The cutest little quilted, racing-jacket-looking, pink, purple, and white handbag appeared on my laptop screen. . . . I can’t even remember. Maybe on one of those “Sponsored” posts that are basically just ads on Facebook. Maybe on Coach’s Facebook page. But that’s not the point — the point is that I had to have it. Immediately. Right then and there.
We jumped into the car, and drove to the nearest Coach store, just a few miles north of us. I was elated to be able to have that bag that I had to have: I could feel my fingers running across the cool, quilted fabric; its small size, perfect enough to carry my essentials: lip balm, a small wallet, my keys, my phone.
When we walked to the counter to speak to a saleswoman . . . she told us that they justsent the last one back. Suddenly, my head was hot: a there-was-no-way-this-was-happening hot.
I stomped my feet; was spewing out invective both to my husband and the saleswoman about how it wasn’t fair; and crying. The saleslady was able to place an order for it, so that I could have the last bag. My husband was embarrassed. The only thing I didn’t do, is throw myself belly-down and hit the carpeting with fists and feet!
I don’t even know if this is mental illness, but my grandfather and I were very close, and he and my grandmother pretty much gave me whatever I wanted. My therapist said that this developed a sense of entitlement in me, in which I feel that I should have anything and everything I want.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a full-blown tantrum. And who knows? Maybe I’ll have another one some day. But I’m learning a lot of skills in the PHP program, that I can use if it comes up.
I woke up in the psych ER at ECT Hospital. It was about 5:00 AM, and no one had talked to us, as promised. My husband was slumped in a chair, asleep. It didn’t look comfortable at all — I had a bed. I woke him up and insisted that he go home, take care of the animals, and so on; and that I would text him when I had news.
Not one hour later, a private ambulance showed up to transfer me to the Behavioral Hospital. I texted my husband, and told him where they were taking me, and said that I should be “processed” in about an hour. The ambulance driver and his partner were professional and empathetic. They said it would take 20 minutes to get there. Of course it would! It was really early on a Saturday, so there was no rush hour.
As they pulled up to what looked like a very institutional building (cement exterior walls), identical windows on every floor, I couldn’t hold it in anymore — tortured tears rolled in rivulets down my cheek. Soon, they were dripping from my chin.
The in-take coordinator greeted us, and as the ambulance left, the driver and his partner told me, “Good luck.”
Some of you may have read about my paternal grandfather. He and my grandmother took care of me after my parents moved to the US. Papa was special to me, although admittedly, he was the one who gave me a sense of entitlement (I have stomped my feet and cried at a purse shop after finding out that they just sent it back; they got me the purse lol!) Despite his not being a perfect grandfather (he was to me!), he was an awesome doctor!
On April 27, 1963, my grandfather was awarded, by the Philippine Medical Association, the Most Outstanding Physician of the Year Award. This was before I was born. And despite my scanty (I was hungry!) research, I couldn’t determine whether the Medical Association still awards this. I’m just so proud to be the granddaughter of a notabledoctor.
Four years ago this past February or March, my husband and I went to the shelter “just to look.” We saw a couple of dogs we might have been interested in, and even one who wasn’t a mangy cur with whom we played. I don’t have problems with mangy curs—at this shelter they take care of those afflicted and nurse them back to health so they can be adopted.
After playing, Rudolf—soon-to-be Rudy—was returned to a room near the seating area where people fill out adoption paperwork and make up their minds. Rudy wasn’t in a kennel surrounded by a chain link fence, but a swanky room with tall windows looking out onto the street. The other side was made of windows that faced the hallway. The walls on the other 2 sides of the room were plastered, and kept the dogs “separated.” He had a roommate, who was in the process of being adopted.
While we sat contemplating whether we should change ours—and the cats’—lives, I heard a man address “Rudolf,” admiring his hazel eyes, and telling his friend, “This guy’s adorable—he’s gonna be adopted soon.”
My ears perked up at that, and I made up our mind — we were adopting Rudy. That day. Turns out that man was right!
That’s right. It’s the reason why we, the soon-to-be graduates had to be in our area at 6:00 AM. I can’t remember too much about it because of ECT Brain Fog, but I do remember that the President bestowedupon us a waiting period which was lllllllooooooonnnnnnnggggggg.
I suppose they needed all that time to post the snipers along the turrets of the football stadium. Yep, I saw them. Above the stands. Did I also mention that it was a very hot day?
Oh, and my then-boyfriend/now-husband had the wonderful luck to sit with my parents, who were still together then.
As for the speech, sheesh — it was so long ago, that I don’t remember it, that is, if I ever did.
Afterwards, it was much faster getting out. My parents took pictures of me in my cap and gown, holding my diploma. My mother was so proud.