, Kix found that Hardcase had a broken leg, a sprained elbow, and no fewer than four fractured ribs. Worse of all, one of the fractures had released miniscule bone shards that were perilously close to reaching one of Hardcase's lungs. If a clone's lungs were injured, there was no attempt at healing them. They were marked for immediate transport to Kamino for reconditioning.

After stifling the urge to throw the datapad that showed the results of the scan, Kix snapped, "What the kriff were you doing that caused this many injuries? Of all the shabiir, or'dinii, jare'la things you've done, nothing's ever been this bad-"

"It wasn't his fault!" Fledge argued, flinching back slightly at Kix's glare. "It wasn't, though!"

Kix turned to Appo for confirmation and the trooper nodded. "We were in the gym and Hardcase was working out on the overhead chest press machine when the cords snapped. All the weights tipped the machine over and they fell out onto him."

Kix shook his head and rested a hand on Hardcase's shoulder. "Sorry, vod. I'll get you something for the pain before we do anything else."

Hardcase nodded, but didn't say anything. Kix couldn't blame him. Judging from the panting he was doing, he was minutes from vomiting or passing out entirely. Though he was grateful, Kix honestly couldn't believe the trooper had avoided doing either so far.

Considering the pain level he was working with, Kix opted to inject pain meds rather than wait for pills to dissolve and enter the trooper's bloodstream naturally. When Hardcase's breathing had slowed, he relaxed into the bed, eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

"Let go, vod," Kix encouraged softly. "I'll take care of everything."

Hardcase nodded again and slipped into something between sleep and unconsciousness.

"What are you going to do?" Fledge asked.

Kix's answer - when it came - was blunt and grim. "There isn't much I can do for him. I'll try using one of the onboard medical droids, but Hardcase might need to visit a hospital on Coruscant."

Appo paled. "Will the Republic pay for him to be treated, or will they just send him back to Kamino?"

"It depends on how much he can heal in that time," Kix answered with a helpless shrug. As the two left the medbay, he could see that they weren't happy with his answer, but Kix was equally unhappy. There was a good reason he didn't use the medical droids that were intended to staff the medbay. Not only did the men respond better to treatment by an organic, but the droids also had a 55% chance of correctly diagnosing and treating a problem. It didn't inspire confidence in anyone, least of all Kix.

He went to the closet that stored the droids and, after the first medical droid had powered up, said, "There's a patient with a broken leg and a sprained elbow. I need you to set the leg and put a wrap on the elbow."

The droid nodded at him and made its slow, plodding way over to the unconscious Hardcase. Kix watched it for a moment, wondering idly why anyone had bothered making a medical droid look so much like an organic when it obviously struggled to move around.

However, he had bigger problems. Kix could loosely bind Hardcase's ribs to help them heal, but the shards were the biggest concern. Even if they didn't continue toward his lungs, they could pose a risk to his heart. Kix was no surgeon and, even if he was, there was danger in performing a surgery on a Republic ship in the middle of the Outer Rim. The 501st was traveling with General Unduli, Commander Offee, and several companies of the 41st Elite Corps, but that didn't make them safe from threats.

Abruptly, Kix had an idea. He left the medical droid treating Hardcase's leg and made his way to Commander Tano's cabin. She opened the door at his knock and stared up at him curiously. "Kix?"

Kix saluted. "Commander Tano. We have a situation in the medbay. Do you know where Commander Offee is?"

"I'm here, trooper," Commander Offee said, stepping up behind Commander Tano.

"What's going on?" Ahsoka asked, retrieving her lightsabers and fastening them to the belts crossed at her hips.

"Medical situation, sir," Kix told her, turning to Commander Offee. "I've seen you Force-heal. Can you do it without supervision?"

"It- it depends on the injury, I think," Commander Offee said slowly.

"I have a trooper with broken ribs and bone chips near one of his lungs," Kix reported. "Could you do anything about that?"

The young Mirialan commander paled to a sickly-looking jade. "Moving solid objects is a challenge. Normally, Force-healing is a gentle internal nudge to speed and guide the body's natural healing processes. Moving bone chips would be dangerous, if not impossible."

Kix pondered that. "Could you build up the cells of the lung to keep it from being penetrated by the shards?"

Commander Offee shook her head slowly. "It would stop the shards from piercing his lung, but it would also put undue stress on it. He would likely find it difficult to breathe and, depending on the severity of the build-up, could cause his body to react in unexpected ways."

There was another thoughtful pause in the conversation until she offered, "Perhaps I could assist while you perform surgery?"

"That's a negative, Commander," Kix refused flatly. "Surgery is too dangerous until we get to the Inner Rim. By then, the Republic may have decided that it's more cost-efficient to replace him."

"Kix!" Commander Tano reprimanded sharply.

Kix shrugged at her. "It's the truth, Commander. The GAR won't put too much money into clone health; we've seen that time and time again."

From Commander Tano's frown, she accepted his explanation but not the practice behind it. "Why don't you just heal the tissue behind the shards and let his body push them back toward his ribs? Then you could fuse them back in and heal his ribs at the same time."

Commander Offee and Kix stared at her in shock until Commander Tano grew visibly uncomfortable. "What?"

"Commander," Kix said slowly, "I could kiss you right now."

"Excuse me?"

Kix turned and saluted in one motion. It had been a good reflex since Captain Rex was walking down the hall toward them, his expression dark.

"Nothing, sir," Kix answered quickly.

"Hey, Rex," Commander Tano greeted cheerfully.

"Commanders, your generals need you on the bridge," Rex told them.

Both Jedi nodded and Commander Tano drew Rex away while Commander Offee murmured, "I'll report to the medbay as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Commander," Kix said fervently.

Rex stayed behind while the young commanders made their way to the bridge. "Trooper, do you have inappropriate feelings for Commander Offee?"

"No, sir," Kix said simply, fighting back a grin.

Rex's face grew, if possible, even more foreboding. "Commander Tano, then?"

This time, Kix chuckled aloud. Ignoring that it was a terrible idea to fall for a Jedi, the entire 501st would cheerfully de-spine the first brother to get inappropriate with Ahsoka. She could take care of herself, but the 501st had seen what General Secura and her men had to put up with and had sworn that no one would speak that way about their commander, not while any of them were around.

Realizing that Rex was still waiting for an answer, Kix said, "No, sir."

Rex relaxed minutely. "I'll be on the bridge, then. How is Hardcase?"

The weight of responsibility crashed back down on the medic's shoulders. "He's out for right now. We'll have to see how well he heals before we get to the Inner Rim."

Rex clapped a hand on Kix's shoulder and left for the bridge.

When Kix got back to the medbay, Hardcase was just beginning to stir.

"Kix?" he asked softly.

Kix was by the bedside immediately. "I'm here, vod."

"Are they gonna send me back to Kamino?"

"No," Kix growled, knowing that the ferocity in his voice was too intense for the situation, but unable to help himself. "We'll find a way to fix everything, Hardcase. I promise."

"Good," Hardcase said with satisfaction, closing his eyes again like he didn't have a care in the world. "I want to die in battle."

Kix laughed dryly. "With your grasp of strategy? I'm sure you will."

With a weak, faux-wounded smirk, Hardcase fell asleep once more. Kix stayed until Commander Offee appeared, Commander Tano in tow.

He gave Hardcase a mild sedative so he wouldn't move too much during the efforts to heal his ribs. It was a slow process, one that left Kix feeling frustrated and helpless as Commander Offee strained and sweated to heal the trooper in ways Kix never could.

All of those ugly feelings disappeared when she stepped away and shot him a weary smile. "His ribs are intact. I helped repair some of the minor fractures in his leg and started the recovery in his elbow. I would like to do more, but I must rest first."

"His ribs are completely healed?" Kix checked, and Commander Offee nodded. "Thank you, sir. I can't tell you how much this means to me. To all of us."

"It was a pleasure to be of assistance," she replied gracefully.

She and Commander Tano left the medbay as Kix offered his thanks once more. He was alone with a sleeping Hardcase and a veritable heap of paperwork, but Kix couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sit by Hardcase's bedside, filled with gratitude toward the Jedi.

---

A/N - if you want to believe this comes after Umbara and Hardcase is still alive, feel free. If you want to believe that Kix mis-numbered his files and Umbara is still exactly as it was in canon, feel free. Whatever works best for you!

[imaginesmai]

Tom Holland-Mushy Pancakes

This is kind of an AU, frat boy Tom, or fuck boy! I hope you like him. I’ve read a lot of au’s about this and mob Tom. Maybe I’ll try the latest soon!

Plot: morning sex and breakfast in bed is the best way to wake up.

Warnings: Half-smut

Tom woke up early. The usual noise that filled his frat house on Saturday’s mornings was non-existent, and he was met with a peaceful silence. His eyes were flurry and his head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Foggy memories of a bottle of jack and a joint in his hand for the most of the night filled his mind, but not in the way they usually did.

Instead of some random chick in his arms, your body was wrapped around his, your legs intertwined and forehead pressed against his back. He smiled because of the events of the previous night, where you two had decided to have a quiet ‘party’, with alcohol, weed and some bad films, just the two of you; not that he needed anything else. Tom didn’t remember having more fun in his life.

“Morning princess” he said, his voice coarse. You didn’t make any signal of hearing him, and he supposed you were still sleep.

Carefully, he pried your arm off his side, the one that had been resting on his belly. You muttered something in your sleep, but quickly became calm when Tom gave you the pillow to hug. Sitting in the bed, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and let the hangover take a few minutes of his morning.

He wasn’t used to being awake that early; yet a lot of things had changed over the past months. After he decided to start a relationship with you, his life style had changed. He was no longer the wild boy that went from party to rave, staying with you cuddling in the couch being his new favourite activity. It wasn’t as if his life was bad before you; some drugs, that now he could share with you, plenty of alcohol and crazy parties with his brothers and friends. With you, it was probably the same; only that he found a meaning to all of that.

Your laugh played on his mind on repeat as he rolled out of bed and padded his way into the bathroom while stretching. After his morning routine, he found himself pretty generous. Or in love. Yeah, he felt, and was, pretty in love with you. So he hurried downstairs into the kitchen and began pulling things out for breakfast.

He was pouring two cups of coffee when the door opened again, and Harrison came around with his batman printed pyjamas.

“Dude” Harrison said confused with a tilted head and a smile. He knew you were staying on their house for the weekend, and didn’t expect seeing Tom out of his room any time soon. A girl over meant not Tom for hours, not doing breakfast for two “Are you… doing breakfast? In pyjamas?”

“Yeah”

The blonde walked across the cold tiles of the kitchen until he was in front of the food. There were pancakes with pieces of fruit around, your healthy ways making your way around the frat house, who were used to take out and cheap burgers. Even little Paddy, when he came around, chose apples over cheetos. The sweet smell of bacon hit his nose, and his stomach growled.

Before he could snatch something, Tom pinched the skin of his hand harshly, and Harrison squealed in pain. A red strain appeared, and he widened his eyes; Tom only smirked.

“Hey!” he cradled his hand on his chest, rubbing the sore spot. “Why did you do that, asshole?!”

“That’s for Y/N”

“And?” Harrison tried to take a piece of fruit, yet his other hand received the same treatment. “Come one! You’re not going to eat all of that!”

“Maybe” Tom shrugged, filling two cups with orange juice.

“Give me something” Harrison whined. “Why can Y/N have breakfast and not me?”

“Do you have tits?”

“W-What?”

“Do you have pussy? Did we fuck last night? Or yesterday’s morning in the shower? Can you-“

“Okay, okay! Shut up, that’s disgusting!”

Tom chuckled and placed the food in two trays. He was silent for a moment and then decided to do something for the first time of his life; taking one of the fake roses one of the boys had picked up to decorate the place, he placed it besides your coffee. After a final look to check that everything was perfect, he picked them up.

“Are you actually going for the breakfast in bed?” Harrison asked, mouth full of cereals. He had one box on his chest, hugging it almost as if he was afraid Tom was going to take that too.

“Mh. We don’t have anything to do today, might spend the day in”

He didn’t wait for an answer, walking out of the kitchen balancing both trays on his arms. Five seconds later, he pushed open the bedroom room and felt a foreign flutter that lead to goose bumps. His eyes fell on your sleeping body, naked back facing him. Some love marks on your neck for last night could be seen too, and feeling only grew bigger.

Tom set the tray down and crawled on the bed, pulling the sheet down and pressing kisses on your smooth skin. You still didn’t move and he smiled, moving his kisses up and down. Finally, he reached your belly and you stirred with a small hum of approval. He moved quickly and positioned himself in front of you, doing his second favourite thing in your relationship; being the first thing you saw when you woke up.

A small grin made its way to your lips, and you opened your eyes slowly.

“Hey” you said, your voice heavy and rough. “What are you doing up?”

“I thought I could give you a treat” Tom pecked your nose, and you giggled.

“Oh, that’s new. Have you done something bad?”

“What? No!” he laughed, and crawled out of bed. Then, he pulled the tray over and placed it over your lap. “Breakfast?”

You propped up at the sound of food, careful to not throw over the trail. A small giggle left your lips, and Tom smiled proudly. He couldn’t decide if he preferred the moans of last night or the giggles in the morning.

“How long have you been up?” you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turned back to face him.

“Not for too long” he said softly, his eyes moving from yours to your lips. He pressed his lips to yours in a quick kiss, before you could moan about bad morning breathe. “Since it’s one of our last weekends exam-free, I thought I could give you a treat”

“Now I feel like Tessa” you joked.

“My two favourite girls, we can go and see her today”

You hummed happily as you crunched on a piece of bacon. Once you took a few sips of your coffee and made sure Tom hadn’t put salt on it as a part of a prank, you picked up your knife and fork and dipped them into what were possibly the fluffiest pancakes you’d ever seen. Bits of banana and blueberry still steamed from your fork and, as you put it in your mouth, you almost moaned at the taste.

Since you had appeared in Tom’s life, he had become much more better at cooking. Nikki said that, if you guys ever broke up, she would have to keep you in a basement to keep his boys healthy. How many wonders could love make.

“You like them?” Tom laughed, his coffee between his hands. “Do you need a moment alone with the pancakes?”

“I might” you nodded savouring each and every bite you took “These-these pancakes would keep the whole town up if you opened a diner. Who would have thought the same boy that set fire to the kitchen boiling water could do this”

Tom rolled his eyes, remembering the first time you met. He was still on his dorm, not in the house, and tried to boil some water to cook something healthy for once. Thirty minutes later, everyone was on the street and the building was on fire. You had sat beside him, had known it had been him and that it could get him expulsed; still, you only smiled when the police asked you and told them it was one of the first floors.

“Will you ever let that go? What do you need? I’m already your personal male escort”

“Yeah, I have Tom Holland as my male escort, what else could I want” you laughed, and pecked his lips.

When you teared away, there was a small piece of blueberry on the corner of his lip. It was a small piece of fruit, something you could have cleaned with the napkin or with the tip of your finger.

There was something you had learned with Tom. He was not only a fuck boy that loved sex more than air to breath, but also that his favourite type of sex was morning one. And that only a look could be enough reason to fuck your brains out.

A lick on his lips to clean the strain of blueberries was more than enough. One minute and forty second later, you were under him.

“I love when you go to sleep naked princess” Tom purred, hands tracing over your stomach before making their way to your breasts, cupping the flesh in his hands. “Gives me perfect access to you.”

His hands massaged your breasts, fingers lightly pinching at your nipples as he peppered kisses along the column of your neck, grinned when you arched your back into his touch, moaning with your lips closed.

“Tom, I’m hungry” you said, yet didn’t get your hand out of his hair. After that, it would be probably full of knots that you would have to undo, while he complained like a baby. Its softness was worthy. “I want to eat, let’s wait until-“

One hand abandoned your breast to skirt down your body, fingertips lightly dancing over the skin, causing gossebumps to erupt in their wake.

“First lesson you taught me in breakfast” he muttered against your neck, his tongue poking out and wetting the spot he was torturing. “Don’t put the syrup too soon unless you want mushy pancakes. Guess we’ll have to be quick”

His fingers glided down your stomach, tracing a line where you panties would had been continuing down over your thighs, around the back of your knee before lifting it slightly, hooking it over his forearm. Your protest didn’t get to leave your mouth as he began to place wet kissed into the skin of your shoulder, grinding his length into your non covered pussy.

“You’re an asshole” you pouted.

Tom peered up at you, striking brown lusted eyes meeting yours before a grin spread over his lips.

“Yeah, an asshole that you love”

A small smile played at your lips as Tom leaned down to kiss you, nothing like the peck you had shared when you had woken up. It was slow and sensual, completely matching the mood of the morning. His lips gliding over yours as his tongue stroked against yours. His hips continued rolling as you mewled into his mouth. He broke the kiss to choke down a moan when your clit hit the tip of his cock, the wetness making him shudder.

“So good” he moaned. “Could be doing this all day”

“No one is stopping you” you nipped at his neck, your hips not stopping. “Although probably the pancakes-“

He interrupted you with another kiss. One of his hands came around to tenderly hold your throat, thumb tracing over your jaw as he pressed just slightly over your pulse point. It was nothing dominating, Tom was over the point to prove anything to you. It was true that he had enjoyed the whole dom and sub play always, but with you it was different.

Tom only wanted to cherish your body and adore every part of it.

“I love you” he whined, wanting to be inside you but needing to make sure it was not fucking. It was him demonstrating you how much he loved you.

“Me too, Tom”

Needless to say, he proved it to you very, very, thoughtfully. What better than morning sex and mushy pancakes?

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Tags:

@delicately-important-trash

[vs-redemption]

who are your favorite top ten my hero academia characters & ships? talk about them! ~tat!

From Cindy: Hello again Tat! Sorry, I’m a little late with posting this. Thank you for being patient. Now I’m wondering about your top ten characters and ships from my hero and black clover now. 

Again, I’m not a huge shipper so I just wrote a few that stand out to me. If anyone wants to know my thoughts or feelings on a specific ship, feel free to ask. I’m pretty much cool with anything as long as it’s legal.

Top 10 BNHA Characters

Shoto Todoroki

Todoroki will always be my precious sweetness. I really don’t think there’s anything I dislike about him. He tried to be a grumpy bean in the beginning but that didn’t last long. I admire him for wanting to be a hero even despite his tragic/horrible upbringing. I mentioned this in a different post, but I’ve really enjoyed watching him develop a sense of self and come to the realization that it is okay to open up and rely on friends. He’s willing to learn and change and grow and that’s amazing. He’s come so far in his relationship with his classmates, and his relationship with his father. I’m very proud of him! Of course, I also love the way he takes everything too literally.

Katsuki Bakugo

Another character I could write an entire essay about. Basically though, I love Bakugo’s raw passion and determination. We all know his personality is a little rough around the edges, causing people to compare him to a villain or question his goal of becoming the best hero. And unlike Midoriya, Bakugo doesn’t have the overwhelming support of family, friends, and even All Might. Despite all that, he never wavers. He continues to run full speed ahead and I admire both his independence and confidence so much. His growth as a character has been incredible too. He’s become more aware of his own shortcomings and the reasons behind them and has tried to improve upon those shortcomings without any prompting from other characters. I also love that he follows the rules and is more responsible than most of the other kids in class 1A. Plus, he can cook!

Tokoyami Fumikage

Underrated badass bird boy. The story focuses heavily on Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugo, but I think people forget that Tokoyami got third place in the sports festival. Without him, Midoriya wouldn’t have even made it to the individual fights that day. I love his admiration of his classmates. It was so cute that he hyped up Denki, recalling the way they’d bonded during the culture festival. Even just the whole thing where he figured out Hawks was in danger and escaped Fat Gum’s fat to go rescue him shows how smart and strong he is. He’s best boy.

Hawks

I know Hawks is a very controversial character, but I’m on the side of supporting him (sorry). When you think of his position when he was first introduced, he was a young, attractive hero in the number two spot with the second highest popularity rating. When he accepts the mission to go undercover with the villains, he agrees to not only put his life in danger, but also give up his reputation and trust with the public. Plus, his dedication to keeping people safe and alive is probably stronger than any other hero. The Hero Commission straight up tells him he’ll have to sit back and do nothing while innocent people get hurt, but he still refuses to let that happen by saving all those people with his feathers during the High-End nomu fight. Plus, he was able to find a way around killing Best Jeanist, and tried everything he could to avoid killing Twice. If you hate him for the things he’s done… I’m pretty sure Hawks is going to hate himself more than anyone else ever could.

Present Mic

Sometimes I forget that Present Mic has a radio show on top of his other duties as a teacher and pro hero. Does this man sleep? His work ethic must be insane. I think I really started getting into Present Mic when Todoroki and Bakugo were doing the makeup license exam. He really could not sit there and watch without providing some commentary. It was cool to see him use his quirk in a real fight during the recent arc. I wouldn’t mind seeing him doing more hero stuff in the future.

Neito Monoma

His chaotic energy brings me mass amounts of joy. Not only that, how could I possibly dislike someone who is so proud and supportive of his own classmates? Does he do it in an obnoxious way? Absolutely. But I can’t fault him for bragging about and advocating for his classmates when he knows they deserve more recognition. Also, can we talk about how amazing it is that he got into a UA hero course at all with his particular quirk? Monoma is a badass and I wish more people agreed with me about that.

Best Jeanist

Best Jeanist is my favorite pro hero. This guy really saw how savage and out of control Bakugo was and said “I really do not want him at my agency but someone has to do something about this…” Also, even when he was face to face with someone like All For One, he didn’t let the fear overtake him and decided to leave himself completely open to the full force of the attack in order to save the lives of all the other heroes around him. I have mad respect for him for having that level of bravery and resolve. Even in the most recent chapters, he shows up after so many heroes struggled and single handedly restrained Machia and the entire league of villains. So cool.

Momo Yaoyorozu

I don’t hype Momo up enough but when I think about all the things she’s done up until now I get really excited about her. I know her confidence took a huge hit after losing to Tokoyami in the sports festival, but she’s come a long way since then. I liked seeing her get the acknowledgement of Todoroki during the final exam against Aizawa. She also had a lot of badass moments in the provisional license exam against that tea drinking girl. I also really liked how much her teammates relied on her during the joint training, and her whole little rivalry thing with Kendo. I felt so bad for her in the current arc too when Midnight put so much pressure on her with the decision to either fight Machia or flee.

Shota Aizawa

Aizawa is another character that I should seriously talk about more. It’s no wonder he looks so exhausted all the time because he spends every second of his life looking after and caring for everyone with every fiber of his being. He doesn’t show it on the outside really, but he makes it clear through his actions. I like that Aizawa is one of the only people to really understand Bakugo too. He was so fast to defend him during the Sports Festival and publically criticized anyone who questioned Bakugo’s resolve to become a hero after he got kidnapped by the villains. The more you learn about Aizawa, the more you realize how amazing he is. Even the tiniest things, like finding out he re-enrolled the students he expelled to teach them the meaning of “loss” so they wouldn’t hesitate or fear it when they encountered it in the real world. I mean, I could list a million examples of why he’s amazing, including Shinso, Eri, and the whole war arc in general. Gosh, he’s incredible!

Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima is another precious boy. I have a little bit of a bias because he has the same birthday as me, but there are plenty of reasons to love him beyond that. I think I saw him described before as the one to bridge the gap between the other students in class 1A, and I think that’s pretty accurate. He gets along with everyone and has such a positive and encouraging personality. I was honestly kind of surprised to learn that he had so many insecurities and self-doubt. I remember losing my mind over his “unbreakable” form, and I loved that he got to ‘redeem’ himself in the current arc by jumping in and saving Mina when he’d failed to have the courage to do so in the past before he went to UA.

 Top 10 6 BNHA Ships/BroTPs

Todoroki x Midoriya

I totally understand why people ship this. Midoriya played a huge role in helping Todoroki move past some of his mental obstacles that kept him from being as powerful as he could be so of course it’s not too farfetched to think he could develop deeper feelings.

Todoroki x Bakugo (brotp)

I really did not understand why people shipped this for the longest time. But after the makeup provisional license exam and internship with Endeavor I can at least appreciate them as friends. Bakugo is still so aggressive and offensive and Todoroki is standing there like “look at my best friend, I love him.”

Todoroki x Momo

I know they don’t interact as much but I do like Momo’s admiration and respect for Todoroki, and I do like the way Todoroki become more aware of her and showed concern for her self-confidence during the joint training arc.

Midoriya x Uraraka

It doesn’t really seem to be going anywhere anymore, but I do think it’s cute that Uraraka gets inspired by Midoriya’s drive to be a better hero and that she uses him to inspire her to reach for her goals. They both had the cute “getting flustered around each other” thing going on and that’s fun.

Bakugo x Uraraka

I think this ship gets a lot of criticism, right? I don’t understand why though. Sure, it’s never going to be canon but I liked that Bakugo saw Uraraka as a worthy opponent during the sports festival. Uraraka is a (not so) secret badass. I love that she did her internship with gunhead and learned all sorts of martial arts. She’s bubbly and cute, which is a nice contrast to Bakugo. But she’s also strong and determined which I think he can respect.

Denki x Jiro

This is like… really adorable. Denki praising Jiro when she was all insecure about her music was so cute. And the way they were thinking of each other and rooting for each other during the war arc. I can definitely get onboard!

[the-daylight-here]

new yandere blog? nice! i read your platonic dadmic one and that was so good! would you consider doing an aizawa one where an orphan kid managed to get into UA and he surprises her later with adoption papers?

||you’ve got an ‘older sibling’ in this who will act like your boyfriend for either shits and giggles or generally to keep stalkers away from you. Basically, he can pass on his emotions by being within a certain distance, and physically touching him can give you the full force of what he’s feeling. he’s bakugo sized and fairly strong, so picking up people is not an issue. holding in his emotions makes him cry a lot from the mental and physical stress.

Shouta had been watching that student since the entrance exam. She was extraordinarily fast, and that wasn’t the only thing she could do with her quirk. It was interesting, to say the least. Much like Midoriya Izuku, her quirk could destroy her body if used recklessly. She had to wear body braces on almost all her joints during exercises like hero training. Still, it was enthralling to watch her grow and improve.

And finding out about her status as an orphan saddened him for some reason.

++++++++++++++

“Sora!” you yelled, looking for the person you recognized as your family. Your crybaby ‘sibling’ swung his head in your direction and ran towards you, scooping you up into his arms with cheerful laughter. You started laughing and hugging him too. You knew it was merely an effect of his quirk. He held a lot of his quirk in, but it was hard to contain when he was physically touching someone, as well as just happy.

A lot of the customers outside the bakery smiled and cooed gently, mumbling something about ‘what a cute couple’ or something like that. After years of correcting people, the both of you just gave up. This was also probably an effect of his quirk. Containing it was a hell of a job, but at least the negative ones weren’t as difficult. You think the last time you actually felt he was stressed was in middle school when he had to find a job in order to help your caretakers keep the half-decent roof over your heads and good clothing on your backs without sacrificing money for food.

“Should we feed more into the illusion or should I put you down?” he asked softly. You giggled and ran your hands through his silky, midnight colored hair. “Put me down, I’ve got good news,” you laughed. He did and took a couple steps back to spare you from the full, smothering force of his quirk. You practically jumped up and down, still feeling the pure elation from earlier, atop the excitement of the news. “I’ve got my provisional license!” you told him, pulling it out of your wallet. Sora gaped.

“(Y/n), that’s awesome!”

“I know! How should we celebrate?”

“Me getting you your own snake?”

“Sora, NO! Why can’t you have normal pets?”

“Hahaha! Kidding. How about I bake some stuff and your entire class comes to celebrate for even taking the exam?”

“You’re not making it alone. How about I bring Sato-san and Bakugo-san by, and we can all bake stuff for it.”

“Or I can come there with ingredients and--”

“Alright, alright. I’ll grab you in a couple hours,” you laughed, turning around and bumping into someone. “Sorry,” you apologized with a squeak. You looked up to see your teacher, who was glaring at your sibling. All of the glowy, happy warmth was sucked from the air, and you saw Sora’s genuinely jovial expression melt into the professional ‘I am a good employee and will deal with you with a smile,’ face. “Hello sir, how may I help you today?” he asked. Anyone else would likely have been fooled by this, but growing up around him gave you an edge to tell you when he was hiding his feelings. Not to mention, everything usually seemed quite bright and colorful when he was cheerful. Now, as he went into professional mode, things seemed duller and grayer.

“I was told you typically handled adoption interviews, considering you'll be taking over when your aunt and uncle retire,” your teacher answered. Sora hummed lightly at that. “I'll talk to you later on it. I'm swinging by your class’ dorm to help celebrate the exam,” your blue-haired sibling answered, turning curtly on his heels and returning to his job. Sora told you when you were moving into the dorms that Aizawa's general vibe felt off to him.

You gave a short greeting to your teacher and began walking back to the dorm, your teacher in tow.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shouta understood the blue-haired boy’s concerns and dislike concerning him. After all, who would trust a full grown man who seemed to lurk in the presence of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl? Not to mention an observant, caring brother-figure. Ito Sora seemed like a cheerful, happy-go-lucky idiot with the potential to be an idol or something like that. He was scared of dogs and cared about the other orphans under his and his guardians’ watch. He seemed like he wouldn’t be of much interest, but he paid attention to hero, villain and gang activity.

The boy’s skills and quirk made him a prime hero candidate if he’d been interested.

The only reasons Sora was of any concern was his skills and quirk, as well as the fondness of the speedster student. The two seemed particularly close because of their ages, as well as the girl having been among the earliest to come into the care of Ito Sayaka and her husband.

As he entered the courtyard that night, during the celebration, he saw the blue haired male sitting on the steps, whittling away at a wooden arrow.

The teacher sat next to him.

“You’ve been following (Y/n) since shortly after the entrance exam, and particularly closely after the USJ incident. I know about the USJ incident because she told me. Then, after the training camp and Kamino Ward mishaps, UA started using a dorm system. So, sorry, I don’t necessarily think the best of you,” the freckled boy said flatly, not looking up. Shouta laughed bitterly. If he’d been in the same situation, he would have definitely been more protective over the student.

“I understand that. I don’t understand why you won’t approve the adoption papers.”

“Call it selfish, intuition, whatever. But (Y/n) has always been able to handle herself. Sure, she thought it was cool that I can shoot arrows precisely or run through uneven terrain like a monkey, but I was never really much more than emotional support. And I honestly kind of think you might end up coddling her or pushing her too hard if I let this go through.”

“Or is it you’re in love with her?” Shouta teased. He wasn’t much one for jokes, but it could’ve been a possibility.

“Maybe. Don’t know. But, as long as she’s happy, I’m okay with it.”

He was surprised to see a sloppy signature of approval at the bottom of the paper as the boy held it out. “Take it before I use it as target practice,” Ito muttered. Shouta quirked a brow but took the paper. He hoped (Y/n) would like this surprise.

++++++++++++++++++

You stole the last slice of cheesecake right from under Todoroki’s nose, going to sneak off before you felt ice around your ankle. Shit. You turned around with a nervous laugh and grinned shakily. “Heyyyy, Todo-chan,” you greeted. He looked done with your crap and went to take the cheesecake as you held it away, whining. “My brother maaaade thiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whimpered. “You didn’t have to steal it, (L/n).”

“I’M NOT SHARING. ESPECIALLY SINCE IT’S CHEESECAKE.”

“You’ve had three slices.”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN PASS! And you’re rude too!”

“Rude?”

“You’re supposed to refer to people with honorifics and your dad emotionally fucking stunted you, so you’re socially inept and have no filter.”

The Pepsi-can boy thought about it long enough for you to phase through the ice and run to your room, protecting the pastry best as you could.

Ten minutes later, Aizawa knocked on your door and entered, holding a packet of papers out to you. You recognized the messy signature and your name, and your eyes widened. Sora approved Aizawa adopting you? That was unexpected. You two had been going back and forth on it for a week or so now, so you smiled widely.

[eretzyisrael]

In a momentous, heartwarming commencement ceremony that took place on the Ramat David Airbase in northern Israel, Special in Uniform volunteer recruits were warmly welcomed into the program and IDF and praised for their determination and perseverance. As a joint project of the IDF, Lend-a-Hand to a Special Child, and JNF-USA, Special in Uniform is a revolutionary program incorporating youth with disabilities into the IDF. Throughout the years, the program has taught hundreds of young people with physical and mental disabilities new skills and abilities while imbuing them with pride in themselves and their abilities and enabling them to function independently and contribute positively to society.

Among the speakers to welcome the volunteers to the base was noncommissioned educational officer Sergeant Ori Salmon who was born blind, yet insisted on joining the army and serving her nation—and triumphed. Salmon is one of 120 men and women from IDF units around the country who was awarded the Medal of Excellence for Exemplary Soldiers, Non-Commissioned Soldiers and Officers. The award is delivered annually by Israel’s President in a special Independence Day ceremony attended by the President, Prime Minister, Minister of Defense, Chief of Staff, IDF generals and dignitaries.

Sergeant Salmon emotionally described to the young volunteers how she was raised on tales of Israeli heroism and love of Israel, and how her parents emphasized the importance of unconditional giving and sharing in the burden.

“Both my elder brothers, parents, and extended family all proudly served the IDF, and they all recall this period as a very special and wonderful time in their lives,” related Salmon. “I never perceived my blindness as an obstacle to joining the IDF. I never imagined that I wouldn’t be able to give what I yearned to share with my country and people.

“When I first arrived on base though, I did secretly harbor a fear of the unknown. I wondered how I would be accepted by my peers, and if I would be suited to a military framework? Today, after a year and a half of military service, I can say with confidence that it is not only an excellent opportunity to contribute one’s utmost to society, but also an opportunity for personal growth. I was accepted on base with open arms, and I really enjoy the service and opportunity to meet people. I’m gaining incredible life experiences, and I bless you all that you should enjoy the same comfortable acclimation and meaningful, enjoyable service.”

Sergeant Ori Salmon is a powerhouse, a young woman who never allowed her disability to faze her. She attended a mainstream high school, took her Bagrut matriculation exams like all her peers, hiked alongside her classmates on their annual field trips and even joined them for the roots trip to Poland!

“When people see me acting normal instead of pitying myself, they also treat me as an equal,” she opines.

Ori explains that “Initially, the army needed time to digest the fact that I was introducing new concepts that had never previously existed here—like programs in Braille. The army isn’t familiar with such programs, because they’re essentially civilian programs, and so it took time before I was able to receive a computer with the software that I required. There are always challenges and hardships; life isn’t a piece of cake, but we need to be optimistic and look ahead. If there’s ever something that frustrates or aggravates me, I still do my best not to reach the point of self-pity. It’ll be hard—that’s for sure. But it’s still possible to cope with any challenge.” Among the many behind-the-scenes steps that Ori took to ensure her smooth acclimation to military life was practicing the route from the bus stop closest to her home directly to the airbase entrance.

Today, hundreds of youths with physical and mental disabilities are successfully integrated into the IDF’s Special in Uniform and other similar projects, shares program director Lt. Col. (Res.) Tiran Attia. “These youths are strongly motivated to serve, and they invest their maximum capabilities to the army. A significant number eventually enters the army as full-fledged soldiers, as well, which is a magnificent achievement both for them and for Israeli society.”

Yisrael Malka is a young man on the autistic spectrum who made the leap to become a full-fledged soldier. His mom shares: “When our family learned about Special in Uniform, we understood that this was a singular opportunity for Yisrael to fill a significant role and contribute authentically to our State in a strong, supportive environment.”

The program endowed Malka with all the knowledge and skills necessary to fill his role in the military, and much beyond that, as well. Throughout his volunteer stint, he was empowered by first-rate commanders and a military team who knew exactly how to coach and motivate him; a warm, inclusive and accepting social environment that enabled him to grow, strive and flourish; and most importantly, he gained confidence in himself, his strengths, and his abilities to succeed. The combination of these positive factors made Yisrael’s transition into military smooth and natural.

“By his induction ceremony, Yisrael already felt so at home on base that we were bursting with pride,” continues his mother. “It wasn’t just his newfound leadership abilities, diligence, or the maturity that he gained from the long months spent in the program, but also the road that the IDF itself journeyed in acquiring the compassion and understanding to make necessary adjustments in order to facilitate the contributions of those who genuinely aspire to serve.”

When Yisrael dons his uniform, he does it with unmatched pride. He rises every day at 6 a.m. to ensure that he arrives at his base on time, and he never once complains or requests leniencies or favors. He knows what his responsibilities are as a soldier, and he doesn’t want to do away with any one of the responsibilities—or the privileges—that it entails!

[rox-the-proxy]

Happy Hearts Day

God I don't remember posting via phone being this much of a pain??? Either way, here is more of me filling the TerraVan shape void in my heart with a Valentine's day fic! Hope you enjoy!

Was it a bit stereotypical to be watching Vanitas as he slept next to him at two in the morning? Yes, maybe it was. But Terra was a bit of a romantic, always had been. Sue him for every penny he's worth because as many of their friends had stated before; he was probably the most romantic man they had ever met. It was a double edged sword when it came to this....thing he had with Vanitas. He wasn't even sure if it was a proper relationship considering Vanitas did everything in his power to remain hidden and unnoticed by the other Guardians of Light. He had said it was to avoid another huge fight considering he was still recovering from the huge fight against the thirteenth vessels of Darkness. How had he ended up gravetating twords Terra, he could only assume it was when he found him on some backwater world, unable to move much less conjure up Unversed to defend himself against hordes of heartless. So, Terra ended up intervening and sticking with the golden eyed male until he was more or less able to at least run away if he needed to. It was strange to see the raven looking so....not weak, because even with a more then splintered and shattered heart; Vanitas was dangerous. He was strong, Terra would bet all his money on the fact that even if he hadn't shown up to help Vanitas would have gotten away. No, so weak wasn't the word...he wasn't used to seeing Vanitas look so damn tired.

He couldn't get up fast enough when the heartless had shown up, at least that's what he told Terra. Which he could believe, especially when he had stood there watching as he struggled to get to his feet. Stiff joints made for very unpleasant times when it came to simple movements. Either way, Terra believed maybe it was after that incident in which Vanitas started to show up more and more. Each time for a long while he looked worse then the first time Terra saw him. The brunette had started to become concerned that maybe, just maybe he would finally fade away. Which was a sad thought on its own. After all, Ventus' heart was whole, he couldn't go back to Ven. So he would simply....cease to exist. But, during one of their many encounters, Terra offered his own heart to be a place where Vanitas' could go and rest in should he need to, should he be unable to hold his physical form. Half, splintered and shattered heart or not, Vanitas still had one and it needed to heal. It needed to rest.

Surprisingly, Vanitas had accepted the offer. He looked relived, and when he collapsed to the floor Terra would admit he freaked out a little but relaxed when the other's heart seemed to just float into his chest. At first, Terra panicked thinking maybe the other would hijack his body like Xehanort did. But instead there was silence, peace. Vanitas was at rest for the time being, and that in itself was a good sign. So, for a long while, maybe about three months, give or take Vanitas' heart rested in his own silently. Never once seeming to give away that he was even there. Terra had begun to worry that maybe, maybe it hadn't it worked. After all, it's not like he was Sora who had this amazing heart full of light that could house and help other hearts heal and rest. No, his wasn't like that. Though it wasn't damaged, his own heart wasn't full of light either. He had darkness in him, that much was given away years ago during his Mark of Mastery exam. In fact, it had been what caused him to fail in the first place. But it was never a issue to where he was driven to harm people or seek the light out to destroy it. Either way, Terra wasn't sure if Vanitas' own heart was even healing all things considered. His worry would be put to rest however one evening when he found himself waking up in the middle of the night.

At first, he had no idea as to why he was awake, he usually slept through the night perfectly fine. He was a good sleeper in the sense that he also wasn't a heavy sleeper. It took him a few minutes to realize that someone was in the room with, well, in his bed to be specific. When he looked down to his right, he was shocked to see Vanitas sleeping peacefully next to him, face buried into the pillow and looking all to much like a content cat. Which was odd, considering Vanitas never looked like anything less then a threatening tazmainen devil. Any other normal person would have yelled and fallen out of the bed at the sight of the dubbed 'Prince of Darkness' (As Sora and Kairi had taken to calling him) laying there next to them. But, Terra he could say wasn't most people. He tilted his head at the sight, reaching down and pulling the blankets up to the smaller male's chin. He then proceeded to lay back down himself and go back to sleep. After all, the other seemed like he was doing okay, didn't look like he would he waking up anytime soon. But, by morning, Vanitas was gone. Terra had thought it to be all a dream, but when he started to wake up at night to see the golden eyed male sleeping next to him, he knew he wasn't a dream. He had asked him once if he could stay until morning, and he was given a very rare sympathetic smile.

"I can't do that." Had been his silent and soft response. Then the explanation of him not wanting to risk another fight with the Guardians of Light followed after that. The brunette was a bit sad that despite the time Vanitas' heart spent in his own, it hadn't healed completely, maybe it never would. But it had clearly been enough to allow him to regain his own physical form and continue on living. So, thus Terra found himself with a bedmate every night since then and it's how he found himself currently, sitting up and watching the smaller male sleep. Lucky him, none of the others ever sensed that Vanitas was around. And Terra assumed it was due to the fact that the Darkness that Vanitas carried around with him had dwindled down. Something he had told the other just the other night. Vanitas only gave him a small grin and shrugged. It seemed like Vanitas didn't know much about himself like how the others didn't know much about him.

Terra sighed softly, reaching down and gently running his hand through Vanitas' dark colored hair. It was a lot softer and much more silk like then what he had first believed. He watched as the raven let out a soft sigh of content, nuzzling further against the nest of pillows and blankets he had made himself. He couldn't help the warm and gentle smile that came over him at seeing just how relaxed the other was. Vanitas had always been anything but relaxed, despite the relaxed way he acted with them back then, anyone who had experience in dealing with Vanitas could tell he was always tense, on guard and ready for the unexpected. Honestly it was a bit sad to see, that he always felt the need to be so tense and braced for something bad to happen. He wasn't sure how he was now, seeing as he only ever saw him at night, but he hoped that he had some how grown out of that habit. But, Terra had his doubts. Vanitas was a creature of habit and routine, at least that's what the golden eyed male had told him once. He wasn't so sure if that was the case now though.

"Sleep, what are you doing awake? You got training with the others tomorrow, don't you?" Came the muffled, and sleep slurred question. Terra blinked, looking down at the smaller male and was met with sleep hazed golden eyes looking up at him with slight, but mostly sleepy curiosity. The brunette shrugged, reaching over Vanitas to grab his gummiphone from the windowsill. When his eyes landed on the date, he couldn't help but smile and chuckle softly. He set the phone back down on the windowsill. " 'hts so funny?" The raven asked with a yawn. He blinked a bit in confusion when the bigger male male leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead, running a hand through his hair. It wasn't odd for Terra to show him random acts of affection, it happened more often than what many would realize. Perhaps once or twice a kiss on the lips was given, but they never labeled what this was. Vanitas believed it was best to keep it that way. After all, not like he would be accepted so easily by the very people he had tried to kill. Even if Terra had assured him that he, Sora and Ventus would vouch for him, he still didn't want to risk it.

"Happy Heart's day." Vanitas stared at Terra with a raised brow which must have been funny if the soft laughter that escaped him was anything to go by. "You don't know what it is? It's called Valentine's day in some other worlds."

"Ah...no I don't know what that is." He admitted openly as the bigger male smiled. He watched as Terra sat up, holding his hand out to Vanitas who without a second thought slipped his hand into the bigger male's and allowed himself to be pulled up. And pulled to sit in front of him, but also leaning back comfortably against his chest. He waited for the other to finish arranging them, Terra eventually settled on wrapping his arms around his waist, his chin resting on Vanitas' shoulder.

"Heart's day, or Valentine's day is a day to show your love to people. Be it your friends, family, or a significant other. It's even a day to show just in general, kindness to those around you. Call it the day of Love if you want. Typically, on this day you hand out chocolates, or roses, even cards to those you want to say I love you, cherish you, or even care about you, to." Terra explained, moving his hands to hold them our facing upwards. Vanitas by second nature placed his own hands over his own, allowing the bigger male to hold his hands, run his thumbs over his knuckles and squeeze his hands as he pleased. Or when he wanted to be sweet, he would kiss his knuckles and whatever little scars he could find on his hands. "I honestly had forgotten about it until checked my phone. But, I guess I just wanted to say happy Heart's day. And I would love to take you somewhere for the day later today. Just the two of us...you know, like a date. But only if you want to. I know you're not to keen on being around during-" Terra found his words being cut off by the soft feeling of lips against his own. He hadn't even noticed when Vanity had turned his head to an angle to even do this. But he had, when the smaller finally pulled away Terra found himself blushing slightly at the sight of a soft and warm smile on the other's face.

Now that, that was a once in a blue moon chance. It was these chances that Terra may or may not live for. When Vanitas would let his guard drop, when the walls he had built up so high would come down, not in a violent way, but gently and slowly like a door opening. When he would allow himself to look vulnerable and at peace with his life. It was these moments Terra lived to see, and he wished he would see them not just started night in the confineds of his room. Terra found himself pressing their foreheads together, which got a small laugh out of Vanitas, another rare occurrence.

"Just you and me...right? N-no one else?"

Terra found himself perking up at the question, he nodded quickly, squeezing the smaller body tighter against his chest. "Just you and me. For an entire day and night. I want to take you somewhere and show you what Heart's day is like."

"So...a date. Between.... boyfriends?" Vanitas asked, placing his own arms over Terra's and squeezing. His tone was hopeful, and that's all Terra needed.

"Yes. Yes a date between boyfriends. Definitely."

At that, Vanitas snorted, laughing as he gently pushed Terra's arms away so he could sit across his lap and press his face against the crook of Terra's neck. It didn't take a genius to know and to tell that Vanitas was actually happy. Happy and if a little embarrassed if the slight tint if pinkish red that dusted over his cheeks to the tips of his ears was anything to go by.

Terra didn't need the smaller to respond with anything else, he was over the moon at the moment. Honestly, he was sure there wasn't a better day for them to finally labe their relationship other then on Heart's Day. With a low rumbling, purr, Terra squeezed the smaller male, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and whispered;

"Happy Heart's Day, Vanitas."

And for the raven, it was indeed a happy day.

[marias-studyblr]

Hello maria how are you? Im doing physical therapy and i just feel really embarrassed of what i do. I originally wanted medicine but my grades were too low and now i do physical therapy. Im always looked down upon and viewed as inferior. My family always compare me to my cousins who are doing medicine or my siblings and i just feel really sad lately. How do i get over this feeling of shame? People tell me what i study js pointless. Any advice? Thanks! 💕💕

physical therapy? pointless???1?

oKAY let me take a deep breath before i get ANGRY

Hi! 💕✨ i’m good thank you for asking! a lil stressed amongst the middle of exam season but i’m whole and remaining sane.

what you’re describing is the thing that pisses me off the most about medicine. the mentality a lot of my family members, peers and teachers have that somehow we have ascended to the clouds by being accepted into a particular university science course. why?.. why this one when so many other professions demand the same exact integrity and responsibility?

(and not to mention the comparison to any arts and humanities courses but that isn’t the topic of this ask.)

being a doctor is no more worthy than being a physiotherapist. BOTH professions are very much needed, BOTH professions are so noble. BOTH professions require expertize, so much hard work and passion.

if no one told you that before,,, LET ME BRING YOU UP TO SPEED.

ugh. getting heated already. T^T *sigh* okay.

the experience i have with physical therapy was when I sprained my ankle a few years back. i went to see a doctor and surgeon who told me i needed 2 weeks of physical therapy and needed surgery. i obviously took what he said very seriously and remember crying about it because it seemed the situation was bad.

as soon as i showed the physiotherapist my exams, she took a few seconds. and told me i absolutely did not need surgery. (0.0) what?

her advice and her work were so very valuable to me. the fact she took the time to look at my exams and give her opinion on my case, and not just follow the doctor’s orders, was priceless. i went to her and to her team 5 times a week for 2 months. it’s been 4 years now and my ankle has remained perfect and strong and i have not had any surgery work done to it. i’m obviously not saying all doctors are always wrong, but in this case, he was.

what i’m trying to get to is: doctors are NOT the holy grail of medicine. they do NOT hold a higher standard in the medical field. other people in it, like physiotherapists, should NOT feel “inferior” to doctors. this notion that they are so much better than nurses or physiotherapists or healthcare technicians is so foreign to me. they are not. everyone in the medical field holds a role that is 100% necessary to the patient and if that job didn’t exist, the patient would be in serious trouble.

physiotherapy is something so freaking amazing, and it really pisses me off that your family relatives would try to belittle you or tell you it’s useless… it BLOWS MY MIND.

I remember from my time at the clinic, in those two months, I saw so many cases. all ages and genders, with the widest variety of problems: athletes, accidents, elderly, strokes, chronic conditions … Every time I looked at a physiotherapist I saw a hero. who was not only able to give physical comfort to the patient but also mental comfort. they were their patient’s support in their journey to recover, to gain their strength, their mobility back (if it’s available to them, depending on their condition). they get to know the patient’s body better than the patient themselves do.

most people, like me, had to go 5 times a week or more. physiotherapists get to know their patients, so they grow to care deeply about them. and likewise.

and the situations that present - involving muscle damage, nerve damage, cardiovascular damage - are very interesting in a medical standpoint and you’ll learn, you probably already have, that physical therapy is the most helpful amazing thing ever to recover and grow stronger, it’s the only way possible in certain situations, more helpful than any prescription. it’s so important. it’s also amazing that the patient trusts their body to the hands of their physiotherapist. in their daily work of exercises, electric stimulation - at the end of the day, the patient depends on their physiotherapist for their quality of life. 

people tell you physical therapy is pointless? let them go ask the patients. ask the people at the hospital, at the clinic.

people literally learn how to walk again with physical therapy. what. are. they. talking. about.

please grow fond of this AMAZING field that is physical therapy. physical therapy has many specialties but in general it is about ways to actually improve the quality of life of another human being with constant practice and progress and that, to me, is the most beautiful thing a health care professional can do.

you will learn how electrotherapy techniques like transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation, manual therapies like joint manipulation and spinal mobilization, manual resistance training, and stretching, exercise programmes like muscle strengthening, posture re-training, cardiovascular stretching help someone who is sick and struggling. you will actually learn how to do these things to another human being who is in pain. you will help them with your expertize. that is beautiful. pure art.

so be proud of your course, defend it! stand up for physical therapy! there is NOTHING, nothing, NOTHING to feel embarrassed about.

people who tell you otherwise are jerks and bean heads.

people around you should fell PROUD of you. I am so freaking proud of you for following this path that many many people don’t bother to. the good service of health care professionals is extremely needed. 

physiotherapists and all other healthcare professionals are ALL part of The Big Team. we are all soldiers who fight for the health of our patients. we are all the holy grail. we each play our part, our role, we do good. we have amazing, rewarding, difficult jobs.

at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what other people say (that rhymed), you can’t control how others feel about you. what matters is you understand how important your course is, how needed you are. we need good physiotherapists. what matters is you know in your heart without you your patients would be in a great deal of pain. they need you to heal.

don’t let someone else decide for you what is a worthy profession. choose for yourself. why did you choose physical therapy and not business school or law or art school or design school? you probably had many other options apart from physical therapy. do you like working with people? do you like studying the human body? what turned your head?

don’t think about anyone else, don’t think about your siblings or your uncles or your cousins or your cousins’ cousins, think WITHIN. no one is going to have your future, not even your parents. you get to decide. you get to feel proud. why are you doing this? do you like the idea of working at a hospital or a clinic? can you imagine yourself working long hours with patients?

i truly believe in my heart that physical therapy is such an honorable profession, just like being a nurse or a doctor. i would LOVE to see you be PROUD and chest full studying in your course alongside your peers, succeeding at it and surprising everyone who told you that you should feel inferior, that you should feel embarrassed. surprising everyone with your unbreakable confidence and trust that you are equal to everyone else in the medical field.

that we are all equal, no matter what course we are studying. people who do art, people who are lawyers - they all serve others, in one way or another. they can all help others. we all have that potential to do good, through so many forms and actions. and physical therapy is an amazing form of that, alongside many many other ways to serve each other.

why feel embarrassed about that? why indeed.

i hope this helped. 🐇

don’t forget that each option in your life is up to you. don’t let your relatives choose for you. be confident in your life decisions, don’t be ashamed of what makes you happy.

i know there’s a long path of acceptance and learning in front of you, to distance who you are from what others perceive of you or tell you who you should be. i know that.

but you are strong. you are so strong, my friend, and you know best. no matter where life takes you, you will have a successful, happy future. ✨💛 doesn’t matter you didn’t get in medicine, doesn’t matter. you. yes, you will have a successful powerful future. and you don’t need anyone else’s approval for that. you only need your hard work and your passion for what you do. there will come others who will appreciate that too.

please consider giving a chance to physical therapy. i love you, you are doing AMAZING 💓 

[solo1y]

Back Once Again

Andrea has been having all sorts of medical problems since we got married, although in my defence, most of them pre-date the marriage. We've tried lots of medical avenues of improvement, and they have proven either unsatisfactory or completely ineffective. We have reached the point where we're desperate and vulnerable enough to try "alternative" methods.

The man who installed our new bedroom recommended a chiropractor who gives regular, free talks on his approach to "wellness" or whatever, so we said we'd have a listen. What's the worst that can happen?

The opening paragraph of the Wikipedia entry for “chiropractic” summarises my position: 

“

Chiropractic is a form of alternative medicine mostly concerned with the diagnosis and treatment of mechanical disorders of the musculoskeletal system, especially the spine. Proponents claim that such disorders affect general health via the nervous system, through vertebral subluxation, claims which are demonstrably false. The main chiropractic treatment technique involves manual therapy, especially spinal manipulation therapy (SMT), manipulations of other joints and soft tissues. Its foundation is at odds with mainstream medicine, and chiropractic is sustained by pseudoscientific ideas such as subluxation and "innate intelligence" that reject science. Chiropractors are not medical doctors.

”

It was dark and rainy, very much like the opening scene of a movie which ends with a couple being torn to pieces in a basement surrounded by human-dog hybrids howling and screeching as our blood summons the dark lord of chaos. It was that kind of night. The fact that the chiropractor seems to have been named after serial killers did not help the mood. Clonmel is full of chiropractors (probably), but our man was in Kilworth, a boutique village in north Co. Cork next to an army training ground. There is no reason for anyone to ever go to Kilworth. We went there a few nights ago.

The clinic is in a lovely building with large arches in the front which makes it look like a modern cafe or art gallery from the front. When you go in, everything is very professional. I had to go to the bathroom, which was very clean and at the ideal temperature. 

There were five of us: all women except for me. We were offered tea and coffee and there was inspirational music playing in the background. So far, so preparing-lambs-for-the-slaughter.

Ed Bates greeted us individually, shook our hands individually and invited us into a little room with the correct number of chairs which were way too close to a flipboard. He gave a talk about how the spinal cord sends nerve fibres from your spine to various organs and parts of your body and if they get interrupted, the signals become sub-optimal. It’s the patented alternative-medicine pitch which comprises 40% obvious common sense, 40% specious arguments and 20% either irrelevant garbage or just total horseshit: 40% “diet and exercise are vital to a healthy lifestyle”; 40% “if the electric signals are interrupted down here, for instance, that’s going to cause kidney problems”; 20% “none of my children have ever been on a course of antibiotics”.

He showed us the dawn of a new era of chiropractic treatment: a small electric hammer. This hammer could do a much better job, he claimed, than manual adjustment. Remember this hammer. It’s going to be relevant later.

He asked for a volunteer, but instead he got me. He told me to put my arm out and resist him. He tried to push it down, with little success. Then he told me to tuck my chin into my neck, and pushed my arm down again. This time he managed it. He said this was evidence that moving your spine in a certain way can have dramatic effects on musculature. A cynical person could counter that it might also be evidence that someone can push harder the second time.

To show us how the treatments are administered, he took his receptionist and placed her face down on a padded table and got her to move her arms and neck around to see how putting stress on various vertebrae affected the symmetry of her spine, as expressed in how close together her feet were. He said if the feet were not together, this was evidence that the spine was not aligned properly.  A cynical person could counter that it might also be evidence that someone can move your feet very slightly to the right or to the left.

To be clear, I am not saying that this man is a charlatan. I do not have access to the information I would need to make that judgement. He seemed sincere and he seems to actually give a shit about getting people to live healthy lives. More importantly, this talk was free of charge and there was absolutely no hard sell afterwards. In fact, I don’t think there was even a soft sell. There was no suggestion at all that any of us “should” book an appointment. There was not so much as a suggestive glance from the receptionist in this direction. This is a massive tick in the “not a charlatan” box which may outweigh everything else. 

What I am saying is that the evidence he presented on the night to demonstrate the effectiveness of chiropractic medicine could be easily fabricated. 

After he had done a few spinal tricks with the receptionist, he asked if one of us wanted to have a go, so I pushed my wife forward. 

“Just lie face down on the table there,” he said. 

“This is not the date night I had planned,” I said. 

He apologised and said it would be over soon enough and we could go back to our date then. He’s definitely a nice guy and he definitely has a sense of humour.

During the spinal examination, he mentioned a number of possible problems that Andrea has been diagnosed with. He was not shotgunning, as I was watching for that. He was also not responding to cues from Andrea, as there was no way she could know exactly which vertebra is connected to which organ in the chiropractic system. The only thing he said in the entire exam that could be suspicious is “you’re not getting enough sleep”, which must surely apply to everyone. Everything else was specific to Andrea, and other common problems people might have were not mentioned. If there’s some trick here (and there might be), I am unaware of it. 

I might trash chiropractic medicine and alternative therapies in general but I’m not going to lie about what happened. 

Afterwards, he continued the theme of the faults of general medical practice, and how doctors are overly reliant on pharmaceuticals, and how children are increasingly being put on drugs at a younger age, and how this is terrible, and so on. 

He said: “If the only tool you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail.”

I said: “Dude, the only tool you have is a hammer.”

He stopped for a few moments and looked at the little hammer in his hand. Then he said, “I should probably find a different way to say that”.

Then we were done. Before we left, Andrea booked an appointment with a view to getting a treatment of spinal adjustments because she believes it will help her where medical science has failed. Maybe it will.

I get terrible migraines which can cripple me for days. A few years ago, I was living with a Korean family, and the patriarch offered to do some acupuncture on me as I was crawling around on the floor moaning. He put some pins in various parts of me and after about twenty minutes, the migraine was gone. It was completely gone. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I asked him how it worked and he gave me an explanation that was definitely horseshit. 

I still think acupuncture is bullshit, but I am not going to lie about something that happened to me personally. I just have to trust the science (even if it might be wrong) and remember that the plural of anecdote is not data, even if the anecdote happened to me. 

If acupuncture helped me, why can’t spinal adjustments help Andrea? 

[heroesarelife]

Could I request for a scenario/imagine of Aizawa finding out his s/o's b-day is a few days after his? Like Hizashi was asking what he was gonna do his s/o b-day. Aizawa asked why did he asked all of a sudden. Hizashi deadpan that their b-day is on the 13 November. Just 5 days after his. What would Aizawa do after knowing their b-day? Sorry if this is too self-indulgent. My b-day is at 13 November so I'm really excited and I love how close both our birthdays are since he's one of my favourites

YEEEEET HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATE! (I will cal you uuuuh 13-non? I am so not creative with anon names i’m so sorry)

I am so sorry this gotten so long omg. My preference for aizawa is showing.

Word count: 1834

Warning: Too much fluff, risk for diabetes ahead.

To describe what he was currently feeling as tired would have been an understatement.Exhaustion filled his bones and joints with surgical precision; heavy ironsattached to his ankles and wrists, weighting his every step and tampering hismovements. Any and all sensations numbed, turning them into nothing but faintexperiences, too distant to feel real. He had work to do. A lot of it. A hellof too much of it for all he was worth.

“E…ser!”

He had approximately two whole stacks of papers to grade andexactly null disposition to do so. However, such was the life of an adult. 30years old as of yesterday, no celebration allowed. With a heavy sigh, Shoutatook the first paper of the bundle, exhaling his entire soul upon seeingKaminari’s anarchist handwriting. This one promised to be a train wreck. Hecould feel the beginnings of a migraine creeping in on him; not that his friendseemed to care about making it worse.

“Oy, Eraser!”

Grunting in what could pass off as a sound ofacknowledgement, he attempted to ignore Mic’s strident voice. He couldn’t catcha break.

“Eraser, say. You have time to karaoke this weekend?”Midnight’s velvet voice reached his ear, with its ever present mischievousundertone. Aizawa failed to answer, running his eyes again through the paper.He must have made a mistake. Having a negative grade was impossible to achieve,even for one with such an outstanding capacity for failing exams as Kaminari.

“I’m saying he probably has plans for [Name]’s birthday.” Micwhined, sighing much more audibly than strictly necessary. Right there, he hadmarked one of the questions incorrectly. Not that this would help the boy’s caseovermuch. Maybe if he offered lessons… Wait just a second.

“Birthday?” Shouta finally raised his head in something of asurprise, only to squint angrily at the cigarette between Mic’s fingers. “Takeyour shitty smoking outside.”

“[Name]’s birthday is this weekend. You know, your s/o.” Notabashed in the slightest, the other hero placed the cigarette behind his own ear,seemingly happy enough with himself. “Aren’t you going to celebrate with them?”he smiled up at Shouta, somewhat wickedly, obviously having noticed that he hadforgotten. Damn it. It had completely slipped his mind. What, between thegeneral consistency of his fatigated state and his personal disregard of hisown birthday, he had failed to notice that theirs was nothing less than 5 daysaway. No, correction: 4 days away. Well, shit.

That explained why they had made a point of telling him,with all airs of importance, that they had no plans for that weekend. Despitehim not having asked them. Things suddenly clicked in his brain and he pressedhis fingers to his eyes, feeling like a dumbass. Of course they were expectingsomething. And he had forgotten.

“Hey, no worries, Eraser!” Mic’s overly excited voicestormed his eardrums, much too close for comfort, as he felt his friend’s armrest amicably on his shoulders. “You still have 4 days to think of something.”

“Shut up.”

—-

The light is what wakes them up. Eyelids fluttering gentlyopen, they look around in confusion, still slightly lost on the dense mist ofsleep. The telltale way in which the sunlight filtered through the room, withalmost devastating clarity, gave away exactly how much they had overslept. Itshould be almost noon at that point. All heavy limbs and fuzzy mind, theystretch languidly, revelling on the soft feel of the sheets tangled aroundtheir body. Trying to pretend the absence of Shouta didn’t bring sadness totheir heart.

Because it did, more than what they cared to admit. Thespace besides them was empty and cold, which by itself felt like a ratherlonely birthday gift. Shouta probably left for work, on a Saturday of all days.At this point, they were convinced that he had forgotten. They could all buthear their own heart breaking just by remembering last night. How they hadwaited awake, because they enjoyed to just wait for the clock to turn midnightso they could just welcome their special day. And how Shouta had arrived frompatrol shortly after, only to promptly collapse in bed, absolutely oblivious asfor what reason his s/o would be excited at such a late hour. Not even a modest‘happy birthday’ before falling into a deep slumber. Nothing.

Already drained of all the possible excitement they mighthave felt for the day to come, they get up slowly, staggering into the livingroom in a daze. At the exact same time as Shouta came in through the front door.He scoffed in half amusement, apparently finding something funny in their dishevelledappearance. “Sleeping much? Sit you down, sleepyhead. I will press some coffeefor you.” He jested through his customary sarcastic demeanour.

Huffing irritably, they sat down on the couch, tellingthemselves that it was absolutely notbecause he told them to, but rather because they still felt just too dizzy fromexcess of sleep. Yes, that was it. As it was, they almost jumped out of theirskin when something suddenly fell unceremoniously onto their lap. A small box.

They looked up at the culprit, namely Shouta, who was nowplacing a hot mug of coffee on the side table, looking as unfazed as always.Feeling their hearts swell with renewed and bright hope, they opened the smallgift. Inside there was the new album of one of their favourite bands, accompaniedby a sweet note signed with the flashy handwriting unmistakably belonging toPresent Mic. The disappointment was so strong that they could swear they heardthey heart die a little bit, almost like a wounded animal attacked by surpriseby a hunter in the woods. Fatal injury. It wasn’t Shouta’s. He had trulyforgotten.

“It’s from Hizashi” their boyfriend explained, rather unnecessarily.Acquiescing silently, they bit down their lower lip, fighting back the sillytears that threatened to spill. It’s not that they weren’t glad with Hizashi’s thoughtfulgift – it’s true that they had been blabbing about that musician nonstop forthe last few months – but it hurt them so to know their own boyfriend would soblatantly overlook their birthday. And he must know at this point, surely. But the cold disregard and lack of acknowledgementfelt a bit much at this point. They sniffed, lightly but still more audiblythan they had intended, and they heard Shouta clicking his tongue, as a clearshow of his own discomfort.

They heard the shuffling sound of clothes and the faintingsteps as Shouta walked away. Well, great. The day was going downhill barely 30minutes since waking up. It was a talent of theirs, apparently. Maybe they shouldput it on their CV and get a job as a day-destroyer, as they were clearly inwrong profession.

Absorbed in their thought, they didn’t hear he come back,and were snapped out of their thoughts by the deep sound of his voice. “I alsodon’t have any plans for the weekend.” Even through their upset haze, hesounded a bit awkward.

Surprised, they raised their eyes to meet his, not quiteunderstanding where this was going. He was sitting on the couch’s armrest.Close enough to be touched if they so much desired, while still giving themenough breathing space. He placed his hand behind his neck, scratching the areaas if in embarrassment, somehow managing to further mess his already sloppylocks.

“What I mean is…” he went on, taking a deep breath as iflooking to gather himself. “I took the weekend off. To spend with you.”

It took some seconds for the information to sink in. Theirheart behaving wearily in fear of further disappointment. But this was a verbaladmission. He had freed his days, to spend only with them.

“So we can do whatever you like. I know it’s not ideal andnothing much but—”

“You remembered.” They croaked, stupidly emotional over thesimple conclusion. Shouta’s eyes widened, and pressed his lips together,letting his hand drop to his lap in some sort of defeat.

“I had… In truth, I had forgotten. Hizashi reminded me.” Headmitted, voice dropping ever-so-slightly to what could be described as anabashed tone. “I’m sorry. I—” He was suddenly interrupted by a soft and muffled‘meow’ which came from some location within his person.

Their mouth fell open, in an almost comical surprise. “Isthat a…?”

Had they not known any better, they would have sworn that thechange of tone in his cheeks was that of an embarrassed flush. However, Shoutamost certainly didn’t do blushing, so it was probably a result of roomtemperature. Right? Right. Despite that, their boyfriend reached somewhereinside the coat he was wearing, revealing the most cute, fluffy, and small kittenthey had ever laid their eyes upon.

Unable to suppress an enthusiastic squeak, as well as thebeautiful warm feeling that began to spread through their heart and stomach,they stretched their hands eagerly, receiving the little thing with carefuladoration. The kitten blinked lazily, apparently confused with the change ofenvironment, rolling over on their palm carelessly and proceeding to adorably pawtheir finger. It had a black and silky fur, and was wearing a loose red ribbonaround its neck, almost as if it was placed there in an afterthought.

“That’s why I left earlier. You said you wanted one for sometime now. And Kayama has a friend whose cat just had a litter and, well, Ithought you would like.” He trailed off, noticing they were barely paying himany mind.

“But… You said you were too busy to care for one.” Theysaid, feeling their heart twist painfully at the mere thought of having toreturn the lovely creature. They loved it already. “Or would I take it to myhouse? You can maybe visit it sometimes? Or it stays here and I will visit itsometimes?”

“That won’t be a problem if you move in.” He put in, withappalling simplicity, as if answering that obviously the sum of two plus twoequals four. Not as if he had just invited his long term partner to live together.They felt their heart stop, the air leaving their lungs altogether.

“Do you mean this?” They said quietly, emotion taking overtheir soul in strong waves as the kitten bit at their thumb softly.

He nodded, a rare gentle smile touching hislips. “Yes, I do. If you will have me. No don’t.” He added in mild panic, asthe tears threatened to spill down their eyes. He closed the space between themboth, wrapping his arm around their shoulder, allowing them to bury their faceon the crook of his neck as they tried to regain control. “Happy birthday,[Name].” He said lamely, sounding mildly afraid to cause another emotionalburst. But they knew now: he meant it.

Like what you see? Buy us a coffee if you fancy commission

[memsmedic1]

India part two (clinics in the jungle) 12/25/2016-1/8/2017

…The patient was a 32 y/o male who’d been carried by his friends on a homemade stretcher from a village 5 hours away! He had been sick and getting progressively worse for the past 11 days with fever and chills, nausea and vomiting, abdominal pain, and now bloody diarrhea.

The patient was semiconscious, feverish, hyperpneic, tachypneic (44 RR/min) tachycardic, diaphoretic, hypovolemic (78/62), with severe RUQ and RLQ abdominal pain and guarding.

After completing a detailed exam and ruling out other possible causes of his illness such as appendicitis, peritonitis, encephalitis, amebic dysentery, malaria, and arboviral fever, we decided to treat for septic shock as well as enteric fever and infectious colitis.

After treating him with ceftriaxone, ketamine, promethazine, cipro, metronidazole, paracetamol, and 3 liters of normal saline over the course of the afternoon we advised his friends to spend the night in the village and come see us again first thing in the morning.

Next morning he was back again and this time he could talk and sit up on his own! He stated that he felt much better and his vital signs were much closer to normal than yesterday, but he was still sick so he got another IV with fluids and antibiotics, and then we turfed him back home with strict instructions on how to take the oral antibiotics and ibuprofen we prescribed for him and to drink lots of water!

Over the course of the entire expedition we only had a handful of critical patients (6-8) who probably would have died without care and several of them were seen in this first village. One woman who was carried in from an even further outlying village on a bamboo stretcher was so sick that we requested for her to be flown out by the military, and since we were foreigners they agreed. She was flown to Dibrugarh where she spent a week in ICU but was able to recover.

In between taking care of the critical patients, I was able to help with the rest of the people who came to be seen also. First the patients would sign in to the register and get triaged. After triage they would form a line and go one by one into newly built bamboo and sheet exam rooms where one medical person and a translator would do a complete workup on the patient and then call one of the two MD’s in who would take report, perform any additional examinations and make a diagnosis.

Most of these cases were fairly straightforward: We saw a lot of children with parasites, sick babies, stomach pain, back pain, muscle and joint pain, non cardiac chest pain, headaches, and ear problems.

We also saw quite a few patients who required surgical procedures. I was able to assist with several including keloid scar removal, lancing a plugged sublingual salivary gland, repairing a cleft lip, and cutting out a subcutaneous cyst on a patients head.

The amazing thing is how incredibly grateful and appreciative the people were for everything we did, from giving worm medicine and children’s vitamins to complex treatments and procedures. Not once did anyone demand more than we had given or try to maximize their profit from us unlike the rest of India. Of course some of the patients were shy and didn’t want to tell us everything that was wrong with them when we were writing down the chief complaint so after giving them medicine or other help for their illness or injury I would always ask if they had any questions and they would sometimes say no but I also have these other problems… So it was very hard to gauge how long a certain patient might take to be seen!

The medical team worked in the first village for 3 days. The weather during this time was crystal clear and sunny during the day and nearly freezing at night. On the morning of our first hike however, we woke up to fog and rain. We decided to hold the clinic for 2 more hours before heading out to see the last of the patients but it ended up being 4 hours by the time we were finished!

Then we packed all the medicine and supplies into large bamboo baskets that would be portered to the next village we would be stopping in. The cooks who had been taking such good care of us made us one more meal of rice and vegetables and then we were off on our first hike!

We were on the trail for maybe 2 hours when we came to a small village which consisted of only a couple bamboo houses. In front of one of these had been constructed a brand new bamboo shelter with tables and benches underneath. The villagers had received word that we were traveling through today and had prepared a meal for us!

We were all still full from lunch but if we were to refuse to eat it would be very disappointing to the generous villagers so we gratefully took off our ponchos and backpacks and sat down at the brand new tables.

In addition to the standard ball of rice with curry we were also given an assortment of fruits to eat. We had bananas, tangerines, fresh and dried persimmons (amazing), and small round fruits that looked exactly like tiny dragon eggs! They are called “gelesuh ” and after peeling the scales off are translucent with a large pit in the center like a litchi, but they taste deliciously tart instead of sweet.

Even though it was fruit like this that was special for me anything that can’t be grown or harvested locally is what is prized by the mountain people. Because these villages are completely cut off from the outside world except by trail (including radio, tv, cellular service, electricity other than solar, and even satellite phone which is banned by the military due to sensitive geographic location) you can either hike the 5 days out to town and then carry your groceries back uphill for 5 plus days home or you can purchase your supplies and have them packed in by Chakma porters.

Chakmas’ are originally from Bangladesh and are well known for the heavy loads they are able to carry. They make their living portering flour, salt, oil, roofing tin, and other staples up into the valley for 150 to 200 rupees/kg ($2.38-$3.17). The packs our porters are carrying are quite heavy (40-50 kg) but were nothing compared to what these guys carry which can be over 80 or 90 kg.

A package of salt that is worth 10 rupees in the city is sold for 200 rupees up here because it is valued by weight.

After this scrumptious repast we donned our packs and ponchos and continued hiking down the slippery trail. After another hour or so the rain stopped and we were able to see the afternoon sun shining on all the fresh snow that had been dumped higher up the mountains.

Part of the time the trail led through the dense jungle and part of the time we followed along the side of the river.

As we walked along we kept our eyes open for wild animals. Part of the trail we were on led through one of india’s national parks which is the largest protected area in the Eastern Himalayans, and is well known as one of the richest areas of biodiversity in India.

Animals that call the park and this valley home include Bengal Tigers, Leopards, Snow Leopards, Clouded Leopards, many smaller cats, Asiatic Black Bears, Sun Bears, Dholes, wolves, Indian Elephants and many other herbivores, Red Pandas, Slow Loris, Eurasian Otters, linsangs, binturongs, civets, butterflies, birds, and 7 species of primates!

While we heard monkeys almost every day (I think they were watching us) the only other wild things I saw were lots of brilliantly colored butterflies, many different birds, and a flock of Hornbills.

After another couple hours we came to a small Nepali village where the villagers insisted we stop for refreshments yet again! Fortunately for me one of our critical patients from the first clinic was in this village so I was able to delicately sidestep total gluttony and go check on her. While she had been doing very well after being treated a couple days ago she was now hemorrhaging again and needed additional medical care that we couldn’t give because all our medical supplies were ahead with the porters. We told the family that we would send a team back in the morning with medicine and helped them figure out some things they could do for her in the meantime.

After this we continued on hiking but because of our late start, the rain and slippery trail, and all of our stops we didn’t arrive at the next village we were stopping in ‘till a few hours after dark.

By this time we were tired, sore, and had blisters from our wet shoes but this village was very happy to see us and cheered us up with a welcome celebration that included speeches, dances, and jungle flower leis for everybody! Afterwards we were shown to our quarters which was actually a house built with hand cut boards for the school teacher to live in.

We set up our supplies in the village school and held the clinic for 2 days. Even though this is the biggest village in the valley there were no critical patients here so I was able to focus entirely on taking care of regular patients, and there were lots of them! Early in the morning when we’d walk over to the pharmacy and exam rooms to get ready to start we would have a crowd beginning to gather, and after dark when we were exhausted and finished for the day we’d have another look and there would be more patients waiting than when we started!

The kids were so cute and curious, our translators told us that there had only been one other time foreigners visited them; two German or Australian naturalists studying and photographing the flora and fauna several years ago. So if a child hadn’t hiked out of the valley yet either to go to town or school we were some of the first or the first white people they had ever seen!

On December 30th we packed up and prepared to hike to our next stop, but first the villagers had a going away ceremony for thanking us for coming and helping. They also gave each of us a beautiful hand woven basket as a going away present and then we were off!

Back along the river and through the jungle we trekked, enjoying the warm sunny day and gorgeous views. Halfway through the days journey we came to a small village where they were expecting us for lunch. After we entered one of the bamboo huts and sat down around the wall we had a happy surprise: no rice for lunch! Today we were served tea, popcorn, tapioca root, purple yams, and sugarcane! After we finished we were able to see 5 or 6 patients from the area before continuing on our way. Again we had to hike after dark through the jungle for several hours to make it to our next clinic area (not recommended).

There are countless creeks and streams that must be crossed, some via bamboo or log bridge and some from boulder to boulder. Also the trail was riddled with areas that had been completely obliterated by landslides and some of these were very treacherous. Either the mud is so deep that you run the risk of becoming permanently planted or so unstable and slippery you risk sliding right off the former trail and over the edge of the mountain.

Our destination today was the smallest village we were scheduled to visit. We spent New Years Eve there seeing patients and for the first time were able to see everyone who came for treatment in one day and still have daylight leftover to wash our clothes and take baths in the river! To get to the river you had to walk through a large field of cardamom which is the cash crop of this area, through a section of jungle, down a part of the mountain so steep you have to use roots and vines to lower yourself down, through more jungle, and down the bank to the rushing, bigger than it looked from the helicopter, ice cold, crystal clear, glacier water!

After hanging around the fire for a couple hours talking and taking care of blisters we went to bed, but not for long! We were woken up just after midnight by several very loud firecrackers and then we heard a large group of people singing to us! To celebrate New Years here the villagers go caroling and write a Happy New Years message on all the doors in the village in addition to setting off fireworks if they can get them.

Next morning we wished each other a happy 2017 and began packing our backpacks and getting ready for our longest hike of the journey. We ate a delicious breakfast of tea, rice balls, and dal and were on the trail by 0730.

One of the American teams people had been kinda dragging for the last day or two and wasn’t eating much but she said she was fine and we thought it was probably just fatigue and a stomach virus.

Again we traveled through virgin jungle and along the pristine river under a sunny, clear, bright blue sky. The sleeping bag penetrating chill of the night soon wore off and we started shedding our jackets one by one. As happens every travel day, the group slowly spread out along the trail as we hiked along with the faster ones in front. The longest hike of the expedition was going to be today because we were passing through the least populated part of the valley. There will be no villages between where we stayed last night and the next village where they are expecting us tonight. There was not even anywhere for us to stop for lunch so we were all trying to make good time.

Early afternoon I was drooping along somewhere near the front of the lineup when I was overtaken by one of the other M-E.M.S. team members. He told me that one of our translators had caught up to him and said that the person who had looked a little sick earlier had suddenly become a lot sick and was hardly making any time at all. The two of them were trying to catch up to the front of the group where the porters were and grab some IV supplies and medicine for her.

I decided to go with them so the 3 of us jogged down the trail a couple more miles until we came upon some porters. We searched through their loads and found a bunch of saline and a drip set but none of the other supplies needed. We continued on a little farther and found another group of people including some porters and another M-E.M.S. member. After more searching through porters loads we had amassed an eclectic pile of IV crap and a couple meds but not the medicine or IV start supplies I was looking for. The porters told us that the items we were looking for was with the next group at the front of the expedition but that they were too far ahead to catch.

We decided we would just have to make what we had work so the 3 of us from M-E.M.S. started running back up the valley towards our days starting point looking for our patient. We would remember certain landmarks and say “surely they will have made it that far” only to have them come into view one by one devoid of life.

Finally just before sunset we caught sight of our goal slowly moving toward us. One of our translators was carrying the patient on his back and there were a couple other medical team members and porters with them.

After laying the patient down and everyone else quickly catching our breath we found out the patient had started off from the village this morning mostly ok but then started experiencing worsening nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, severe headache, weakness, and dizziness. When I checked her out the patient was cool, pale, diaphoretic, tachycardic, hypotensive, and dehydrated.

I patched together the supplies we had been able to find, started an IV, and gave her what medicine we had. Then we built a stretcher out of a bamboo pole and a hammock and got ready to retrace our steps a second time back down the trail.

This was easier said than done. For one thing there were creeks, streams, bamboo pole bridges, fallen trees, and landslides to cross, and for another even though we rotated out who was carrying the stretcher fairly often, when the translator/porter first came ahead to tell us there was a problem he had left his load along the trail so instead of resting between shifts whoever wasn’t carrying the patient had to tote a giant porters basket filled with clinic supplies!

After dark we continued on for 5 or 6 more hours using our headlamps but there was no way we would reach our destination that day. Fortunately one of our translators knew a family who had moved from the large village that we had held clinic at into this mostly unpopulated area to start growing a cardamom field and we were able to make it to their bamboo house and spend the night with them. They also gave us our first real meal since morning which was no small thing because they haven’t started growing rice yet. They have to carry in all their food that they can’t hunt or gather in the jungle!

The patient was still very sick and couldn’t eat or drink anything so we gave her more medicine, hung the IV bottle on the bamboo rafters above her section of floor space and kept it running all night.

In the morning we all felt very stiff and sore but the patient was feeling a little better and was able to walk with assistance. Our kind hosts made us rice cakes wrapped in leaves for us to take with us for breakfast and we started on our way again.

We added up the totals with our translators and figured out that the 3 of us who went back up the trail yesterday walked and ran a total of 27 miles, and most of that distance we were either carrying our backpacks or the patient!

Today we only had to hike 9 miles in order to catch up to the rest of the medical team, some of that way being through the jungle and a good portion of the distance along the bank of the river. Part of this was easy for our patient to walk over with sand and small rocks, but part of the river lay through a boulder field that would be covered by water during the rainy season and was a daunting challenge to clamber over one by one (still easier than blazing a new trail through the jungle though). We were all very grateful that our patient could get through this without being carried!

About halfway to the village where the team was holding clinic we were met by an emissary who was bringing us the medicine and supplies that we weren’t able to get from the lead porters the day before! Yesterday while running back to our patient we asked some of the team to send certain supplies back ASAP but we were just now getting what we needed. We took a trailside break and administered some additional meds to the patient which at least helped her maintain her current condition without worsening.

In a few more hours we arrived in the village that we were supposed to get to yesterday (too late for lunch although I wasn’t even hungry by this point), and after making the patient as comfortable as possible were finally able to take a rest! Somebody, though I don’t remember who it was due to my exhaustion, came over to where I was lying behind the medical supplies and took off my boots and washed my feet in cold water which helped immensely to rejuvenate me. After recovering for a bit we jumped into patient treatment mode along with the rest of the team who had already been seeing patients since early morning, and worked for the remainder of the day.

After clinic was finished for the evening Phillip came and talked to us and said that there was a problem. He was worried that the entire medical team would not be able to make it to the last village that we were scheduled to visit because it was not on the way out of the valley and the team had a lot of blistered feet and exhausted people in it by now plus a sick one. To get to the last village one would have to cross the river and climb a trail straight up the side of the mountain out of the river valley and back into the mountains.

Phillip didn’t want these villagers to be disappointed knowing that a medical team had passed within a few miles, were supposed to stop in their village, and didn’t, so he was wondering if the 3 of us from the Myanmar team and the optometry assistant would be willing to go provide care on our own (Phillip and Nio had to stay with the main group in case there were problems). I thought about my feet and muscles for a second or two and then said yes I’d be happy to go! The other three wanted to come also so we made preparations to leave the next day.

The next morning there were still a few patients we had to see and a couple procedures to do but after everything was done we helped pack up all the medicine, equipment, and supplies into the baskets that the porters accompanying us to the last village would carry. The rest of the team heading out of the valley had already left by the time we were packed up so we said goodbye to the villagers and we were off!

We had followed the river downstream for two or three hours when we came across 4 men who were from the village we were on our way to. They had been expecting us to arrive today and had come down to give us some fresh fruit from their village and guide/assist us with our gear on the journey there.

The nickname of this last village that we are heading to is “the fruit village” and we now saw why. Our new friends had brought tangerines, grapefruits, and pineapples for us to eat and fixed them for us right there on the riverbank!

After we were done we continued on down the river for a little farther then turned off onto an obscure trail into the jungle. After a few minutes we popped out into a large clearing where there were several recently harvested rice paddies with little ponies grazing on them. Our guides told us that this is where the fruit village grows their rice because it’s the closest level area to the village. At the far side of the paddies the mountains started abruptly and we soon found ourselves clearing the trail with our noses as we climbed up the remarkably vertical trail.

Up, up, up we went until we finally cleared the valley and started walking along the mostly level ridge for a few minutes. Then we turned and dropped down onto a flat shelf on the side of the mountain and walked into the village. Everywhere we looked we could see pineapple plants, banana trees, many different types of citrus trees, and persimmon trees all loaded with fruit growing in between the houses. After we dropped off our packs where we would be staying we decided to set up the clinic since it was still early and see as many patients today as we could.

The village had already prepared the small 3 room bamboo schoolhouse for us to use so we simply unpacked and organized everything in one room and started seeing patients in the others.

There were never more than a few patients at a time waiting to be seen so we were encouraged to keep going by thinking that we had almost seen everybody. However, every time we called a patient from the waiting room (bonfire) another one seemed to take their place!

Finally, a little after eleven we saw the very last patient and called it a day. We walked back to the house we were staying in and started warming up around the open fire pit. While we were sitting talking and unwinding some of the village women brought us supper that we hadn’t stopped to eat earlier! We ate and crashed because tomorrow was the last day and we had a long hike out to town.

Next morning after a breakfast of fruit we loaded up and started off. Leaving the village we took a different trail that lead in the direction of town and would save us considerable time. Also it wasn’t as steep!

After a couple hours we wound our way back down to the river and continued to walk along the bank. The river was much larger now than it was when we saw it last because it had been joined by another river. The river was quite wide, at least 7-8 feet deep, and still ice cold. Sometimes in order to follow the easiest route bamboo bridges have been constructed from one side to the other. These bridges are built every year at the beginning of dry season and wash away every year at the beginning of rainy season so they are only built well enough to get by. Every time we walked across one we unbuckled our backpacks in case the bridge broke or we lost our balance off the one or two bamboo poles available to walk on.

Other times there were large streams flowing into the river that were too small to justify a bridge so we just had to wade through.

Early afternoon as we were walking along we saw a group of people far up ahead of us. As we got closer we realized that it was the rest of the medical team! They had spent last night camping out along the river and hadn’t left as early as we did this morning.

We crisscrossed the river several more times with the bamboo getting slippery from a light drizzle that started falling. Finally we left the river and started up the last steep part of the trail to the road. This road is constantly under construction to push up into the valley we are leaving and is constantly being obliterated by landslides. Right now the road extends 18 miles out of town. Phillip had arraigned to have 4 taxi trucks meet us at the end of the road today but when we scrambled up the last of the trail and onto the road there was only one taxi who was there by chance dropping off Chakma porters. Because there was still no cell service this far out Nio caught a ride back to call for additional taxis once she got into service.

Because it takes an hour and a half just to drive the 18 miles to or from town we decided to start walking. After 2 or three hours four more taxis showed up for us and our hiking was officially over!

The Myanmar team spent a couple extra days after the American team left hanging out and recuperating with our new friends before taking a truck taxi the 7 hours south to Dibrugarh. On the 8th we said goodbye to India and flew back to Thailand with sore muscles and blisters but so grateful for this opportunity we had to be of service and explore a remote corner of the world while spreading peace, goodwill, and healing!

[maurotheauthor-blog]

Confessions of an AIDS Attorney NOTE:  THESE ARE CHAPTERS FROM A BOOK I AM WRITING ABOUT BEING AN AIDS ATTORNEY IN THE 1980S IN WASHINGTON, DC.  FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED AND ENCOURAGED!  Thank you for reading.  I especially want to reach younger readers so they know what we went through back then as well as hopefully take lessons from it they can use in their lives now.   Mauro

Forward The events in this book are true; I have changed or omitted most names and some details to protect client and employer confidentiality.  If a real name is used, it is with permission.  I take seriously my responsibilities as an attorney and throughout my career as an “AIDS Attorney,” I tried hard to respect the rights of my clients and those around them.  AIDS at the time was still a relatively unknown illness and most people, including people in the gay community, were quite afraid of it.  I never had that same fear, even right from the beginning.  In reflection, I don’t know why, but I’m glad I never let fear deter me from really, truly helping people using the skills I had so painstakingly and gruelingly learned in law school.  I wish to thank all those numerous clients, employers, friends and significant others who supported me and helped me keep at it during some of the toughest years of my life.   This Book is dedicated to my parents, Mauro A. and Sally T. Montoya for all the love, guidance and tolerance they have always shown me.  It is in my father’s memory as he passed away in January, 1998 and my mother’s memory when she passed away in January, 2014.  It is also dedicated to Judy Pollatsek, the Death Lady, my “wife” from the New Church of Elvis, Portland, Oregon, who I always believed would be there for MY death but tragically died from cancer in August, 1997. Chapter One “How would you like to be an “AIDS attorney” full-time?” asked Jim Graham, the clinic administrator, during a meeting in his office in December, 1985.   “Would I ever love it!” I replied, finally feeling a use for all those years of law school I hated.  I had graduated from the George Washington University National Law Center the year before, in 1984, and had worked with an environmental organization for a year.  About a month before this meeting, I had come to Jim, himself an attorney, to volunteer my services as a lawyer to help People With AIDS (PWAs).  I did this because I knew what was happening to PWAs out there - being fired from their jobs, being kicked out of their homes, rejected by families and friends, all the injustices I had seen and felt helpless to prevent.   This was my dream, to use my hard-earned legal skills to help people.  Well, now I would do something about it with people who desperately needed help! Jim continued talking as my mind raced, filled with the possibilities such a position could offer me!  I had taken the Maryland bar exam in February, 1985, six months after graduating from law school.  I had not graduated with the rest of my class because between my second and third years of law school, in 1983, I had been in a serious motorcycle accident.  I had broken both legs and was confined to a wheelchair for a time, and crutches for more than a year after that.  I learned first hand how to live with a disability, in this case, my legs.  I was treated differently than I always had been.  People were constantly feeling sorry for me.  I would get such insensitive remarks such as, “God, how can you stand to be in that cast for so long?  I’d go crazy if I had to do that.”  It was said as if I had any choice in the matter and could just remove the cast when I got home.  This gave me a unique perspective into how one is treated differently when perceived as having a disability.  But, even then, in 1984, as AIDS was just emerging as an issue in both the gay and medical communities, I knew my particular disability would get better.  People with AIDS didn’t have that hope.  These experiences helped me prepare for what was to come, helping so many disabled people with AIDS.  While I would not choose to go through such an experience again, I believe it gave me great insight into helping those with AIDS.  At the time, AIDS was still being debated as to whether it was a disabling condition.   So because of my motorcycle accident, I had fallen behind my law school class, but only a little; I still managed to graduate from law school in the summer of 1984, just three months behind the rest of my class.  After passing the Maryland bar in May, 1985, I had immediately applied to waive into the District of Columbia bar.  This process took about eight months and I first approached Jim in November, 1985 about volunteering.  He asked if I was a D.C. attorney, to which I replied I was about to become licensed.  He told me to come back as soon as I was licensed to practice law in the nation’s capital.  And I did just that in December, 1985, the day after being sworn into the D.C. Bar.  I excitedly received my first case from him that same day. Apparently that case was a test of sorts for me.  Jim was using it to see how I handled myself with clients, whether I could solve the problems presented, and considering the field of law, how I dealt with the fear issue surrounding AIDS in late 1985.  The case involved a gay couple, one of whom, David, had AIDS.  The other person, Tom, had announced he was leaving because David had AIDS, and wanted to take a lot of their joint possessions with him.  I had met with the couple several times and had finally managed to work out a settlement which both thought was fair.  What Tom didn’t know is that David was about to receive a large settlement from an unrelated legal matter.  David had indicated to me that he was willing to share this with Tom if Tom was willing to stay with him.  David asked me to broach the subject with Tom because David felt he might only be hurt even more.  I explained everything to Tom, but Tom  refused to have anything further to do with David, all based on fear of AIDS.  Tom eventually left, leaving David heartbroken and living with his parents.  But his newfound wealth helped him cope relatively well until his death some months later.   Both David and Tom were asked by Jim about me, how I had treated them, were they satisfied with what I had done, and other details of my handling of their case.  In terms of legal action, I had not really done all that much except formalize a document detailing the division of property.  But what I had really done is counsel the two, especially David.  I was quickly discovering that the term “attorney at law and counselor” would have a whole different meaning when working with PWAs.   I became interested in AIDS and HTLV-III (as HIV was then called) for two reasons.  My first experience with AIDS was with a young man I had met in May, 1984 and was happily dating.  I was 26 years old and this man, Tim, was 19.  Tim was thin with a swimmers build, with big brown eyes and brown hair.  He was about 5'10" but very cuddly like he was much shorter.  He had an unusual laugh I can still hear to this day.  It was kind of a cross between a hyena’s bark and a wailing siren.  I always loved to make him laugh just to hear that bark.  He was from Ohio and we dated during the whole summer of 1984. I was still in law school, getting ready to graduate in September of that year, and I was still in a full-length cast on my leg from my motorcycle accident the previous summer.  Tim and I had a lot of fun in my beat-up 1968 Pontiac LeMans convertible nicknamed Bertha.  We went on picnics, explored Washington, D.C. and other places, and generally enjoyed each other’s company.  One day, after I got out of class, I picked up Tim at his apartment and we went driving around.  Tim was unusually quiet; he asked me to stop at a plant store, where he went in and bought a small Ficus tree.  When he returned to the car, he said he wanted to go to my house.  When we arrived, we went to my bedroom because Tim said he wanted some privacy and my roommates were around.  He was still carrying the Ficus tree, which he handed to me.  He said, “I want you to have this.”  I thanked him and asked him why.  His reply was both funny and tragic.  He said, “All gay men in Washington have gray walls, track lighting and fig trees.  I can’t do anything about the first two but here’s your fig tree!  And I’m giving you this to remember me by.”  He paused, thinking about what to say.  Remember him by, I thought?  What does this mean?  I waited while he gathered his thoughts.  Finally, he continued.  “I just found out I’m infected with AIDS and I’m returning home to Ohio.”  It hit me like someone had slammed a hammer into my heart; the adrenaline pumped rapidly throughout my body, making my heart race.  He looked so sad it didn’t occur to me to be afraid.   It broke my heart to see this vibrant 19 year old having to think about dying, which he clearly was.  And he was watching me to see my reaction.  I just gently pushed him down on the bed and held him tightly for about 10 minutes, not saying anything. We both cried some, Tim much more deeply. I was the first person Tim had told; his family didn’t even know yet!  They just knew he was returning to Ohio quickly because of some illness.  I felt privileged to be the first person he told because he was demonstrating to me his trust in me, not knowing what my reaction might be.  We had never discussed the topic before.  But my mind raced - how could I help him?  What could I do to assist this beautiful young man?  We began to talk, about how people would react to him, especially in a small Ohio town when he went home.  I told him I had heard stories of what was happening to PWAs, being fired from their jobs, being kicked out of their homes, even whole families being driven out of their towns.  I told him to be careful about who he told and that most people would not be very understanding.  At the time, it was still being called the “gay plague” and there was a great deal of resistance to anyone with the disease, even in the gay community.  It had only been March of 1984 when they discovered the HTLV-III virus which causes AIDS and this was August of the same year.   I asked Tim when he was leaving and he said within two days.  Even though we had been dating, I still wasn’t worried about myself; that would come much later.  All I knew is that because of this damn disease, I was losing a close friend/boyfriend to it.  When Tim left; I took him to the bus station where we sadly parted.  I kept in touch with him for about four more months until he died at home.  Even then, one of his sisters had refused to see him or allow her children to come close to him, which caused him a great deal of heartache. The second reason I felt like had to do something about AIDS using my legal skills was a man named Jerry.  In February, 1984, Jerry moved in as a roommate into the group house in which I lived.  We began to become friends.  We shared a bathroom and were on the same floor of the house together.  Jerry was 26, about 5'9", with medium brown hair, tan, green eyes and very good looking.  He kept an air of mystery around him, like he was hiding something exciting behind his eyes.  Jerry had a beautiful smile and was very friendly most of the time.  I was in the middle of studying for the Maryland bar exam later that month, and was naturally preoccupied with that.  But what spare time I did have, I tended to spend with Jerry because he was there a lot, saying he was looking for a job.  Yet he didn’t leave the house and didn’t make or receive many phone calls.   And sometimes, I noticed Jerry would just clam up completely.  The seeming moodiness bothered me; had I done something or was Jerry just like that?  Some days he would not even get out of bed.  Then one morning, I heard him coughing hard in his room, then run to the bathroom to be sick.  I asked if he was ok, to which he replied that he was.  The cough did not seem to get any better, and Jerry began to look pale and thin.  I would speak to him, sometimes we would eat together, and he would cough a lot.  He always told me it was because he smoked too much. But I knew better because every time he began to cough, he would  immediately began to feel sick.  As Jerry got sicker, because his bedroom was next to mine, I knew more than my other roommates.  There were four of us living in the house then, and I sometimes heard my other roommates asking why Jerry was sick so often.  Finally, I asked Jerry what was happening.  He looked at me for a few seconds, obviously deciding what to say to me.  Finally, he spoke, slowly at first, then in a rush like he had to get it out. “I didn’t want to tell anyone here, but I’ve gotta talk to someone.  I’ve got AIDS and that’s why I’m sick so much,” Jerry said to me, watching me for my reaction.  His face was kind of red and had a strange look - somewhat fearful but also hopeful.  My mind raced, wondering in a half second if I was safe, feeling sorry for Jerry, wondering about our other roommates, and finally, what could I do to help?  Just looking at how Jerry was waiting for my reaction, I did the first thing that came to mind.  I reached out and hugged Jerry.  I just held him for a couple of minutes and he shook in my arms at first, finally relaxing.  He pulled back and looked hard at me. “You just did the absolute best thing that you could have done.  The hug meant more to me than any words you could have said.  I’m so used to people being afraid of me and your hug shows me that you’re not afraid and you care.  That’s actually why I moved here; my last roommates were afraid when they found out I have AIDS.  They asked me to leave.”  Jerry seemed very relieved, but also asked me not to tell my other roommates yet, that he would do it when the time was right.  After what had happened to him with his previous roommates, I could understand why.  And I didn’t blame him for wanting as few persons as possible to know his condition. Because I now knew what was happening, I often began to take Jerry to the hospital for his treatments.  There really wasn’t much they could do for the underlying illness at that point.  Jerry was more going for preventative treatments such as aerosolized pentamadine to prevent pneumocystis carini pneumonia, or PCP, the leading killer of PWAs at that time.  He would have to spend several hours at the hospital receiving the medicine in a spray form by breathing it into his lungs.  He often complained it would make things taste metallic and caused him to lose his appetite.  I would drop him off and he would call me when he needed to be picked up.  This was about 2-3 times a week, depending on how he was feeling. One day, one of my roommates, Sean Ferry, said to me, “What’s going on with Jerry?  He sure seems sick a lot.  Is there anything I should know?  I mean, if he’s sick with something dangerous, I think I have a right to know!”  Clearly he suspected Jerry had AIDS.  I was unsure of what to do or say.  I had promised Jerry I would not discuss it with our other roommates, but if I denied anything, I would be lying to Sean, my roommate and friend.  Then, being the aspiring lawyer that I was, I mentally examined what Sean had asked me.  His question implied that he was afraid of catching AIDS, but I knew he could not catch it from living in the same house.  And I also knew that Sean and Jerry had not, nor were likely to have sex together.  So I could honestly answer Sean and tell him that while Jerry was indeed sick, it was nothing “dangerous” and that Sean need not worry.  This seemed to satisfy him for the time being.   Unfortunately, Jerry continued to get sicker and finally, after only eight weeks of living with us, he informed us he was moving home to Los Angeles to live with his mother.  He did tell our other roommates what the real story was and why he was leaving; as he spoke, Sean gave me a long, hard look, but did not say anything.  Later, Sean did ask and I told him that since he was in no danger, I had been honest with him while respecting Jerry’s wish for confidentiality.  Sean did understand and fortunately it forced him to learn more about the disease itself. ��He became more educated about it. In fact, I shared with Sean what knowledge I had learned in the meantime, because I myself had somewhat struggled through the same feelings of fear around Jerry at first.  But I trusted my gut reaction, which was that Jerry needed the hug I gave him instead of more rejection like he had received from his former roommates. Jerry returned to California, where I kept in contact with him by telephone for about two months.  I spoke to him at least once a week, often two or three times.  Then one day, I could not reach him; he was always home and it puzzled me that he was not there.  I continued to call for several days and finally, one day a woman answered the phone.  When I asked for Jerry, she asked who was calling and I told her my name and that I was his former roommate in D.C.  There was a long pause and I heard the woman take a deep breath.  Finally, she said to me, “I know who you are.  Jerry talked about you a lot and how kind you had been to him even though you only knew him a short time.”  She paused again, took another deep breath, then continued.  “This is Jerry’s mother.  I’m very sorry to tell you that Jerry passed away about three days ago.  He died peacefully at my house and I came here to his apartment to clean out his things.  I couldn’t do it immediately because of the services and...”  Her voice broke and she sobbed for a few moments.   “I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I’m sorry to have to break the news to you this way, but since you’re a friend of his, I thought you needed to know.” I was stunned.  Tears immediately sprang to my eyes.  I too began to sob.  I hadn’t realized Jerry was that sick!  And we had really started a good friendship even though in total I had only known him about four and a half months.  I didn’t quite know what to say and was speechless, kind of an unusual condition for me.  All I could manage was, “I’m so sorry.”   There was a long pause, neither of us quite willing to break the silence yet. Finally, Jerry’s mom said to me, “I want to thank you for all you did for my son.  From the time he told you and you hugged him, he told me you were a special person.  I know you took him to the hospital all the time and he always talked so highly of you.  You have a special place in my heart and if you are ever in Los Angeles, I hope you will look me up so I can get to know you and at least take you to lunch.” This woman had just lost her son and here she was offering to do something for me!  Maybe I was lucky but my second experience with AIDS had actually been a positive experience, despite the sad fact that Jerry had suffered and died.  I got to know a friend much more rapidly than I normally would have, and his mother was so nice to me!  My heart glowed in this; while I was very sad about Jerry’s death, I felt enriched about the experience of knowing him.  That morning I had just received  the letter informing me that I had passed the Maryland Bar and I had been so elated.  It was then I resolved to help others with AIDS and HTLV-III, which led me to volunteering at the clinic. Two friends in six months.  Most people did not even know anyone who had the disease and here I had been robbed of two valuable friends in my life.  It was the day I found out Tim died that I resolved to do something about this damn disease and Jerry’s death only made it that much more important for me to do what I could to help!  Now I knew more than ever that I had to do something with my skills and ability to help people.   I received one other volunteer case before I began the interview process with the clinic.  This one involved a man whose employer was insisting he take the HTLV-III or the misnamed “AIDS” test or be fired.  The employer knew the employee was gay and the employer feared the client because in the employer’s mind, being gay meant having AIDS.  A bit of legal background is necessary here to explain how I could potentially help my clients facing the threat of, or actually being fired.  The disability community had fought long and hard to gain legal protections for persons with disabilities (or handicaps as many laws and statutes used the term).  PWAs fit all the legal definitions of being disabled yet some in the disability community fought against including PWAs under the disabled “umbrella.”  There was both fear of PWAs and fear that the stigma surrounding AIDS would cause the newly hard-won rights of disabled people to be taken away if PWAs were considered disabled.  People such as myself fighting to help PWAs thus faced a double battle - convincing those who should have been natural allies that PWAs should fall under the disability community’s protective umbrella, and also convincing judges, attorneys general and others who interpreted or enforced the existing laws to consider PWAs as disabled. The federal Rehabilitation Act of 1972 protects persons who have a disability which  affects a major life function (this is a very oversimplified and not inclusive description of the statute - there are many other parts not discussed here).  AIDS clearly fits this definition by altering almost all major life functions of PWAs such as working, breathing, even reproduction.  The statute also states that, if any employee requested such, an employer was required to provide a “reasonable accommodation” to help the employee do his job.  This means, for example, if an employee had a disabling leg condition which does not allow her to climb steps and her office is on the second floor in a building with no elevator, she can request a first floor office.  The employer would have to move her office to the first floor to accommodate her request and her disability because the request is reasonable and not an economic hardship for the employer.  An economic hardship argument would not require the employer to put in an elevator because that is very expensive and there is an easy alternative solution.  But the federal act only covers federal employees and employers who have contracts with the federal government so its impact is somewhat limited.  As a result, most states have passed their own laws modeled on the federal act.  Some were more inclusive in their protections, others less so.   Because of this somewhat limited protection, eventually the disability community helped lead passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 which covers all employers over 15 employees.  But at the time, we did not have this Act on which to rely. Another part of the federal act covered those “perceived” to have, or regarded as having a disability.  This means if an employer believes someone to have a disabling condition, whether or not the person actually does, if the employer acts in a discriminatory manner based on the belief of the employee’s disability, the employee is protected under the law.  For people who were infected with HIV, as it was just beginning to be called, but who did not have full-blown AIDS, this was important protection.  In the case of my client, who did not have AIDS, and in fact had never even taken the HIV antibody test, this protection was vitally important.  The employer knew my client was gay.  In the employer’s mind, this equated to my client having AIDS.  While in fact my client did not have AIDS, the employer perceived him to, or regarded him as having AIDS and acted on his perception of my client in trying to fire him unless he took the “AIDS” test as the employer called it.   There had recently been articles in legal publications which argued for AIDS being covered as a handicap or perceived handicap under the federal Rehabilitation Act.  Also, in the fall of 1985,  the D.C. Corporation Counsel, the local version of the attorney general, had announced that PWAs and people who were infected with the virus but not sick would be covered as handicapped or perceived handicap under the D.C. Human Rights Act.  Because the employer was in D.C. I had all of these legal arguments to successfully convince the employer that my client  was no danger to anyone and that if the employer persisted in wanting the test, the man would be able to sue for handicap discrimination.  We of course had to educate the employer about what we called AIDS 101, the medical facts about how HIV is and is NOT transmitted.  This assured him that he was providing a safe work environment for all his employees.  In fact, the client and I  convinced the employer to provide AIDS in the workplace training for the employees, managers and others in the company so this would not happen again.  I thoroughly enjoyed this case; I actually got to use my legal skills to help someone and there was much more legal “meat” to it so I finally got deeply into the law doing it. I was about to begin the interview process for the full-time job as legal director at the clinic and I believe all of these experiences helped me get the job.  Plus, after actually doing some substantive legal work in the AIDS field and working with clients, I was even more excited the get the job.  During the interview, I was able to speak articulately about what I had already done and would like to do with the position.   I was lucky, too; one of the interviewers was from New Mexico like me and we made an immediate connection during the interview.  I was able to answer the legal, social and political questions posed to me about dealing with AIDS in a very public fashion, demonstrating my knowledge of the subject and how I would be a good spokesman and advocate for people with AIDS.  We each understood what was at stake here; AIDS was a hot media topic at the time and lawsuits were just beginning to be filed.  There was only one full-time legal program for PWAs in the country at the time, in New York.  This would be the second in the country and to me, it was an awesome responsibility.  But I believe that what really got me the job was my sincere desire to help those in trouble because of a disease over which they had no control. I learned early on that AIDS robs control of one’s life.  I saw health, home, employment, friends and family be taken away from someone because of a virus living inside the person’s body.  I saw the depression resulting from the diagnosis of death (which everyone believed at the time), from being rejected by coworkers, family, friends, from someone being denied service in a restaurant because of Kaposi’s sarcoma lesions on his face.  I saw firsthand the pain and suffering these people were going through and I had already lost two friends to the disease.  I was determined to use my position to help people retain or regain control of their lives.  When Jim called to formally offer me the position, I knew my life would never be the same.  I was absolutely elated, on top of the world.  I had hated law school so much but at least now I could use what I had learned to help people.  I was going to help beat this disease one way or another by making my clients feel like whole people in control of at least part of their lives!  Thus, in February, 1986, I left my position with the environmental agency and became the Legal Director of the AIDS Program

Chapter Two

I had just announced my two weeks notice at the environmental agency when the clinic administrator called me to come to the clinic.  He told me he would give me more details when I arrived but to be ready to speak with a client and a reporter from the Washington Post.  The administrator had been helping the client on a limited scale until I was hired; suddenly I was under the gun here!  I nervously drove to the clinic and met with the administrator and the client, James.  He had been fired from his job as a draftsman at an engineering firm in a D.C. suburb in Virginia because the employer had discovered James’ AIDS diagnosis.  He was only told to leave because everyone was afraid of him.  The client had sought help at the clinic because at the time it was almost the only place for help in D.C.  We discussed what we would do from this point legally and discussed the client’s life outside of work.  Going public was a difficult decision for James to make because he was generally a quiet, private person.  But he had just lost his livelihood and had discussed the matter with his family.  They would back him however necessary.  James finally said he was ready to meet with the reporter and both the clinic administrator and myself were present for the interview.  We discussed how James felt about being fired, how degraded he felt, the emotions he was going through, what it was like for him to lose his livelihood, especially in a city like D.C. where what you do often defines you to others.  James was able to discuss how he felt, that he had been “robbed” of his position and how he felt when everyone with whom he worked either quit talking to him or were only cursorily polite to him.  He said he felt like he had the plague the way his coworkers were suddenly going out of their way to avoid him.  He discussed how it hurt him to see his colleagues and friends turn from him as if he had become something unclean in their eyes.  He said he was made to feel ashamed of what he had and that in his opinion, that just wasn’t right.  James was a very down to earth type of person, very practical and not at all assuming.  He was the type of person one would not have expected to go forward with a very public lawsuit against his employer, but James had a courageous sense of justice and knew what was happening to him simply wasn’t right.  James had in himself the character and his family behind him to fight the injustice he was suffering.   The interview progressed, focusing mainly on James, but also on what I as the legal director planned on doing, and how far the administrator was willing to commit scarce clinic resources to fight this battle because James no longer had an income.  I was lucky; James was articulate and well-spoken, and even though I was very nervous, not even having begun the job yet, the right answers seemed to come easily to me during the interview.  The clinic administrator seemed very pleased with the interview and how I had handled it. When the interview came out in the newspaper the next day, it caused a sensation.  I went to work at the environmental agency that day to lots of great comments about how I was moving on to bigger and better things, even making the paper before I had actually begun the job.   The story had an immediate effect; the employer had his attorney call to discuss what could be done to resolve the situation.  I was working on my final project at the environmental agency  and on clinic work at the same time - it was an exciting time, especially when I began full-time at the clinic about five days later.  The environmental agency graciously let me out of the two week period so I could immediately begin the new job.   Unfortunately, in James’ case, everything got bogged down in the details and there was still much fear about having James back at the company.  As the company attorney and I discussed the situation, I knew I was on somewhat shaky ground.  The employer was in Virginia, so the D.C. laws did not apply.  Virginia was just passing their own disability law and it was only just going into effect.  The employer did have federal contracts so the federal Rehabilitation Act applied, but there had been no court cases interpreting the Act to cover AIDS.  And the Reagan administration had yet to take a stand on whether AIDS and HIV would be covered.  President Reagan had yet to say the word “AIDS” in public, six years into the epidemic.  So I had to argue that the law would be interpreted to cover AIDS, was able to show the opposing counsel numerous legal articles arguing for inclusion of AIDS as a handicapping condition under the Act and telling him his client could easily be the first test case of the law.  When we were unable to resolve it at this stage, it was then referred to a volunteer Virginia attorney to resolve.   Eventually, the case was settled without having to resort to court and James got back his job, with some damages, back pay and benefits.  James was grateful for the clinic’s initial help and eventual referral to the volunteer attorney.   I had just begun my new job as the Legal Director of the AIDS Program.  My first day, I wasn’t sure exactly what to do.  I had much to learn in a VERY short time and met with the clinic administrator to review the legal documents such as powers of attorney, living wills and others which he and volunteer attorneys had drafted to help people.  Part of my job was to update these forms for the most current laws, including the living wills (which is a document a person signs so they will not be placed on life support machines in a terminal condition).  I spent much of my first day doing just that.  I was also trying to prepare for a meeting in which I was supposed to discuss legal aspects of AIDS and what services I could offer to a clinic PWA support group that evening.  I wasn’t even sure what to say to the group, and when the time for the meeting came around about 7:00 p.m., I entered the room, scared stiff and hoping that I wouldn’t make a total fool of myself.   And even though I had already lost two friends to AIDS and met with individual clients, I was still a little nervous being in a room with that many PWAs.  The group leader had informed me that we would have cake and ice cream for one of the member’s birthday following my presentation.  That made me nervous, wondering whether one of the PWAs had made the cake and was I safe, silly thoughts which ran through my mind, but there nonetheless.  Fortunately, I was able to do my job without these stray thoughts affecting my work.   There was the group leader and eight other men in the support group.  I sat through their announcements and was introduced to each in turn.  The group leader then introduced me and stated I had lots to say regarding AIDS and the law.  My heart sunk at that, hoping I wouldn’t disappoint them by how little I actually did have to say.  I began to speak, and described what services I could offer each group member, legal documents such as last wills, powers of attorney, etc.  I explained how each document was relevant to the client’s situation.  I knew from a young age that I liked to be in control and was still like that.  I had learned the hard way that AIDS robs one of many aspects of control over their lives and I was determined to help restore at least some of that control to the clients I had.  This same need for control seemed to be in a lot of my clients as well.  I used this on what we clinic employees jokingly referred to as “control queens” - gay men who had to be in control of everything.  (At that time, virtually all of our clients were gay men.)  They feared legal documents such as powers of attorney and living wills because to them, having someone else make decisions for them was giving up control of their lives.  My job became to convince them they needed these documents, but how could I do that?  Finally, it hit me - these documents were all about control!  The documents gave the clients control over their lives even if they themselves were not making the decisions.  The law states that in absence of a power of attorney, a legal spouse, adult child, parent or a sibling could legally make medical decisions if the client could not make his own.  If the client wanted a lover or someone besides a family member to make decisions on his behalf, he would have to enact a medical power of attorney.  What I showed the control queens and all my other clients is that even though they may not be able to make decisions, they got to choose who did make those decisions, thereby remaining in as much control of their lives as possible under the circumstances.  They liked this - staying in control even when unconscious!  I would even joke with them about last wills - they may be planted six feet underground or sitting in an urn on the fireplace mantel but they still got to control where their possessions went from beyond the grave.  They enjoyed that idea and I got many to sign their documents by using these persuasive arguments. I spoke briefly of legal rights in jobs, housing and other areas such as insurance.  I explained that at that point in time, the law was very much in flux and changing almost daily because no lawsuit had gotten very far yet.  But I promised them that I would do my best to help them in whatever way I could.  All of this only took 15 minutes; I felt that I was disappointing them by not having enough to say.  I was still rather nervous, but I believed I sufficiently covered my nervousness.  I then asked if there were any questions.  No one moved.  I spoke a little more, then again asked if there were any questions.  Again, no response.  So I spoke a little more, beginning to panic because I was rapidly running out of things to say.  Once more, I asked if there were any questions.  For a minute, we all just looked at each other and I began to close, about to say if there were no more questions, I was done, when one of the men raised his hand.  Excited that I finally got a response, I asked first what his name was, (Buddy) and then what his question was.   Buddy’s reply was, “Are you married?” I don’t embarrass easily; however, this question took me so far aback that I was speechless and rapidly turned tomato red.  Everyone laughed heartily at my reaction and I simply answered, that yes, I had a lover.  This managed to break the ice and there were several more questions.  Finally, it was over and I happily celebrated Buddy’s lover Alan’s birthday with the group.  We ate cake and ice cream and they joked about my “initiation” into the clinic and support group “family.” Any fear or misgivings I had were completely gone at that point.  Buddy remained a close friend of mine, and the last surviving member of the support group, including the group leader, until his death in 1992. It was an enjoyable and enlightening experience for me, and when I returned home that night to my lover, I bubbled over with excitement for my new position and how I would change the world!  He only nodded his head and listened, knowing he would never get a word in edgewise. Things became rapid fire after that.  Clinic AIDS Program clients were being informed of the new legal services being offered free of charge for PWAs and they began calling almost immediately.  I had to quickly settle into my job and start working hard; I discovered very quickly that when someone was sick, you do things NOW and not later, or it would be too late.  During my second week on the job, one of my first clients was actually too sick to speak.  I was called by the client’s brother, Edward, to George Washington University Hospital, where I had to put on a mask, gown and gloves just to go into Bob, the client’s room.  Bob had severe lung infections and was not a danger to me; rather, I was a danger to him!  He could barely move, and could not speak at all; his eyes pleaded with me, but I simply couldn’t know what he wanted.  Edward explained that he was the only family member besides Edward’s children and that he believed Bob wanted to do a last will.  I asked Bob if that’s what he wanted.  He could barely move his head, so I had to think fast. What could I do to determine what this man wanted?  Finally, I decided that maybe he could squeeze my hand once for yes, twice for no. I explained this carefully to Bob and told him I would try to ask questions he could answer with a squeeze.  I asked if he understood and I got one squeeze, so I knew he did understand me.   I held his hand and asked if he wanted a will.  One squeeze.  Did he want everything in his estate to go to his brother?  Two squeezes.  To his nephews and nieces and his brother?  One squeeze.  I asked Edward if Bob owned a home.  Yes, was the reply.  Asking Bob again, did he want the house to go to his brother?  Two squeezes.  To his nieces and nephews?  One squeeze.  Was there a car?  One squeeze.  To his brother?  One squeeze.  Anything else?  One squeeze.  I asked Edward to list larger items of personal property until I felt Bob squeeze my hand and try to nod.  The piece was an antique rocking chair handed down from their great grandmother.  But how to figure out where it would go?  Bob tried hard to say something, but with tubes in his nose and down his throat, he simply couldn’t speak.  The effort seemed to exhaust him and he closed his eyes for a while, his hand going slack in mine.  He seemed to fall asleep so his brother and I left the room.   Edward seemed to be in a state of shock. As we sat, Edward put his head in his hands.  Finally he looked up at me, and began to speak, pain evident in his voice.  “I’ve loved Bob all my life even though we’ve never been especially close.  Bob was always a very private person and I knew virtually nothing about his life.  Suddenly I receive this phone call at my home in Chicago  from a social worker here at the hospital informing me that Bob was very ill and could I come as soon as possible.  I’m 67 and retired so it was no problem for me to leave.  Bob is 62.  I was shocked to learn that Bob has AIDS and is dying.  I also learned he is gay and I never knew that or much else about his life.  We’d see each other maybe twice a year and he’d see my kids and grandkids occasionally, but beyond that, like I said, we weren’t too close.  I don’t seem to know what to do right now and how we’ll afford your services, but we’ll manage somehow.  I think Bob has some assets besides the house.  He was only a couple of years from retirement.  I’m just in shock and don’t know what to think about all this.”   I needed to comfort and calm Edward.  I just felt this instinctively.  The first thing I said was, “Please don’t worry about cost.  I’m paid by the clinic to provide these services to clients free of charge, so let’s just concentrate on getting his will done.  Do you have an idea where Bob wants the rocking chair to go?”  I said this in an attempt to get Edward relaxed and focused on what we were trying to do.  It was not that I did not feel for Edward, but he would have a long time to sort all this out, with mine and other’s help.  But Bob needed help immediately and I was worried about him.  We discussed what little Edward knew of Bob’s other possessions, having only been in his house a few times.  By process of elimination, we decided to ask Bob if he wanted the chair to go to Edward’s daughter, his only niece because the rocking chair had traditionally gone to women of the family despite Bob’s having it.  We reentered the room and started the process over again.  I asked Bob about the chair and if he wanted it to go to Edward’s daughter.  One squeeze.  Was there anything else in particular he wanted to distribute?  Two squeezes.  I explained the residuary clause as simply and as quickly as I could; basically, a residuary clause is a catch-all phrase for whatever was left over and not specifically mentioned in the will.  Whatever was left would go into this clause.  Did he want Edward to have the residuary estate?  One squeeze.  Was Edward to be the personal representative?  One squeeze.  I thanked Bob for helping me do my job in the best way he could, got names, addresses and other relevant information from Edward, and left to go type out the will.  I promised to return as quickly as possible, confident that everything would go well and even in his condition, Bob could manage an “X” for a signature.  I immediately went to my office and typed out the will (the clinic had funds to pay for my salary, but not for a secretary, so I did my own typing on the computer).  I returned to the hospital after about two hours, thinking about gathering witnesses, etc.  I went to the intensive care unit and walked to Bob’s room, but it was empty.  I did not see Edward around, and finally asked a nurse to where Bob had been transferred.  She quietly told me he had died about an hour before, and his brother was waiting for me in the family lounge.  I was stunned.   “I failed him!” screamed through my mind.  I could not believe I had not done my job, that I had failed a client and let him and his family down because I was not fast enough.  I was in kind of a shock; strange thoughts went through my mind such as was I liable for malpractice for not getting it done, how could I face Edward when I had let him down, but most of all, the incredible guilt for not getting back in time.  If only I had done this or that, if only I had not answered that urgent message at the office, if only I had been good enough, this wouldn’t have happened!  I had to fight back tears.  Then I saw Edward approaching me and just wanted to run.  How could I face him when I had let him and his brother down? Apparently Edward was sensitive enough to see what was on my face.  In spite of his own loss, the first thing he said to me was, “There was nothing you could have done differently to get the will done.  He had cardiac arrest shortly after you left and no one expected that.  You don’t know how much it helps that you were here and willing to help at all.  As his only heir, I will receive everything, but thanks to you, I know what he wanted done with everything, and if you will give me the copy of the will, I will make sure that his wishes are carried out.  Thank you so much for all your help.  May I call you with any questions which may come up?”  Of course, I assured him.  I gave him the unsigned will and left. Driving back to the clinic was hell.  I felt terrible; I had failed a client!  I hadn’t been able to do what he needed and it was crushing me.  Suddenly my job seemed a severe burden.  I couldn’t face anyone at the clinic yet, so I drove around for a while to try to calm myself.  I felt very guilty, a feeling I thought I had gotten over since I was a recovering Catholic.  I tried to think rationally, but the only coherent thought I had was that, from now on, if the client was that sick, I would simply handwrite the will on the spot if necessary.  I tried reasoning with myself; they could have called me sooner.  I could have done it right there instead of trying to make it a fancy written will.  It wasn’t my fault he had died unexpectedly and I really had been trying to hurry.  Usually, I met with a client and got all the information necessary, then met again in a week or two with the client and witnesses to sign the documents.  But here I was going right back to the hospital because I knew then how precarious was Bob’s health.  And still, I had failed!  The rest of that day was a blur and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.  Because it was close to 5:00 p.m., I simply decided to go home.  When my lover arrived that evening around 6, I broke down crying in his arms.  His support helped, as did the support of my coworkers at the clinic the next day when I told them what had happened.  But I still carry scars of that experience in my mind to this day, that horrible feeling of inadequacy, the intensely painful feeling screaming in my mind, “You failed!  You should have done more!”   This was a feeling incredibly hard to overcome, but through the help of the clinic’s on call psychologist, Judy Pollatsek, I was able to cope.  Judy was a staff member of the St. Francis Center in D.C., a facility which helped people with the dying process.  Judy and a coworker taught a class called thanatology, literally the process of death and dying.  As a new employee, I was required to take this class, considering the field of work I had chosen.  All the clinic’s volunteers were also required to take the class, so I met many new “buddies” during the class.  It was fortunate for me, because these were often going to be the people who called me to help their buddies with AIDS.  Judy turned out to be a delightful person in spite of her nickname, the “Death Lady.”  Judy and I became fast friends after that.  Judy was a diminutive woman, standing only about 5'".  Judy could be loud and brash or caring and compassionate.  She had a terrific sense of humor, as offbeat as mine, and was always encouraging us to find the humor in a situation as a coping method.  We shared a mutual interest in fine wines.  Judy loved her martinis and her gay men around her; her husband, whom hardly anyone had ever met, seemed to suffer in silence Judy’s chosen field of work..  She spoke very well and was entrancing when leading a visualization of a death experience so each of the class participants would have in their minds what the dying process was like.  While of course none of us could know without really dying, it helped everyone to at least picture their own concept of dying and what it was like to go through it. I was beginning the thanatology class shortly after Bob had died not completing his will. For me it was a godsend to be able to discuss my feelings in a setting designed specifically to deal with them.  Judy was gracious and helped me work through my guilty and inadequate feelings.  To me, she was the “Life Lady” because she made my life at the clinic so much better.  Judy helped me come to grips with the fact that there really was nothing I could have done to make the process any easier, and my actions in the matter were the best anyone could have expected.  My love and respect for Judy grew by leaps and bounds as I got to know her and her work helping those with terminal conditions and those that helped them such as myself.  It would be many years later when Judy would finally and unexpectedly face death herself through cancer, a process she carried on with all the grace and sense of humor she had used in her life.  

Chapter Three Randy My work was as intensely rewarding as it was incredibly difficult.  There were numerous very sad occasions but also many lighthearted ones.  Here I was, still learning about life, and having to listen to people my age and younger confronting death.  One of my favorite clients was an 18 year old with AIDS whose brother and brother’s lover had brought him to see me.  Randy was a sweetheart of a kid.  I would discover he was very kind and loving towards animals, his family, his environment and those around him. He was dark- haired, tall and thin with that somewhat sick appearance I later came to identify as the “AIDS” look - kind of gaunt and a certain weariness in the eyes.   From the moment his brother Eric and his lover Jacques walked into the room, with Randy trailing shyly behind, I knew I would like him.  I tried to make him feel as comfortable as possible, discussing with the three of them why Randy had come to see me.  We discussed various options and when I felt Randy was ready, gently ushered Eric and Jacques out of the building to return later for Randy.  I shared an office with two other people, not exactly a conducive atmosphere for client confidentiality, so Randy and I went into the conference room to discuss his legal needs in more detail.   We talked about who he wanted to make medical decisions for him if he himself couldn’t. By law, it would be his parents since he was unmarried and had no adult children.  We laughed at that considering his age of 18 because I was reading him questions from a checklist and didn’t think of the absurdity of an 18 year old having 18 year old children.  We discussed whether he wanted his parents to make what could be very difficult decisions such as whether to terminate life support.  He decided he wanted his brother Eric to make those decisions and I explained that to  do so, he would have to sign a medical power of attorney.  I also recommended a legal power of attorney to handle financial and other aspects of his life if he was unable to do so.  Finally, we went back to the subject of life support.  Did he want to be put on life support machines or be taken off of them if his condition was terminal?   Randy thought carefully for a while, occasionally asking me a question as his thought processes progressed. I could see his face get one look such as sadness, then quickly another such as pain, then happiness, and finally determination.  He looked up at me and said vehemently, “NO, I do NOT want to be on machines.”  He calmed down quickly and said, “I’m sorry, I really had to think about that and in my mind, I pictured my parents at my hospital bedside, then next to my grave and I just decided I could not impose that responsibility to let their child die.  I know that Eric would do what I wanted, including taking me off the machines and cremating me, which I’m sure my parents don’t want.  I don’t think they would be able to follow my wishes like my brother will.”  He paused, thinking again.   I said to him, “Let me tell you a little about how it works and that may help you decide. A living will helps you let others know your wishes when you cannot speak for yourself.   Then he said, “Yes, this is a document I really want to sign but I also want to discuss this and the powers of attorney with my brother so I’m sure he’ll do what I want despite what my parents may want.  But I just need to discuss all this with him.”  I told him he had all the time he needed to take care of it, that we were in no rush.   I then gently brought up the subject of his last will and testament.  I had quickly discovered that many of my clients, especially the younger ones, were extremely reluctant to enact this document.  It took a lot of listening, talking and some intuitive thinking, but at last I figured out why.  Because my clients were facing imminent death in many cases they didn’t like to be reminded of it by a document which only came into use after their deaths.  One client finally admitted to me that for him, signing his will was like giving up.  He felt that by signing it, he would somehow die more quickly.   At last I understood why clients would put off signing their wills once they were ready to be signed , sometimes until they were extremely sick, almost to the point of being too late.  In fact, the more sick they became, the more reluctant they were to sign their wills.  With all this in mind, it was with caution I broached the subject with Randy. We talked about a last will and why Randy might want one, so his things would go where he wanted them to go, so that even in death, he still had control over what his life had been.  He told me sadly that he really didn’t have anything and didn’t know the use of his doing a will.  I asked him questions about his possessions and learned that he had clothes, records and tapes, a few pieces of furniture, and one very special teddy bear that he wanted to go to his youngest sister.  He had a dog, but when he moved to D.C., had left it with his parents.  He proudly showed me her picture in his wallet, saying he missed her greatly, but that she would be taken care of.   I convinced him that in order for those things we listed, no matter how small they might seem to him, to go where he wanted, he would have to do a will.  After all, they were his; he alone should have the right to decide where they should go.  Yet Randy still felt somewhat inadequate because he wouldn’t be leaving his family much of anything to remember him by.  An idea struck me - why not leave a personal message to each member of his family?  It would be included with his will and each person would then have something very personal and meaningful from Randy exclusively to them.  He jumped at the idea and we proceeded to list the members of his family and what he wanted to say to each of them, even his youngest sister, then seven years old.  As we did this, I wondered how I would feel doing the same thing for my parents, brother and sister.  I had met this man less than two hours earlier and now we were sharing his most intimate feelings and thoughts regarding his family.  He told me of how he always felt he was gay, but was afraid to tell anyone until his brother Eric asked him.  Eric had then turned into his mentor.  He talked about special memories with each of his siblings, some funny, such as at a picnic and falling into the water with one of his sisters.  We laughed as he relayed more memories to me as I typed his special message to each member of his family, including Jacques, his brother’s lover.  We cried and hugged each other as the reality of what we were doing sunk in to each other; an 18 year old and a 28 year old both discussing the younger’s death. I remembered feeling very sad because I knew this young man would not live to be even my age.  It was almost enough to make me despondent but at the same time, I felt very privileged to be able to share such intimacy with someone.  It helped that Randy was a delightful young man, very cute and full of life.  He was from the Midwest, with a terrific sense of humor, something I always appreciated, especially when doing a job like this.  I thought a lot about him after he had left.  He made me even more appreciate my own mortality and I saw this sweet young guy dealing with a terminal illness.  I was furious that such a person would even have to be going through this. My mind had wandered thinking about this young man having to face such a serious crisis in his life.  Then I remembered the mix of looks that crossed Randy’s face as we typed out each message to his family.  For his parents, it seemed to me he was feeling a mix of love and regret at having to put them through this horrible illness.  Randy’s face would alternately light up and he’d smile, then it would quickly disappear and he’d frown.  A few times, tears rolled down his cheeks.  To each of his brothers and sisters, I could tell which ones he liked more and which ones he didn’t like as well from the looks on his face as he remembered incidents in his life with each of them.  The looks ranged from consternation with his face screwed up like he had just eaten a sour pickle, to thoughtfulness as his eyes narrowed to cat eyes.  There was love with a soft glow in his eyes, compassion and caring as a small smile creased his face, and finally anger, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly it was like a caterpillar was on his brow.  Although he didn’t tell me why he was angry, he realized I knew he was angry about something and we skipped the particular sibling he was thinking about until later.  I really enjoyed watching and participating in this process, wondering if I could have so much grace saying goodbye to each member of my family in the way that this very young man did.  My admiration and like for him grew immensely as I thought more about him.  I felt touched in a very personal way, because my life had truly been enriched by meeting Randy.  I discovered that I indeed had very strong feelings for Randy, but I would put them off, not wanting to think about what they meant. My sense of wonder and understanding of my role in all of this continued to grow as I met and grew to know each client such as Randy.  I was beginning to feel as if I were really helping people, which made me feel wonderful and at the same time helped me deal with the more difficult parts of my job.  And those times were many; clients were constantly dying and it was an immediate and continuing drain on my soul.  I knew I needed help to deal with so much death and dying.  Several other clinic employees were also feeling the same.  Because our work was so emotionally difficult, the Clinic provided an employee support group with Judy Pollatsek of the Saint Francis Center, as the facilitator in which we could discuss whatever was bothering us freely.  The majority of my coworkers were social workers and case managers; I was the only attorney.  So I was anxious to begin these sessions because I urgently needed to talk about what was happening around me.  During the first session, Judy introduced herself to everyone again and discussed what we might be revealing to each other, how that whatever we said in the room had to stay in the room and it would be a safe place for us to discuss anything without fear of rejection or repercussions from others.  At first, no one really wanted to begin talking and we were all kind of uncomfortable.  Finally, someone began.  I only know it wasn’t me, but once the ice had been broken, I couldn’t wait to speak!  I had to talk about Randy.  We could use the clients’ real names here because most of us were in one way or another dealing with the same clients.  I talked about meeting Randy and his brother and brother’s lover.  I talked about how Randy felt he had nothing and how I had to convince him to do a will with what he did have.  Then I talked about doing the letters to each member of his family.  The others seemed fascinated by my solution to Randy’s feeling of inadequacy in leaving anyone anything.  We discussed some of what was put into each letter and Judy commended me for handling the situation very well.  At this I glowed because to me, praise from Judy was like manna from heaven.  All the others had had clients whom they tried to refer to my legal services only to have the clients refuse.  They had discovered that some of the clients didn’t believe it was worth doing because they thought they had nothing to leave and it embarrassed some of them.   My coworkers felt like now they could encourage the clients to at least leave a personal message.  Judy stated that she believed most of the recipients would probably rather have something like a special, personal message than any “thing” someone could leave them.  Finally, I really felt like I was learning how to properly do my job and it gave me a strong feeling of personal satisfaction. At the end of one such meeting, as we left, Judy said to me, “What are you doing for dinner?  Would you join me?  I’d like to talk to you about how your job is going since you’ve been on staff for several months now.” “Sure,” I replied.  “Let me just call Hugh and tell him I won’t be home for dinner.  He expected this anyway since we never know how long the meetings are going to last.” Judy and I went to one of each of our favorite spots, a small French restaurant, La Fourchette, in the Adams-Morgan section of D.C. just up the street from the Clinic offices.  Jacqueline, the gracious host and co-owner of the restaurant greeted us warmly - both Judy and I were regular customers with our respective spouses.  As we sat after ordering a bottle of wine, Judy asked me how I was feeling.  I thought for a while and she would ask me questions to prompt my thoughts.  She asked if anything funny had happened to me and I told her about the support group meeting on my first day and Buddy asking if I was married.  She got a kick out of that - we shared an offbeat sense of humor and I knew she would find it funny.  Then I talked more about Bob, the client who had died before we signed his will.  This was still troubling me, several months after the incident.  I told Judy I was still having guilty feelings over it, sometimes even nightmares where Hugh would have to wake me up to keep me from crying.  Judy counseled me on how to overcome those feelings and concentrate on the positive.  She cited  James’ case against the engineering firm which had just settled, talked about how many mutual clients were doing better, and reminded me of some of the thank you notes I had begun to receive.  She said that by not focusing on the one major negative, and looking at all the positives, no matter how small, things would be put into perspective.  In fact, she informed me that just that day, a client had made a donation to the St. Francis Center in my name because of the help I had given him.  It truly cheered me up.   She asked how I felt about Randy, the youngest client I had had to date.  This dinner was a couple of months before Randy had died.  She could tell he had greatly impacted my life.  I started thinking about Randy, unsure of how to communicate my feelings but knowing she was there to help me. “He fascinates me,” I said.  “I think he’s a great guy and I hope if I ever have to face this situation, I can face it as strongly and as gracefully as he is.  And...” Judy just waited patiently, watching me.  She said nothing, but this didn’t surprise me because she often said it is better to keep one’s mouth shut and maybe look like a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.  Silence was frequently her pattern.  So I had no choice, I just blurted it out. “I want to sleep with him!”  I paused here, just watching her.  Still she didn’t react so I continued.  “I think he’s really cute, intelligent and a wonderful guy.  I have a lover and I have no intention of cheating on him, plus Randy is one of my clients and it would be an ethical breach to sleep with him.  But I still have these strong attractions to him.  That’s why I’m having trouble with his case.” Judy still said nothing, just looked at me and nodded, silently urging me on.  So I just began thinking out loud.  “Well, I love Hugh and don’t want to do anything to hurt him, so on that basis alone, I shouldn’t even consider sleeping with Randy.  I don’t even know if Randy is attracted to me, but I think I feel that he is.  And the job complications, it would all be just too much, another tension in my life I really don’t need.  So, I guess my answer is, just don’t even think about it, much less do it!” I took a breather and Judy finally spoke.  “It seems like you have it all figured out anyway.  You didn’t need me.”  She knew very well that she had helped me clarify my thoughts and put into words something that was bothering me that I couldn’t have resolved by myself.  Yet she had succeeded in making me admit something I hadn’t really even admitted to myself.  She had sensed something from me in the support group meeting whenever I spoke about Randy.  She had guessed, correctly, as to what it was and knew I needed to get it out or it would interfere with my work.  Once again, I was grateful to Judy and her silent wisdom. Randy and I kept in contact even after his brother consented to all of Randy’s wishes and all the documents were signed.  We became friends and he would actually come down to the clinic and help me do work.  He couldn’t work at a regular job and would get bored just being at home all day, so he would come spend time with me.  But he began to get sicker and was in and out of the hospital several times.  I would feel guilty because I couldn’t get to the hospital to see him very often because of the demands of my job.  I would make Hugh take me with him away for short weekends to the Pennsylvania countryside or the wine country of Virginia just so I could be away from dying people every now and then.  At times I had to force myself to realize that life was still going on around me.  It was during one of these weekends when Randy got very ill and was in the hospital.  I was determined to go see him that Monday night.  I had an appointment for legal documents with a client in the hospital anyway and would just stay there and visit him.  That afternoon, Eric and Jacques walked into my office.  I felt as much as I saw from the looks on their faces that something had happened.  My coworkers, Joe and Paul, also were just looking at Eric and Jacques.  They had each been helped by Randy at some point when he wasn’t doing things for me; they each liked and respected him.   As I looked at their faces, the truth begin to sink in.  “Randy....” I began.  Eric just nodded then started to cry.  He sat down and Jacques put his hands on Eric’s shoulders.  I couldn’t quite move yet, but the tears were already flowing freely down my face.  I felt like someone had just dropped a huge boulder on my heart and smashed it.  My grief was overwhelming for a minute so I couldn’t even speak.   Eric said through his tears, “I guess we’ll need that....that.....”.  He broke down again, unable to even say the word “Will.”  This spurred me to action.  I needed to do something; I was supposed to be the professional here, I was supposed to be comforting them, not losing myself in my grief.  Jacques said nothing, just stood there holding Eric’s shoulder.  I quickly went to the file cabinet and pulled out Randy’s last will.  As I took it out of the folder and walked to Eric, I laid the papers down on the desk and stood above him for a second.  He looked up at me and the hurt in his eyes was so deep, so full, I fell apart again.  I just leaned over and hugged him and began crying again.  Even Jacques, Joe and Paul sobbed a little at that point.  We cried for a while, I really don’t remember exactly how long.   Finally, I pulled back from Eric and said to him, “Eric, I’m so fucking sorry.  Your brother was a wonderfully special person I got to love very much and like you, I’ll miss him so much.  I’ll do whatever I can to help you and your family with any questions or any other problems you may have with Randy’s estate.”  This set me off to sobbing gently again and Eric began to cry as well.  He and Jacques gathered up the documents and left, leaving me feeling a void in the office.  Joe and Paul hugged me and offered their sympathies but both knew, having gone through it, that there wasn’t anything they could do to help me other than be there.  I was devastated - clients had died before, but not one to whom I had grown so close.  Had I made a mistake letting myself get so close to a client?  No, I angrily told myself, it had not been a mistake.  I looked at how enriched my life had been by knowing Randy and how I would have missed all that if we had not connected the way we had.  I thought about what Randy had said to each person in his family, about the kind things he wanted to tell them and had not and how comforted I believed they would feel having a last message from him.   While I was reflecting on all of this, Jacques walked back in.   “Eric is in the car, but he was supposed to give you this.  He forgot with everything going on.  Randy had left it with Eric to be given to you at his death.”  Jacques handed me an envelope with my name on it in Randy’s handwriting.  What could this be, I wondered? Jacques quickly left as I thanked him and opened the envelope.  It was a letter from Randy to me.  I was unsteady on my feet and had to sit down quickly.  It took me a few seconds to clear yet more tears out of my eyes so I could read it. “Dear Mauro, I can never thank you enough for all you did for me.  I know if you’re reading this that I have died and Eric has delivered it to you.  I had to write this - you became a member of my family, and it was your idea to write a message to each member of my family.”  I had to stop reading and cry for a few minutes.  It took Joe asking if I was okay to bring me back to the letter.  I continued reading, “I’m sorry I had to handwrite it, but you wrote all the others and printed them from your computer.  While I was in your office, I always looked for a chance to do that for you, but I didn’t know how to work the computer well enough, so you get it handwritten.  I hope you can read my chicken-scratchings. “Ever since the day we met, I think I was in love with you.  I did not want to come at all, but Eric and Jacques talked me into it.  I am so happy that they did because otherwise I may never have met you.  I know you have a lover and are happy with him, and what would you, a lawyer, want with a high school dropout 18 year old like me?  But you treated me with respect like I had a million bucks and showed me that there were things I could do for my family even when I thought I had nothing to leave them.  Well, I have less than nothing to leave you except this, so I’m telling you how I truly felt about you.  I would have been proud to call you my lover.  I don’t know if you could love someone with AIDS or not, but it doesn’t matter.  I am happy I got to spend time with you and it seemed like you enjoyed spending time with me even though it was just in your office.  You showed me kindness and compassion in the face of this horrible disease and you stuck with me no matter what I went through.  If anything good came out of my having AIDS it was that I got to meet you. “Sorry, I had to stop for a minute there.  It’s kinda hard to write through tears.  This was probably a stupid idea and you’ll laugh at me for doing this, but I felt like I needed to let you know how much you mean to me.  Thanks again for everything.  I know you were in my thoughts when I died.  Love you always, Randy.” My tears came hard and fast after that.  I could hardly breathe for several minutes, gasping for breath, to the point where Joe and Paul came over to make sure I was ok.  Joe put his arms around me, and Paul put his arm around my shoulder, and the three of us stayed like that for several minutes.  Drying my eyes, I let them read the letter and just kept crying for a while.  It was close to the time for my appointment at the hospital but somehow I couldn’t face going to the hospital right then to see someone else who was dying, in the same place where Randy had just died.  I was supposed to see Randy that night, why hadn’t I gone sooner?  I pulled myself together enough to call the new client’s social worker at the hospital and ask how he was doing, if our appointment could possibly wait until the next day.  She said he was doing well and in no danger and yes, the next day would be fine.  She also just knew from my voice I had lost someone important.  She simply said, “I’m sorry.  I do understand what you’re feeling.”   Unfortunately, I’m sure she did really know and wasn’t just saying it to comfort me.  It felt better to have someone really understand.  I hung up and said I’d see her tomorrow.  It was about 4:30 p.m., just half an hour before quitting time.  I just needed to leave, so Joe and Paul urged me to go home.  I went home and cried for a while, rereading the letter.  When Hugh arrived about 6:00 p.m., I rushed to his arms and cried for 20 minutes.  Hugh was not the most sensitive person and didn’t like too much affection, but he at least understood that I really needed him right then and he just held me until I just couldn’t cry anymore.  I showed him the letter and assured him that there had never been anything between Randy and I and I was surprised by the letter too.  He said he understood and said he was proud of me and the difficult work I did on behalf of others.  I spent a hard night in his arms that night with nightmares.

Chapter Four

My parents were having trouble with my chosen field of work.  They just couldn’t understand why a 26 year old man would want to work in such a depressing and (to them at the time) dangerous field.  My mom would say, “Aren’t you afraid of catching it?”   “No, Mom, I’m not having sex or sharing needles with any of my clients, so I don’t think you have to worry too much.” “You know I hate it when you say things like that.  Why do you have to be like that?” she said to me one evening on the telephone.  My parents still live in my home town of Albuquerque, New Mexico. At the time, my father was in his sixties and my mother in her late fifties.  They had each grown up in New Mexico, in very Latino families, my mom in southern New Mexico and my dad in northern New Mexico.  They had met in college, my father having been behind his class because of serving in World War II, where he had been shot down and lived behind enemy lines for several months.  He had been aided in northern Italy by the partisans there, then was assisted by the Communists in Yugoslavia.  He often equated his whole life with those experiences, including how he raised his kids.  He was not overly military, but was very set in his ways and liked things a certain way.  He has a strong personality which he hides at strange times and is just a little like the original nutty professor.  My father more often stayed quiet and let my mom do the talking but I suspect that was because he’d have trouble getting a word in edgewise.  However, he had quite a temper which could boil over at the strangest things.   Both of my parents were public school teachers, my father in high school and my mother in grade school.  Each had retired at the end of the 1984-1985 school year and were spending their first full year of retirement figuring out how to do it.  They had strongly encouraged education in their children, my older sister, younger brother and myself.  But I was the only one who finished college and went on to law school.  I was doing great, what did my being gay have to do with anything?   But no, they couldn’t see it that way, they only saw it as me out to embarrass them at every turn.  I simply told them I was doing what I had to and what made me happy.  They, I believe, just thought I was being selfish. My mother is a traditional Latina, very strong on extended family, very protective of her own family, a regular Catholic church goer, great cook, and incredibly strong-willed.  She is 5'3" tall with wavy hair and a kind, teacher’s face.  It’s hard to say which of my parents was the real boss of the family -  they obviously each thought they were, and maybe they really were equals in it.  But my mom was clearly the voice of the family.  She loves to talk.  She would speak to her sisters on the phone in “Spanglish”, combining both English and Spanish without skipping a beat.  My maternal grandparents only lived a few blocks away and helped raise us after my mom went back to teaching after my brother began school.  My grandmother was also a very strong willed woman who clearly ruled her household and I knew she was obviously my mom’s role model.  My mom believed in her family first - her three kids, her husband, her parents (both of whom had died in 1978 and 1980), and her sisters and their families.  She did not want to be the one with the “fag” son because she was always in some sort of competition with her sisters too.  Who had the better home, husband, and kids.  She was so proud I had gone to law school at a prestigious school like George Washington, and was certain I would do so well.  This just didn’t fit into her concept of doing well.  So everything I did just seemed to embarrass her more and she couldn’t understand why I would do that.  I in turn, couldn’t understand why she could possibly have any objections to what I was doing.  It was a job I loved even when I found it very difficult. I spoke to them regularly, usually at least once a week, usually more often.  They still hadn’t quite accepted me as being gay although by this point they had known for about five years.  They knew about Hugh but hadn’t yet met him and had informed me they didn’t really want to.  When I say “them” I generally mean my mom.  It is Mom I speak to mostly, my dad not liking the telephone much.  And she always says “We feel...”, not “I feel...”.  She speaks for both of them.  I’ve never really asked my father if he always shares her opinion, but knowing both of them as I do, I imagine their opinions agree about 10% of the time.  However, on the subject of my being gay and working in the AIDS field, I think they both did agree - they didn’t like it.  Which of course made me all the more determined to do what I wanted, still being in my rebel phase and only 26, in my first real meaningful job out of law school and only having been out of the closet since 1982.  My parents had discovered kind of the hard way about my being gay.  I had spent the summer of 1982 between first and second years of law school with my law school lover, Jeff, traveling around the states by car.  We had spent time with his family in Minnesota and the subject simply had never come up.  If his parents knew exactly who I was, they didn’t want to know more.  When Jeff and I had arrived in Albuquerque, we stayed with my parents but in separate rooms.  One afternoon, I was talking to a friend on the phone, leaning on the bed in my sister’s old room.  The bed was a high, four-poster bed, and as I leaned on the bed, Jeff was leaning on me.  We were not doing anything, I was just talking and he was just listening.  Suddenly my dad was at the door to ask me something.  A look crossed his face as he saw us in that position with Jeff leaning on me.  I still don’t know exactly what kind of look it was and I’m not sure I want to know.  I do know he disappeared quickly and my mother was there faster than if Scotty had beamed her in. “What’s going on?” she demanded.  “Will you tell me exactly what is going on here?” “Mom,” I began.  Jeff of course had quickly pulled away from me and was just standing there, very awkwardly.  “Can we go to another room?”  We walked quickly into the room across the hall I had shared with my brother so long ago.  Jeff simply shut the door behind him. “What do you want to tell me?” my mom said with a hint of hysteria in her voice.  “What do you think you’re doing here under my roof?” “Mom, I didn’t want you to know before, but now I guess I have no choice.  Mom, Jeff is my lover.  I’m gay and... and...”  That was about all I could manage to say at the moment. “No, this can’t be true, can it?  Why would you bring someone home like that?  Did he make you that way?  I’ll bet it was Peter, wasn’t it.  Is Peter gay?”  She was shouting now, her anger overcoming her shock.  Peter was my best friend whom I had met in college.  He lived in Mexico City and we had always been close, were even lovers for a short while.  We remained friends and brothers until he died of a heart attack in 1998. “Mom, it’s nobody’s fault.  No one seduced me, I just finally admitted to myself what I think you and the rest of the family have known all along.  You know Bobby (my brother) always called me ‘fag.’  And how I took piano rather than taking football after school like all the other guys.  Mom, I’ve known since I was six years old that I was different.  I hid it from myself until I actually met someone like me and fell in love.  And that person is Jeff.” She began to cry, and so did I.  She continued to ask me questions and I would answer them as well as I could for her.  We ended up speaking for about three hours.  It remains one of the most painful but fulfilling times of my life - the day I could finally and truly be myself with my family! So my parents were just getting used to me being gay.  Now, here I was working with PWAs!  My mom asked me not to tell anyone what I did for a living other than that I was an attorney.  I promptly refused to do this.  “Mom, I don’t care what you think, I’m proud of my work and I will NOT hide it!  If it embarrasses you, you’ll just have to get used to it!”  I was in my rebellious stage then, not really trying to hurt her, just forcefully trying to get her to see my point of view.  I was still learning diplomacy at the time and organizations like ACT-UP were just getting their start, so it was natural for me to come down kind of hard on her.  At the time, I was very self-righteous as the young often are when they first begin a cause.  But they were the ones who taught me to stand up for what I believe, and that’s exactly what I was doing!  Why couldn’t they just see that what I was doing was right, was necessary and that I was helping others, another quality they had taught me?  It just seemed weird to me that they would not support me in my work.  But in reflection, they did strongly support me in their own ways.  They never cut off contact, never threatened to stop talking to me or try to kick me out of the family.  We just agreed to disagree on it and left it at that.  They eventually got used to what I did and could even rationally discuss it with me.   I have had to reflect throughout my career in AIDS and my life as a gay man what values I would accept from my parents and what values I would reject or discover for myself.  I had rejected the Catholic Church early on, going to Catholic school until 9th grade when I transferred to the public high school where my father taught.  But I had rejected being a Catholic in about 7th grade when I somehow figured out it was bullshit I was being fed.  This still plays a major role in my life because my mom is very strongly Catholic.  To this day, we have fights about the Catholic church.  I tell her I was born this way, but she adopted the church and could change her ways.  She says I could have a little faith and it wouldn’t hurt.  From what I remember, it did! Gradually as they got used to my work, I could call them to tell them I was depressed because someone had died or was happy because we had won a great victory.  They were (read, my mom was since I didn’t really speak to my dad on the phone much) alternatively sad or happy for me, but always my mom would ask, “Wouldn’t you be happier doing something else?”  To which I would reply, simply, “NO!”  My parents were always there to support me no matter what my decisions were even if they didn’t like them much.  As they face my own illness now and have their own serious health problems, both currently being in their 70's, I can look back and be grateful for having such strong, loving parents.  Living in their house made me strong, and I often tell my mom that when someone asks her how many kids she has, she can proudly say, “Three, one of each!” I love my parents very much and have great respect for them.  I  think they are wonderful people and I respect their opinions.  However in this case I had to do what I believed to be right.  And despite what they thought, I was not about to give it up.  My work was so important to me that I was willing to forsake my parents beliefs and go with what I believed in.  And that's exactly what I did.

[kxlebcross]

for the quarantine asks, multiples of 2, please :)

are you fucking serious???? i’m gonna get back at you for this, i’m smol and ready to fight!!!! (under the cut >:3)

2. Grilled cheese or PB&J? grilled cheese, always... idk, maybe i’m too european for that but pb&j just seems gross to me (noah fence to anyone who likes it tho)

4.  Your go-to bar order, if you drink? usually it’s a mojito, a gintonic or a vodka-tonic, depending on the place and its’ prices... and if i’m not that low on money sometimes an absinthe slips in, but that’s really rare, i’m not that young anymore and my body just can’t keep up with the alcohol anymore dfsdfd

6. Top three cuisines? uhhhh..... italian, hungarian and..... i don’t actually have a third hdgfhsd can i just generally say that ‘asian’? tbh i tried like 3-4 dishes from various asian countries which imo is way less than enough to choose a fave, and there’s also a lot more i’d like to try sometime... but my city doesn’t have many places to go to, and the only “chinese” restaurant we have is a cheap ripoff which never served a proper chinese dish in their life.... ordered from there twice, beforehand researching each dish i ordered and let me tell u.... they weren’t even close to what they were supposed to be......

8.  What’s a job that you’ve had that people might be surprised to find out you’ve had?  i once worked at a strip club..... no, not as a stripper, i was a waiter/bartender, and honestly i wouldn’t even mind talking about it if the place wasn’t shady as fuck.... one of the national tv stations even made a full time documentary series about all the illegal shit that’s going down there..... but i never really did any unconventional jobs so there’s nothing fancy, but if i were to tell stories about what i’ve encountered during my ordinary jobs...... oh boi.......

10.  Do you own any signed books/memorabilia in general? i have a signed photo with Flowsik from his Warsaw concert.... and i think that’s the only thing like that, if i ever had anything else it’s long forgotten and probably is laying in some box in my mom’s basement lmao

12. What do you get on your bagels? What WOULD you get if you had access to anything you wanted? i only have bagels in the kfc breakfast offer so it’s usually some chicken, salad, cheese, egg and mayonnaise? i think? or was that the ciabatta? fuck me if i remember...... but if i could choose anything i’d probably go with smth similar, some chicken strips, veggies, bacon, cheese and moyinnaise? yeah, probably, im a man of simple tastes dsfdfg

14.  Favorite mug you own i wish i wasn’t so lazy and just take a picture of it, but i’m a lazy fuck so here i go explaining XD so its actually a middle-sized coffee mug, it’s pastel greyish-pink with two cats on it, and one of the cats is chilling on a guitar.... it was a bday present from my mums friend and it came in a cat head-like box which i kept.... it’s now on the top shelf in it’s all grotesque cat box glory..... like the ceiling cat meme

16.  Pick a song lyric to describe your current mood (and drop the name and artist!)  uhhhh tbh my mood is usually a blank space, apathy be fun like that... so ill just list some that i’m generally vibin’ with

Take a knife in the back, wanna feel my pain Make a slice to the wrist to reveal those veins I could see your face, man I feel insane

Such a mess when I'm in your presence I've had enough, think you've been making me sick Gotta get you out of my system, yeah

MGK - In These Walls

I just can’t get enough of you, but that’s alright Feeling like going on a joyride with you through the night I keep accelerating on the road with you at my side

Lexie Liu - Like a Mercedes

And it's nights like this when I'm on my own And I realize that you'll never feel like home No, I can't feel you now (Feel me now) And I try my best to stick around But when you're broken like me, you just gotta get out 

Bring Me The Horizon -  ±ªþ³§ feat. YONAKA (but i’m generally vibin’ with the whole album that this song is from)

18.  What’s that one TV show that you’re a little bit embarrassed to watch but you still like nonetheless?  okay so i’m probably not gonna rewatch it ever again, but... when i was a kid there was this german series on tv and it was called medicopter 117.... so in exam season i realized that as a kid i never got to finish it so i decided to rewatch... listen, it’s a 1997 series... but damn it was actually better than some of the crap ppl call tv show now....... not gonna rewatch tho, some moments and plotlines were frustrating as fuck

20.  Do you match your socks? yes! but only because i either have them all black (which will match anyway) or funky colorful fruit patterned ones that look a bit much even on their own so i wouldn’t really wanna mix’n’match those in fear they would just look tacky as fuck

22.  What was your “phase” when you were younger? (i.e., Mythology Nerd, Horse Girl, Space Geek, etc) well for a while i was the horse kid, then the cat kid, then the car kid and then i ended up being the resident class emo with a weird obsession over Lord of the Rings.... it was a wild ride, though the emo phase sort of stuck with me even now

24.  What’s your opinion on Lazy Susan’s (the spinning tray in the middle of tables)? the what? i stg i never encountered it in my life so i’m not really having an opinion on it, sorry to disappoint

26.  You can only have one juice for the rest of your life, what is it? definitely orange... apple has a weird aftertaste, tomato is gross, banana feels like having jizz in ur mouth.... yeah, we’re sticking with orange (also please don’t ask me to elaborate on the jizz part)

28.  What’s one thing you’re trying to learn/relearn in your downtime right now? i’m actually trying to get better with some overwatch heroes i never learned before... since the lockdown started i got a lot better with snipers and i1m actually pretty proud of it

30.  Where could someone find you in a museum? most likely in the souvenir shop trying to find the cheapest thing..... or chilling on some bench/chair after watching all the art pieces, i’m usually way too lazy to stand around and wanna get out pretty fast, but i think it has more to do with the fact that i don’t really like to hang out around people and museums tend to always have a few of those

32.  Rainbows, stars, or sunset colored clouds? stars and clouds.... but man i actually really miss stars........ that’s the only thing that’s shitty in living at the city that i can’t see the stars

34.  Do you have more art on your walls or more photographs? i think art.... i mean i have three movie posters, an overwatch one, a religious calendar from my mum, and then a pride flag and some tacky painting the landlady insisted on keeping on the wall.....

36.  Pick a superhero sidekick to hang out with uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... okay i’m gonna admit, i’m not really into superheroes so i’m not that well-informed about their sidekicks either.... can i just hang out with loki instead or smth?

38.  Favorite mid-2000s song oh no.... assuming it was around 2005.... i was like 7 at that time? what the fuck did  i listen to back then? uhhhhhhh i’m pretty sure that was a basshunter time back then? so i’m gonna go with Basshunter’s Now You’re Gone as i remember having it on my mp3 player dfjhjkdf

40.  Where do you sit in the living room (we all have a preferred spot, and you know it)? usually at my pc, even when i have guests over because i don’t trust anyone with the playlists...... and when i’m over at someone i usually choose a fotel or smth and lay down in it as if i’ve never used a fotel before or couldn’t sit like a normal human being.... and if there’s no fotel then i’m sitting on the armrest of the sofa because apparently i can’t sit like a normal human being sdshfghsdf

42.  A song you didn’t think you’d enjoy but ended up loving  it’s this one.... one day just popped up in my youtube recommended and i was like what the fuck??????? but i’m not gonna say what it is, see for yourself ;)

44.  Are you a “Quote that relates to the photos” caption-er, an “explanation of where I took the photos” caption-er, or a no caption kinda person when you post pictures online? i..... try not to post at all??? but if i do it’s either no caption or “i randomly decided to post some pictures at 3am without thinking about a concept or caption so i’m just gonna wing it” kind of bullshit, no inbetween, i just can’t write meaningful shit under my pictures 

46.  What’s the freezer food that you stock up on when you go to the grocery store? fries..... i’m a slut for fries, best food ever......... give me fries......... i think i actually might buy some later now that we’re talking about it

48.  Do you like Jello? once again i’m way too european to have an opinion, sorry.....

50.  How are you at climbing trees? when i was a kid i was doing pretty well..... now, around 15 yrs and a few fucked up joints later i’m not sure how would i do....... if this stewpid lockdown is over i might actually convince my friend to find some trees to climb and then we’ll see....... (and then i hopefully won’t accidentally k*ll myself because he will be there to catch me if i fall lmaoooo)

[lifeonashelf]

CAT POWER

When I started working as a clerk at Rhino in 2001, one of my floor managers was a guy named Aaron, a real cool cat who was a few years older than me and a fellow writer (poetry, mostly, but working on his elusive first novel, if I recall correctly). At the time, he probably also fit the textbook description of an alcoholic—hey, it was a record store; most of us who worked there fit that textbook description. But Aaron wasn’t one of those slovenly, discernibly reckless drunks. He was a good-looking dude whose unruffled mien suggested that when he got wasted, he got Elegantly Wasted, and whenever he came in the morning after a bender, the luggage under his eyes was accompanied by a knowing smirk which intimated he had way more fun than you did last night and possibly woke up next to a foxy companion whose name he could only vaguely recall. Naturally, since I was a budding writer with aspirations of being an Elegantly-Wasted alcoholic, I looked up to the guy.

After Aaron left Rhino (I was promoted into the managerial spot he vacated, so he did me a solid there), he switched to bartending at a spot called the Second Avenue Alehouse, where we continued to have positive dealings. Since one of his duties was booking bands to perform at the pub, he slotted Happyending into the schedule several times. Second Avenue was in Upland—only ten miles away from almost everyone I knew at the time—and the place drew healthy business with or without us, so our Alehouse gigs were all reliably well-attended. We were also allowed to play for as long as we wanted, an attractive proposition since our repertoire had ballooned to something like 50 originals and 15 or so covers at that point. Since we obviously thought we had a lot of good tunes to offer, executing a Pearl Jam-esque thirty-song set was much more appealing to us than whittling our wares into a tidy thirty-minute package to be efficiently shoe-horned into rosters with like six other bands at the more traditional clubs where we performed. Plus, Aaron always made sure we got paid—generously, I might add, for an outfit of our limited stature—and kept us plied with free beer all night. Unsurprisingly, the Second Avenue Alehouse ended up being my very favorite venue that ever hosted Happyending.

[Our experiences there were infinitely preferable to some of our more ill-starred outings, such as one disastrous gig at a Cask ‘N Cleaver steakhouse (yes, really) in Orange County, where our entire audience consisted of my dad, the restaurant’s staff, and the consequently aggrieved lady who booked the show: an amateur promoter named Linda, who we had done a few previous gigs for despite ascertaining she was fucking insane. Linda was in particularly rare form the evening of that fabled Cask ‘n Cleaver show. While we were chatting with her upon our arrival at the eatery, she erupted into a lengthy tirade about how the government was putting chemicals in Hostess Twinkies which allowed the CIA to use said snack cakes for nefarious mind-control purposes. She was wholly sincere—and rather frightening in her fervor—so I didn’t have the stones to tell her that the only post-hypnotic suggestion I’ve ever received while eating a Twinkie is that Twinkies are goddamn delicious and I should eat five more of them in immediate succession. Anyway, Linda was incensed that we had failed to lure vast throngs of people to come watch us play in the lounge of a two-and-a-half-star chain restaurant located in a city where we didn’t know anybody. As our scheduled set-time drew near and the establishment remained completely empty, her fretfulness morphed into a vehement lambasting. “Where is everybody, Taylor?” Linda growled, to which I summed up the utter idiocy of the booking by shrugging and telling her, “Linda, this is a Cask ‘N Cleaver.” Nevertheless, we played reasonably well to that room full of vacant white-clothed tables—the candles ornamenting each one gently flickered as I threw power-chords and throaty yells at them, almost like a swaying sea of lighter-hoisting admirers; if we had any ballads in our set, we might have found ourselves in the midst of a poignant moment there. I also definitely noticed the bartender rocking out while he idly wiped down all the mugs behind the bar, ostensibly preparing his glassware just in case the zero people sitting at his counter started ordering pints. However, what I remember most about that night is how dejected we felt driving home from the gig… Not because my father was the only person who showed up to see us, mind you, but because we realized we had inadvertently walked out on the sizable tab we accrued for the hearty appetizers-and-all feast we devoured before our performance. I assure you our malfeasance was wholly unintentional (the food was really quite good; the joint handily earned its 2.5 stars). We simply forgot all about the bill because we were so focused on making a quick exit from the premises after we finished packing up our gear—as I said, Linda was livid; we were justifiably worried she might assault us with Scopolamine-laced Twinkies if we stuck around to give her the chance. In any case, I never returned to that Cask ‘N Cleaver (apparently, the dearth of clientele wasn’t limited to the nights Happyending performed there because the location has long since closed) so it’s entirely possible there is an outstanding warrant for my arrest in the city of Fountain Valley.]

My memories of hanging out with Aaron after each of our Alehouse performances are just as fond as my memories of the shows themselves. We closed the pub down every time we played there, and our host was always game for a few after-hours rounds once he cleared everyone else out; more than once, we ended up lingering to drink and smoke and shoot the shit until four or five in the morning, which naturally proved to be a fertile milieu for some extremely pleasant and memorable conversations (actually, I can’t really remember them, I just remember they were pleasant). Anyway, aside from that, the main reason Aaron has turned up in this essay is because in addition to being a real good dude, he was also a big fan of Cat Power.

I hadn’t yet heard any of Cat Power’s music when she first came up in palaver with Aaron at Rhino, so it was through him I learned that moniker is the stage name used by a highly-regarded singer-songwriter named Chan Marshall, who he assessed as follows: “She’s a fucking trainwreck, man. But I love her.” He then went on to tell me about some of the various Cat Power gigs he had attended over the years, which he succinctly described as “iffy”—he was being overly polite, I think, considering the particulars he then shared.

Aaron told me he was present for at least one show where Marshall abruptly ended the set after a few songs and walked off stage without explanation (which was evidently a common occurrence at the time), and another which was cancelled moments before it was set to begin because she didn’t feel like playing at all (which was evidently also a common occurrence at the time). Yet Aaron sounded positively tickled as he described these episodes to me, as if an aborted Cat Power concert was still a rewarding event to witness—to hear him tell it, Chan Marshall’s histrionic refusal to perform somehow endeared her to him more, perhaps even perversely validated his enthusiasm for her work because her erratic conduct reinforced the brittle-diva mythos she had cultivated. Since he had already accepted the “will-she-or-won’t-she” cliffhanger as part of the whole Cat Power mystique, even when Marshall was too much of a mess to operate, she was still satisfying some aspect of his fandom. And he clearly wasn’t dissuaded by either of these experiences; the very next time a Cat Power gig was announced in our area, Aaron bought a ticket for that show, too.

In a very real sense, Chan Marshall was playing hard to get. But Aaron kept chasing her because he was optimistic that someday, if he persisted, she was bound to eventually put out and play songs at one of her concerts. I’m fascinated by the singular impact this prolonged ear-tease fostered for him. Imagine: when he finally did get to watch a complete Cat Power performance, that gig must have been momentous by default, simply by virtue of it actually happening. And make no mistake, the effusiveness of Aaron’s gushing suggested he would remain a steadfast fan for life; though the wearisome cycle he described made me initially reckon that Chan Marshall was either a pretentious wanker or a narcissistic wacko, the more I think about it, she might actually be a genius.    

[When I told my friend Paul I was working on this piece, he shared a strikingly similar reminiscence of a Cat Power performance he went to in Claremont several years back. According to him, that show started 45-minutes late because Marshall kept sending out a roadie in her stead to fastidiously tune and retune her piano several times; Paul also added that when Chan finally took the stage, she was essentially dragged there by one of her handlers and never once used the piano which had been so painstakingly fussed over.]

To this day, I still know almost nothing about Chan Marshall or her music, beyond Aaron’s insinuation that she apparently doesn’t like performing it in front of people. I do have one Cat Power selection in my library—you wouldn’t be reading this if I didn’t—though the sole reason I own You Are Free is because one of the tracks features a guest appearance from Eddie Vedder, and that is the only song on the album I can recall ever listening to (I didn’t even purchase this disc, actually; mine is an advance promotional copy that was given to me when it was released in 2003—in a precisely literal sense, I could say to this CD, “you are free”).

Despite writing nearly 2,000 words up to this point, I still have not cued up a single song off You Are Free. I decided to take an atypical approach to this essay because I wanted to examine this particular offering in a more concentrated fashion. Although I’ve spent a lot of time heckling Cat Power thus far, my casual mockery isn’t motivated by any authentic malice—I’ve been doing it mostly just because I’m a dick sometimes. The truth is, I have lofty expectations for this record. Marshall’s work comes enthusiastically endorsed by multiple people I know, and the credentials she has cultivated since Aaron first told me about her (widespread critical acclaim, concert appearances at which she presumably actually performed, etc.) have made me far more curious about Cat Power now than I was 12 years ago. So I’m ready to give Chan Marshall my undivided attention. And just to make sure I’m listening closely, I’m going to tackle You Are Free one track at a time:

Okay, so the first song on the disc is called “I Don’t Blame You”. It’s essentially just a rudimentary piano melody with an austere vocal on top of it—it reminds me of all the songs in Tori Amos’s catalog I don’t like, mostly. Marshall’s voice sure is lovely, though. Delicate. Subdued. Lamenting. And the piano has obviously been meticulously tuned.

Up next is the quasi title-track, “Free”. This cut kicks off with a cycle of four stabbing power chords, so I’m anticipating that it maybe-possibly is going to rock. A few bars in, I’m slightly reminded of Elastica, which is totally fine with me because Elastica is awesome. Now an atonal second guitar part has joined the fray in the background—sweet, the song is building. Chan keeps repeating the same riff over and over again, but this motif is bound to make a huge impression when the drums kick in and the chorus arrives. Yep, there we go: a crunchy guitar just dropped in to double the chords, and… Oh… So, that only happened twice; now we’re back to the lumbering refrain she’s been playing this whole time. Okay, here come the drums… Wait, those aren’t real drums—they sound like the percussion pads on a child’s keyboard, and it’s not even a “beat,” really, just some clunky tap-tap kick-snare thing. Something’s bound to happen soon though, I can feel it. “Everybody / get together / free.” There aren’t a whole lot of lyrics in this song. Okay, any second now, the dynamic payoff is going to… Wait… It’s over? What the fuck, Chan? One dopey riff for three and a half minutes, “everybody, get together, free” like eight times, and that was it? Shit. That was anticlimactic.

Thankfully, “Good Woman” is much better. The warm guitar tone sells it: slow, chiming notes on reprise, but there’s some emotional atmosphere behind them. R.E.M. has built countless great tunes around this same minimalist approach, and it’s working just fine here. I also dig the fiddles randomly scissoring through; they sound like they’re playing the chords to an entirely different song, but that’s kind of neat and it works. This is super-droney and super-gloomy, but in a good way. Chan Marshall really does sing beautifully. Maybe I like Cat Power. My promo copy didn’t include a lyric booklet, but this track is making me sad, so I’m assuming it’s about something sad. That’s cool, I love sad music. Hey, there’s Eddie Vedder. He sounds sad, too.

Now we’re on to “Speak For Me”. Yeah, I can get on board with this—perhaps those first two unexceptional tracks were flukes? This is a perfect spot on the album to encounter a decent mid-tempo number that actually feels like a fully-formed song, with chord changes and a chorus and everything. This reminds me a bit of Neko Case, and I figured out a couple entries ago that I love Neko Case. I wonder if the Girl With the Neko Case Tote enjoys Cat Power. I should text her and ask her. There’s a nifty plinking piano line and a few layers of textured guitars along for the ride, so this track has a lot going for it. Good tune.

“Werewolf” is a rather glum exercise, but I like the sparse arrangement and the way the lazily-picked campfire acoustic sits way down in the mix and the pair of melancholy violins moaning on top of it. Marshall’s pipes are the clear centerpiece here, though; now that I’ve heard her run through a few modulations I’m getting a better sense of what all the fuss is about. I can’t tell if this song is about metaphorical werewolves or actual werewolves, but from the sound of things I’m reasonably certain it’s about werewolves who are non-metaphorically depressed. I’d probably be depressed if I was a werewolf, too. I can totally relate to this one.

Now I’m listening to “Fool”, which sounds exactly like what I assumed Cat Power would sound like when I didn’t know what Cat Power sounded like. This track isn’t doing much for me. The only instrumentation here is an elementary replicating guitar line; while there’s nothing wrong with “simple,” “Fool” veers much closer to “dull.” There are a couple of harmonizing vocal stratums present to beef up Marshall’s quaver and infuse the track with some nuance, but there’s nothing especially special about this one, I’m afraid. The promotional blurb on my CD notes that “You Are Free marks Chan Marshall’s first album of original material in nearly 4 years…” “Fool” is only four minutes long, and shouldn’t have taken any capable musician much longer than that to write—I can’t fathom what Chan was doing for the rest of those four years.

“He War” marks the record’s mid-point and would, I assume, be the last tune on Side A if I was listening to this on vinyl. That makes this a significant cut in terms of placement, though it’s not particularly significant in terms of quality. Actually, this is the first song I’ve heard on You Are Free that I’m having trouble distinguishing from other songs I’ve already heard on You Are Free—it basically just marries the repetitive chugging of “Free” to the loose groove of “Speak For Me”. I’ve heard enough sparks of excellence thus far to discern that Marshall is a skilled songwriter, but this is another one of those instances where Chan merely stumbles into a single serviceable riff and continuously recycles it for the entire track. This album is starting to frustrate me; I still have the haunting hum of “Werewolf” in my head and I keep wishing Cat Power was consistently as good as that track suggests. Marshall’s voice remains great, but “He War” doesn’t conjure up a very exciting backdrop for it. Instantly forgettable, this one. I hope Side B is stronger.

The second division begins with “Shaking Paper”, which is indeed stronger than the last two numbers. Marshall is still only playing one phrase, but it’s a good one, and this tune at least has a legitimate snapping drum beat carrying it along. There’s also a feedback-rich binary guitar track lending some effectively menacing ambiance. This one, I get.

“Baby Doll” is another somber narrative in the same tonal vein as “Werewolf”, and I like this one a lot, too. Marshall’s husky front-and-center vocals here are exquisite. She hits a couple of plainly-audible flubbed guitar notes, and I totally dig that she left the mistakes in; the emotional urgency of the track benefits from those spontaneous human touches. This song sounds like something you’d hear in a pivotal film scene—Jennifer Lawrence driving down a lonesome shadow-swept highway in a torrential rain storm looking gorgeously despondent at the end of the second act, perhaps. I’m not sure if that’s exactly what Chan Marshall had in mind when she wrote this; You Are Free came out in 2003, so she was probably picturing Kate Winslet instead. Nevertheless, “Baby Doll” is more evocative and potent than anything else I’ve heard on this disc. If all of Chan’s stuff was this strong, I would definitely consider going back and deleting all of the snarky jibes in this piece—but, you know, I’m not going to do that.

Alas, the title of the next song serves as an apt rejoinder to my supposition that maybe I’m starting to genuinely dig Cat Power: “Maybe Not”. I wasn’t craving yet another Chan-at-the-piano exercise, let alone one that is essentially a lackluster reworking of “I Don’t Blame You”; I think she may be playing the exact same chords, even. The blurb on my CD’s insert proclaims that “You Are Free is most assuredly not easy listening,” which now reads more like a warning than a sanction. I’m always suspicious when publicists whose job is to promote an album use “challenging” as a buzzword. That just seems like a democratic way of saying, “this record sounds terrible at first, but maybe it will grow on you if you listen to it a whole bunch of times.”

In a sterling example of what could only be kismet, one of the first lyrics I discern in the next cut is the phrase, “having difficulty.” And I am: “Names” is so drearily monotonous that merely lasting through it is a grueling task. It’s the longest track on the album, stretching to nearly five minutes (though it feels much longer; I had to pause the song in the middle for a cigarette break). Yet again, Marshall is milking a single dowdy and dismal piano melody all the way through the tune. Which means that “Names” sounds exactly like “Maybe Not”, which means that it also sounds exactly like “I Don’t Blame You”, which means that I’m bored. Even the vocal performance is uninspired—this track evidently bores Chan Marshall, too.

“Half of You” is half a song, more of an interlude than a lude. At least it’s pretty. It’s got drums, too. Actually, just one drum, resounding over the soft acoustic flutter like rolling thunder, or like a heartbeat, maybe. Similes.

Hey! The intro to “Keep On Runnin’ ” sort of reminds me of a slower rendering of the intro to Metallica’s “The Unforgiven”. Now, that’s a killer song. Kirk Hammett’s climactic solo on that number gives me goddamn chills. That dude’s one of the greatest lead guitarists ever, hands down. Metallica got all kinds of shit for making such a blatantly commercial record after cranking out four underground thrash classics in a row, but as far as I’m concerned, Metallica (more commonly known as “The Black Album”) is a truly remarkable piece of work that has aged splendidly. And not just the obvious tracks, either—give “My Friend of Misery” and “The God That Failed” another spin sometime soon; fucking fantastic stuff (“Don’t Tread on Me” still blows, though). That album also features the song “Of Wolf and Man”, which is about non-metaphorical werewolves (the lyrics don’t specify whether or not they’re depressed). Granted, “Of Wolf and Man” is kind of cheesy, but it’s still a solid cut with some excellent chugga-chugga riffing; in the pantheon of hard rock songs about lycanthropy, I’d rank it slightly higher than Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon” (which I have to assume is about metaphorical werewolves since actual werewolves howl at the moon rather than bark at it—though this distinction is somewhat puzzling since Ozzy had himself made-up like a non-metaphorical werewolf for the cover of the album and the song’s video). Anyway, The Black Album was a keystone disc for me that opened up a whole lot of sonic doors and proved to be a tantalizing viaduct to the more brutal metal I would soon become obsessed with. Since I heard “Enter Sandman” long before I heard “Fight Fire With Fire”, I wasn’t even cognizant that Metallica was toning down their sound—besides, I was too busy being floored by this aural juggernaut with walloping drums and an insanely cool riff progression to care (fun fact: “Sandman” was the very first song I learned to play on my very first guitar, a red Peavey Predator which I of course still have). Oh… “Keep On Runnin’ ” just ended. Shit, I wasn’t paying attention. It was… okay?

“Evolution” is a glaringly unsuitable title for a song that is practically identical to three other tracks on this disc. For all of their elemental equivalencies, “Evolution”, “Names”, “Maybe Not”, and “I Don’t Blame You” could have been recorded in a single sitting—hell, they could be alternate takes of the same tune which Chan Marshall simply superimposed different lyrics over. I’ve run out of clever ways to indicate when she’s playing the same plain melody ad nauseam for the entire song. Instead, I will merely note that “Evolution” features Marshall playing the same plain melody ad nauseam for the entire song. The best endorsement I can give this redundant ditty is that it marks the end of an album I have not enjoyed listening to very much.

So, there’s a really terrific EP buried amidst the hour-long straggle of detritus and tedium that comprises You Are Free, and there’s just enough testimony to support Chan Marshall’s classification as a worthy artist. However, I didn’t find the record “challenging” as much as I found it inconsistent and wearying. Marshall’s voice is sincerely magnificent, and I have no doubt she’s talented, but she seems to struggle with channeling her energies into songs which demonstrate both of those things at the same time. It’s possible she’s just one of those artists whose entire body of work needs to be absorbed to cultivate an inclusive appreciation—regardless, I have little desire to labor through five more Cat Power albums searching for a few additional tunes as good as the stronger tracks I’ve heard here. I highly doubt I will want to listen to You Are Free again for another 12 years, so I’m not sure there’s even a reason for me to keep my copy of it. Still, in the interest of thoroughness, I did replay the disc from start to finish while reading over what I’ve written here so far. End result: I’m still mostly meh about You Are Free, but now I’m totally in the mood to hear Metallica.          

I also ended up texting The Girl With the Neko Case Tote to ask her feelings on Cat Power; as I guessed, she is a fan. Interestingly, her estimation of Chan Marshall’s work is markedly similar to mine—she’s just far more forgiving than I am of the bouts of ennui between Chan’s intermittent bursts of excellence. She also informed me that Marshall’s history has been dogged by recurring struggles with alcoholism. This data probably should have caused me to reconsider the way I’ve been making light of her eccentric fitfulness in this piece, but instead it makes me wonder why her music isn’t more interesting when she has such an artistically-suitable vice to inspire her (I told you I was a dick sometimes). Deducing that booze is at the root of Cat Power’s gig cancellations and wildly uneven songwriting doesn’t necessarily make me enjoy her work any more or less—though her conduct does disqualify her from being an Elegantly-Wasted alcoholic and shift her more into the realm of a too-wasted-to-play alcoholic, which is a far less appealing breed to me.

Anyway, I asked my secret soul-mate’s permission to quote her response because it provided a nice balance to my own conclusions. This is what she typed:

“Here’s the thing with Cat Power tracks, they are either stunning… OR they’re… sort of eh matte mess because they sound half finished or undone or loose at the seams.”

This seemed to be right in line with Aaron’s assessment from 12 years earlier. Which makes me suspect that acknowledging Cat Power is terrible a lot of the time is an integral part of being a Cat Power fan. When I shared how unimpressed I was by Chan’s brand of prosaic, single-idea song-writing, she added:

“Baby listen, she’s drunk. And she’s Cat Power. So we forgive her and just stop listening to her songs for a while. Until I or we (Royal) become drunk and take her records off the shelf… And appreciate her humanity in all its stand-up and stumbling glory… She reminds us of someone we know, or someone we sometimes have been.”

The Girl With The Neko Case Tote may be onto something there. This entire installment has been crafted under the influence of mere coffee, so I might be missing the point because I’m missing a key ingredient of the Cat Power recipe. I wouldn’t be any kind of reporter if I didn’t pursue every possible avenue of our story here, which is why I’ve decided to do some field research: I have just opened a beer, and I’m going to proceed to get heavily intoxicated while listening to You Are Free one more time before I write the conclusion to this essay…

[a couple hours later] Okay, I’m drunk now and I played the disc again. Here’s what I found out: Ritual Brewing Company’s “Love & Malt” brown ale is mighty tasty. Still, the tunes I didn’t already enjoy on You Are Free only sound marginally better to me when I’m smashed—except for “I Don’t Blame You”, which sounds approximately 41% better. However, after I was done listening to Chan, I went ahead and cued up Metallica’s Black Album, and “Nothing Else Matters” sounds waaaaaaay better when I’m drunk  (“Don’t Tread on Me” still blows, though).

So now I’m loaded and I have no idea how to finish this piece (which, consequently, likely explains why many of the songs on You Are Free sound as slapdash and half-formed as they do). Reading back, I’m realizing this entry has been a rather vicious one. That’s not something I’ll necessarily apologize for—hey, I did my due diligence; I’ve listened to the record three times now, and by every objective criterion it’s more not-good than good. But after conscientiously ruminating on why the Cat Power apologue resonates as so uninviting to me, I think an explanation may have dawned on me: Chan Marshall is unstable, often disappointing, and she spent many years squandering her tremendous potential because of her self-destructive habits…

She does, indeed, remind me of “someone [I] sometimes have been.” And that evocation isn’t a particularly welcome one, because I’ve never liked that person a whole lot.

Goddamn. That’s a non-metaphorically depressing epiphany right there.

 November 28, 2015

[doodledialogue]

Interview series - What after B.arch? #8

Interviewee: Nehaa Bhavaraju Post-graduation: MSc Advanced Sustainable Design | University of Edinburgh, UK

How did you hear about the University/program? Why did you decide to take it up?

I was generally keen on doing a course in Sustainable/Environmental Design. So I started my search for universities that offered the course – specifically in the UK as I had started the process quite late and most of the US/ Europe colleges had already closed their applications. The University of Edinburgh was one of the top schools that offered the course.

I decided to take it up due to many reasons

The course structure was quite interesting and involved practical learning rather than a few other colleges that offered more theory based courses.

The professors were practicing architects – this meant they would have a more practical approach to learning and would be quite up to date with the network.

It was a one-year program.

The course fee and cost of living were lower as compared to UCL - University College London (another university I had gotten into). As I was not on a scholarship, this played a key role.

Edinburgh; photo by Nehaa

How was the experience at the University?

The experience was one of a kind! The opportunity to interact with so many people from so many diverse backgrounds and learn from the experience was the essence of it. The program was a bit intensive as it was a trimester with a dissertation for the third semester. The first semester was more theory based and second was full of practical work. The most interesting thing was that there were people from so many different countries and so many unique design backgrounds – architecture, planning, landscape, product designing etc. And we were encouraged to work in groups to learn from each other in the process.The electives offered were also very interesting – I chose Conservation Architecture for one semester and IES-VE (Environment simulation software) for the next. Both were very interesting and informative giving us ample opportunities to interact with people from other courses as well.

Photo source: Wikipedia; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Edinburgh

What insights did you gain from the experience?

The most important thing I learnt was that designing was an all-round sense of understanding and to design at any scale we need to have a clear picture of the whole equation involved. Starting from the urban setting to a minute detail in the building, everything needs to be considered at all points. We were trained to do so and our practical work included work at all these stages.

The detailing in architecture is very different in different countries, but the key principles for us to work on are the same universally.

Our batch and professors; photo by Nehaa

Which semester did you attend? How did you plan the entrance exams?

I started in the fall semester – September. I had to take the IELTS. As mentioned before I started the process quite late, so I took the exam in May. IELTS is quite simple and can be cracked with very simple brushing up of English basics and good writing skills.

Graduation; photo by Nehaa

How did you manage the finances? Did you acquire scholarship/fee waiver?

I did not get any scholarships as I was not eligible for them because I applied very late. I took a student loan.

Photo source: Wikipedia; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Edinburgh

Did your program have any research opportunities?

Not many apart from the Dissertation project and an opportunity for a Ph.D. later.

Did you work a part-time job while studying?

Yes, at a restaurant as a waitress to earn some extra pocket money so that I could travel on my own expense.

Did you have post-masters plans in mind when you went to do masters? Or did you go with the flow?

I just went with the flow. I was not sure if I wanted to take it further or what sort of jobs I wanted to pursue. I was hoping my course would give me some clarity and I guess it did, to an extent.

Did you travel while/after studying?

Yes! I covered entire Scotland on a road trip with friends. Most part of the UK and a trip to Spain.

Scottish Highlands; Photo by Nehaa

What message would you like to give to future students of Post-graduate studies?

The ranking of the University does not matter too much if it is a great course structure with ample opportunity to explore and learn.

Choose the course based on what you plan to do. If you want to stick to designing and practical work, choose one where you would be involved in such activities. If you want to get into research or teaching etc., choose a course which is more theory-based.

How did your master’s degree help you?

It gave me much clarity that I was hoping for. I have been and am trying to stick to what I learned in the sense that I am trying to work on green architecture – whether it is research-based or practical designing. I am trying to gain a more in-depth specialty in the same by getting hands-on experience in the field.

How different was it coming back to India and working here in Indian scenario? What difficulties did you face?

Not very difficult at all!The only problem would be that most of the standards are based out of the country in which you do the course, so adjusting to that would be a small challenge.

Another hitch would be the break from practical work – CAD, designing etc. It would take some time to get back into the zone, especially if you do a specialization course (like mine) and not just an M.Arch.

Tell us about your current work and future plans.

I was involved in a few projects as a consultant to analyse the thermal performance of buildings and trying to research into the improvement techniques.

I very recently joined as an Architect in IGBC (Indian Green Building Council). I am involved in the certification process of Green Cities, Villages, MRTS, and Railways.

Barcelona Pavillion; Photo by Nehaa

Colour Me RAD 5K Run; Photo by Nehaa

First Snowman; Photo by Nehaa

Trip to London; Photo by Nehaa

Stonehenge; Photo by  Nehaa

Highlands; Photo by Nehaa

About the interviewee:

Having completed her masters in Advanced Sustainable Design from the University of Edinburgh, Nehaa Bhavaraju is currently working as a consultant for thermal analysis and building performance improvement.

After completing her Bachelor’s in Architecture from the National Institute of Technology, Trichy, she worked for about 15 months in a Sustainable Practice firm in Bangalore, India, under the guidance of Ar. Sathya Prakash Varanashi. It was through this experience that she started looking at architecture from a whole new perspective - one that involved low cost and low energy design. 

Returning from her Master’s Course, she joined Ar. Mona Doctor-Pingel in her practice – Studio Naqshbandi in Auroville. Apart from core architecture work, she was part of the research with CBERD (Centre for Building Energy Research and Design – 5 years Indo-US Joint Energy Program) – In-depth research and analysis of 5 buildings in Auroville, India, on thermal performance strategies.

Post her experience there, she has been on a consulting assignment for Ar. Ashok B. Lall for his project in Chennai, to analyse the Phase I of the project for its building and thermal performance to suggest improvements for the Phase II development.

Planning for climatically, ecologically, socially and economically conscious buildings requires an all-round sense of understanding, nurturing and implementation. This process is intriguing, complex and fascinating at the same time. She would like to learn more about these aspects while giving my best at every opportunity she can. She is thus taking one step at a time and is currently a LEED – Green Associate and is looking to become a LEED – Accredited Professional soon.

“The best way to predict the future is to design it.”

-Buckminster Fuller

She believes that ‘the need for ecologically conscious construction is ever growing and we as architects should design giving people the impetus to solve issues’.