The Anti-Brady Bunch

Well, it seems that the shit has hit the fan worldwide. I thought we were all doing good with SIP and flattening the curve and all. Nope. The world is literally falling the fuck apart.

Personally, I am getting more and more accustomed to being in hunker-down mode– I love not having to commute/drive plus the time has allowed me to focus on various aspects of my business. I had discovered some new resources and was experimenting with new marketing strategies. Things were feeling on the upswing.

And then, leave it to family drama to put the kibosh on everything. As you know, dad came back Stateside in February to do his taxes. Then, SIP started mid March and he got stuck in Maryland until now… that’s right: four months fending for himself living off frozen foods, Chipotle, and the occasional DoorDash order.

Meanwhile in Taiwan, mom’s condition and delusions worsened (my insane brother insisted that she stop taking western meds), and that required my aunt to take on her care. Finally, in June, dad decided it was best to make his way back to Asia.

He flew out to SFO last week and stayed here for a few days. Here in Santa Clara County, things are still mostly on lockdown, so we just remained on the Houseboat– cooking meals, running errands, eating outside, etc.

He brought a huge stack of papers for me to go through– long term care policies, living wills, power of attorney docs… Ugh, so much shit to manage. We had a call with an estate attorney here, and she confirmed that shit is going to get complicated, especially with him being a resident of Maryland and he and mom planning to live as expats in Taiwan. State laws, country laws, challenges with documents being in English or Chinese, plus getting files notarized. I’m telling you, whatever the most circuitous path is, that’ll be what I’m fucking tasked with. It happens with my transactions for real estate and for anything related to my family.

Long story short, we had a decent enough visit. Dad always has a lot to talk about with John– they bond talking about the economy, business, the stock market, and politics. I focused on his to do list and updating his computer, confirming flight info, updating forms, whatever. Thankfully, the weather was pretty mild and he got to get some Vitamin D– my absolute biggest perk of being in California. We took Bentley on walks and even played badminton in the park.

Of course the last day here, multiple calls occurred back and forth to Taiwan. Johnny is asking for money again and it is literally the SAME exact dialog that I have suffered through for the last 25 years of my life. After listening to that bullshit for an hour in my living room, the volcano erupted.

Why the fuck are you and mom still dealing with this bullshit? He is NOT going to change, just like you are not going to change. Fucking DO SOMETHING to stop this recurring nightmare, i.e. be done with this toxic relationship.

Blah, blah, you don’t understand bc you’re not a parent. Yadda, yadda.

Whatever. You and mom are not the only people in the world with a problematic child. Other people figure it out by setting boundaries and moving on with their lives!

I went to bed and could not sleep all night long. The next morning, I called his shit out. You don’t respect Johnny, and Johnny doesn’t respect you. This toxic relationship has gone on for 25 years without resolution or reconciliation. It’s never going to change. You have never valued anything that he is passionate about, and you don’t have to. But since neither side can peacefully co-exist, it’s time to be done. People fall in love and get divorced. Things don’t always last forever. Time to end this facade.

You have never supported Johnny. Giving him money is not the same as believing in his writing, acting, filmmaking, artistic pursuits, and/or interests. You don’t have to respect or appreciate the same things he values, so just stop pretending like you’ve supported him when you haven’t. You’ve always made conditions for your love. If you can’t accept his path and you can’t shut the fuck up complaining about it and how easy it should be for him to be better or to be more, leave. You have always made us feel like we were not enough. For me, I am just now letting those scars heal. Johnny may be damaged forever AND on top of that, he probably has mental issues from the all-natural supplement Seeds of God crap he puts into his body. Please just be estranged and let everyone go on in peace. Both sides are at fault. Both sides caused emotional abuse and irreparable damage. Enough is enough.

At this point, I’m considering calling my brother to ask him to just let go and stop communication with the family. What is the point. Go on your merry way and do whatever the hell you want.

Btw, you may also want to talk with a counselor or mental health specialist. I cannot help you but hopefully, you can find someone who can. Goodbye.

Yup, that’s how I want to endz it. Brutal honestly. I’m out.

Wipe Your Ass

My family is such a fucking hassle. Yesterday, after a three-week hiatus (due to my Rolling Stone and all), I call my mother. She’s shuttling around in Taiwan again, and this time I find her at my aunt’s house in Tainan. My aunt and dad do this annoying thing where they talk about my mom like she’s not even in the room. So my aunt hogs the phone and tells me that my mother isn’t doing so great. In fact, in the last couple of weeks, my mother has come to believe that my father impregnated her caretaker. Yes, the caretaker who busts her ass every damn day, cooking, cleaning, bathing, doing EVERYthing for my mom and grandmother.

I’m immediately pissed off by yet another outrageous accusation. I then talk to my mother. She tells me that one night many months ago, before my dad came back Stateside to do his taxes, my dad went with the caretaker to Costco to buy a shit ton of bottled water. That is another story onto itself… bc why would they need a fucking pallet-full of bottled water? Bc my parents bought the condo several years ago, and it sat vacant for months at a time. The built-in water filtration system died, and it was “too costly” to repair. So instead of getting that shit fixed, my father decided to use bottled water— for cooking and drinking. Never mind that he has the money to get the filtration system fixed. Never mind that maybe he can order a water delivery service where they bring the tanks to your door? I mean, we’ve seen this bullshit behavior before with the goddamn garage doors, right?

Needless to say, my mother insists that the bottled water outing was the time when my dad knocked up the caretaker. And now she’s convinced the woman is preggers. Mind you, the woman is like 55 y/o and has two grown kids plus a family in Indonesia whom she can only visit once every 3-6 years (welcome to migrant labor in Taiwan). So last night, my mother tells me the whole story, and given that my dad gave me zero context or warning about any of this (typical), I fucking went ballistic. Like full on Shock and Awe, Operation Desert Storm.

Yes, I know she has Alzheimer’s, and my aunt explained that delusions like this are part of the disease. The thing is, this kind of bullshit is not entirely from left field. All while I was growing up, my mother had fears like this— that my American grandmother was in love with my dad, that dad’s registered nurse at his private practice was in love with him… you fucking name it. And let’s not forget the time she accused me of having a freakin’ affair with my own cousin!?!?! The lady has a history of cray. So back to the present. Yeah, I basically went around in circles with her. First off, no one wants to bang my father. I mean, please. Second, the caretaker is well beyond child-bearing years. Third, the caretaker has been so good and hardworking for my family— she’s not trying to entrap us. Utterly exasperated, I finally told mom that if she’s going to make up whatever story, let’s then wait to see in the coming months if the caretaker is in fact preggers, and heck, maybe I will end up welcoming a new baby brother/sister.

As you can imagine, the call did not go well. And every time there is drama with my family, I wish and pine to ditch them and get an entirely different family. Seriously, I am not a dramatic person— sure, I am opinionated and fervent and judgey, but I ain’t about creating drama out of thin air!! When this bullshit happens, I just think back to all the arguments and fights and crap I had to deal with since forever. Between the conditional love parenting and the constant comparisons with their friends’ kids and the crap with my brother, I’m just done! Enough is enough.

Speaking of the little emperor, now that dad is Stateside, my brother has started coming around visiting my mom every weekend. I’m telling you: what the heck happened to her from one month ago when I had a great lucid call with her to now where she’s batshit crazy again? I’ll tell you what happened. My brother is back touting his Apricot Seeds of God poison, colonics, anti-microwaving-lifestyle onto my 72 y/o mother. In addition, he’s forcing her to not sleep during the day and to walk miles and miles to the goddamn Costco in the Taiwan heat and humidity. My mother has no history of exercise. She’s a sedentary person, and now you have psycho drill sergeant bossing her around. WTF. This is where I’m like: WTF is wrong with my family?

So the call didn’t end well. The next day, I called my dad, and he just explained it’s part of her disease. Just tell her it didn’t happen and move on. Um, move on to what? Meanwhile, my dad starts asking me about the Doordash order I placed for him. $50? So expensive! Then, I lost it again. Stop asking about the cost. It doesn’t fucking matter.

Oh, it’s so much trouble, he says. ARGH!!! I mean, look. Life is full of tedious tasks. You take a dump, and you have to actually wipe your asshole. Sorry, life takes effort. You just take the few seconds, and get that shit done. With DoorDash, it’s a couple of clicks and we can throw money at the problem. Voila! Fresh food at your door, so you’re not eating frozen fried rice and nuts every goddamn day. Why is it so hard for you to live a little? Does every day have to be like you’re at a goddamn monastery? Enjoy one or two meals a week. Why am I even having to talk to you about this???

After those two calls, John suggested that I look into therapy. Ya think? Admittedly, the triggering was through the fucking roof, for sure.

So today, I call Kaiser to speak with a therapist. I mean, nothing earth shattering. Chalk it up as part of her illness (even though she had these ridiculous proclivities before Alzheimer’s): do not escalate, detach. Here’s the thing: I do not have fun, lighthearted conversations with my family. It’s either a massive to-do list of stuff that has to get done or it’s work-related. We don’t just call each other and shoot the shit. So now if I can’t “fix” this situation, what the hell is there to do? Nothing. Detach with compassion, my mental health friend suggests.

Then the therapist tells me he thinks I have GAD – general anxiety disorder, and I need to learn to let go, especially with things I cannot control, like her irrational thoughts.

Now, this ain’t my first rodeo with therapy. I’ve had many sessions in the past. It helps to tell stories and give the chain of events and analyze things that have happened, but at the end of the day, I feel like the only conclusion of therapy is always this: suck it up. Not exactly in those words, but that’s the gist I get from it— you can’t change others; you can only change yourself and your reaction. To me, that just means, no one else is accountable, no one else has to make their adjustments— it’s just you.

For someone who believes in self-determination, I get it. You are the one in control. But for someone who is also highly critical and judgey (of myself and of others), I can’t help but feel like there’s some element of other people getting away with shit and not being held accountable for their crap. Is it that I want an apology from my parents? No, but it’s like they are totally clueless that they ever did anything wrong with their parenting approach. Is that ok for them to continue to think they did everything right and somehow they just had bad luck with shitty ass, loser kids??? I dunno. C’est la vie.

After my session, I looked up GAD online. I disagree that I have this disorder, characterized by excessive worrying and an inability to deal with uncertainty. I am a doer and a fixer. In trying to find solutions to situations and problems, I play things several steps down the road. I have to anticipate shit possibly going wrong, so that I can prepare a contingency plan. It’s who I am and it’s also part of my role and my job… I consider it a form of risk assessment. How is that “excessive”?

The therapist says he considers what I term “risk assessment” to be worry. Ok, fine. I won’t argue over semantics. But I still disagree. With my mother and her illness? Yes, I worry and sure, I can’t control her illness.

And I definitely lose sleep, for example, if Bentley is sick or if I don’t know who will care for my parents as they age. It’s not as if I’m worrying about stupid, unimportant bull like I had a conversation with some random person at the store, and I’m replaying it a gabillion times in my head, all while getting sweaty palms and trembling and shit. I dunno. I feel like I know people with anxiety and excessive worrying (including my mother), and my shit is different. People with excessive worry are like paralyzed and compulsive. Like she used to stress about me living with John before marriage. She would always fret, “What are the office ladies going to think?” Um, what? They don’t fucking care. No one is even batting an eye about it except you. How is this even a concern?

Anyway, after 45 minutes, the therapist said he wasn’t going to issue a referral or anything— he was just handling triage with me today. He advised I look into GAD, see what I thought, and consider joining a virtual GAD group led by him. That’s where things were left.

Now my next focus is to stay calm on the phone with either parent. I’m going to have to call mom again for Mother’s Day and sigh, I guess I’ll just try to suck it up and keep my cool. Maybe it’ll help if I remind myself that she is sick— I’m interacting with a vessel, as the therapist explained. And even if her current thoughts bring up past memories/interactions with her, I can’t punish her now for what happened in the past, bc the person now isn’t even her anymore.

Attitude

As life would have it, as I was recovering from my gallbladder incident, Bentley last week started displaying some oro-facial pain. Immediately, I flashed back to a year ago (also in April) when his dual auto-immune diseases came on out of no where. Some of the key symptoms back then included lip smacking, drooling, and crying when I touched his face.

I immediately scheduled an appointment with the specialist, and the next day, she did the full physical. Of course, this would all happen during COVID, so I was prohibited from going inside with him… Long story short, the doctor noticed ZERO sensitivity in his jaws/face. At the time, he also had diarrhea so she suggested an ultrasound as a check on his GI. Ok, whatever. Ultra came back normal, and the full blood panel came back normal the next day.

Of course, as soon as we got home though, he had the face sensitivity again. Then, I grew obsessed. Was it one side? Was it the teeth, the jaw, the face muscles? I went into full-blown OCD mode. I called the doctor back, and she just kept insisting that she did a thorough exam and palpated everything, blah, blah. Jesus Christ. I’m not questioning the thoroughness of your physical exam. I’m telling you that he has face pain now. Ugh!

From the beginning, I’ve had problems dealing with this doctor. She doesn’t like to be questioned, and she’s super condescending… every time I want to discuss anything, she reacts all impatiently with, “Well, like I thought we discussed yesterday…” or “like I said before…” Look lady, I’m not a DVM, but I’m not retarded. I have a brain, I research things, and I’m super attuned to my dog. I’m telling you there is facial pain. And if your treatment plan is just always going to be $1,000 joint taps, walk me through your rational bc it doesn’t make total sense for me and maybe let’s come up with some other options! A few more days going back and forth (my main argument is that the joint taps test for the immune-mediated poly arthritis. But his face pain last time was due to the immune-mediated myositis. Yes, both diseases presented at the same time last year, but if it’s possible that the myositis relapses without the arthritis, then doing the joint tap doesn’t tell you anything!) and then I schedule another appointment, for a full mouth/throat check under sedation.

Meanwhile, it seems like the face pain is spreading to both sides of the head. Friday rolls around, he’s fasted, and I drive him down for the procedure. While waiting for the tech to come get him in the parking lot, I feel around his face again, and there is low to zero sensitivity again. WTF?

So then, I tell the tech he’s not recoiling or crying or anything. I cancel the appointment and decide to monitor through the weekend. Now all week long, there’s been some on- and off- sensitivity, but he’s back to eating kibble and chewing things and playing with his ball. In one of our conversations with the vet, I asked what other things could cause oro-facial pain, and even then, she wouldn’t say. I swear, communicating with her is so damn cumbersome.

For the past year, I just sucked it up. There are only a handful of internal medicine specialists in our area, and this team did get Bentley well. So, I just made the decision as Bentley’s advocate to endure her bitchy attitude and continue unfazed with my questions. But then last week, I had had enough. Does every interaction have to be this fucking unpleasant?

So I called her vet tech, who has been serving as a middle man anyway, and asked her if there was something about the way I was communicating that offended the doctor? Like why am I getting so much attitude and pushback? Turns out, the vet is like that with everyone, including her own staff! Thankfully, in this past week, Bentley seems ok, so I gained some room to breathe again, but I will be speaking with the clinic to discuss options moving forward.

Rolling Stone

So I had nearly convinced myself that my gallstones were a fluke.. And then that shit came back to bite me in the ass. Hard.

As you know, the day after my video call with the surgeon in mid-March, I went ahead and scheduled my surgery for gallbladder removal. Like a cocky beotch though, I booked the procedure more as a placeholder, not genuinely expecting that I would actually need to go through with it when the time came. Well, COVID-19 came on like heat rushing around the corner, and pretty soon, it became clear that the surgery was not going to happen— it was considered non-critical and elective.

All of that was fine by me, bc I wasn’t having any more symptoms… April 6, my original surgery date, came and went and all the while, I was resuming my bold eating habits: cheeseburgers, tri tip, ribs, sushi rolls, Chinese food, etc. A few times in early April, I noticed gurgling in my belly and one night that fullness/bloated feeling came back, but it didn’t escalate to anything more serious. A swig of Mylanta, and I was good. At worst, the discomfort lasted 4-5 hours; then, I was as good as new again. Then, Saturday, April 18 happened.

We ordered Chinese food for dinner. I mean, I’ve been eating Chinese food my whole life— and to be honest, I have never really classified it as greasy food. Mistake No. 1. So yeah, after I scarfed everything down, my belly started feeling super full. In the middle of the night, I awoke at 4 AM with ridiculous bloating and gurgling. And then for the following 8 hours, I could NOT get comfortable to save my life. A billion trips to the bathroom. Chills, tingles, body aches, weird tastes in my mouth… I was writhing around on the floor by the front door, by the bathroom. Then the vomiting started. The symptoms came in waves but man, the nausea, the seeing stars… it was bad. And being that we were in the heart of COVID, I just kept trying to power through. By noon on Sunday, I took another swig of Mylanta only to vomit again. I could barely keep water down. I had not eaten anything since Saturday 7pm. After hour number 7, I realized that something about this time seemed different. So, we called the Advice Nurse, and she told us to head to the ER.

Poor Bubbey. How many times has he been my ER getaway driver?? And of course en route, I puked in the car. Thankfully, I had the foresight to pack a barf bag along with my overnight clothes. So he pulls up to the ER circle and I go in. Turns out, he’s not allowed to go inside. Pretty quickly, the IV, blood draws, and testing begins.

During my ultrasound, the tech keeps trying to show me stuff on that blurry-ass image— he appeared so entertained/fascinated explaining that a stone had made an “escape.” Ok dude, glad you’re finding some fun in all this.

After I got transported back to the exam room, two doctors came to talk with me about removing my gallbladder. Next thing I know, the nurse interrupts them midstream saying the surgeon insists on speaking with me right away. Wow, really? She couldn’t wait an extra 30 seconds?

So I take the urgent call and immediately, the doctor apologizes for interrupting: She explains that a stone made its way out of the gallbladder and lodged itself in my bile duct, right at the area where the duct connects with my intestines and pancreatic duct. She tells me she has to call in her team from home to take care of this ASAP. Then, she advises: you should play the lottery, bc you’re in the 3% of people who have the stone lodged in that precarious place. I’m already feeling tons better after being hooked up to the fluids, so I ask if maybe the stone will dislodge itself. Nope. We gotta go in and get it. Now.

So 90 minutes later, another doctor goes over all the risks and things that could go wrong with the ERCP, and then I’m asked to sign my life away. Here we go! They wheel me into the operating room with 5-6 other people and monster machines roaring and humming. I drink an elixir, I turn onto my belly, they strap me to the table, and I get a plastic grill put over my face. That’s the last I remember.

I awake a few hours later in the recovery room, and I feel totally fine. No sore throat, no weird sensations. And holy shit, I got so much good rest that night. I’m telling you: the IV, the nurses checking in hourly… Kaiser was seriously the best. Every time I spoke with John on the phone, I kept calling it my hotel room instead of the hospital room.

The next day, I awoke to a nurse giving me a very soothing, warm sponge bath. I’m telling you, it was almost like being at the spa. I guess prior to surgery, my body had to be wiped down with some special chemicals. After she was done, she put a paper blanket on top and hooked that baby up to a blower pumping hot air at 89 degrees. I was in heaven. By noon or so, I was carted off to the operating room. Another monster room with lots of big equipment and five staff. Strapped down, face up this time. The doctor let me pick my music (Cranberries), I said a few more words, and then bam, knocked out again. Back in the room, I woke up a few hours later with a very sore tummy. Then, I was discharged. Indeed, it was quite the whirlwind!

Rice and Nuts

Holy heck, has life changed. Four months into a new year, a new decade, and WTF, we’re living out the movie Contagion in real life. What a fast moving shit storm.

Hell, in early March, I was still in denial about my fucking gallstones. I went ahead and scheduled the surgery for gallbladder removal on April 6, but deep down inside, I was thinking my episodes were just a fluke. I wouldn’t really need the surgery… I would just put it there as a placeholder, and surely, by the time the date rolled around, I would be fine and I could just cancel.

Well, as you know, in mid March, Governor Newsom shut shit down around St. Paddy’s Day. Chaos, confusion, anxiety, uncertainty… My brokerage started hosting zoom calls every morning and goddamn, guidelines and rules for real estate were changing day to day. I found myself spending a little too much time on the news listening to the world unravel and very quickly, I found myself not sleeping, my schedule was totally whack, and I wasn’t getting out of bed. After a few days of that bullshit, I realized I had to start limiting exposure to the news. I wouldn’t say anything about life is near normalcy now, but at least I am functioning again.

Meanwhile, I’d been roughly following the situation for my father on the East Coast. Dad is in Maryland now (he came back at the end of February to do his taxes), while mom is with grandma, living with their caretaker. Lemme say: thank fucking god for these caretakers who leave their own homes and families in Indonesia to come and care for the elderly in Taiwan. I won’t get into the unfairness and social inequalities that create such a system, but certainly, my family benefits from the sacrifices of these dedicated workers. It still blows my mind that for 3-5 years, they do not go home at all— they only communicate with their families through FaceTime or Line or WhatApp. Just breaks my heart and yet they do it so willingly— with kindness, gentleness, and a smile. I’m reminded constantly that the world is such a different place outside and beyond my bubble of privilege.

Anyway, I have checked in with my mother weekly, and you would not fucking believe her progress since she has been under the care of Ani, the caretaker. She can actually follow our phone conversations, and she sounds energetic, lively, even opinionated. A huge, dramatic difference from living with my father. Not that he did anything wrong, but you can see there is a massive difference between living with someone who is specifically trained on taking care of others. Not to mention, the stability of being in ONE place, eating regular meals, getting regular exercise, and interacting with people… I wish we had done this sooner, but no point in that regret. Better late than never, and my goodness: the recovery has been remarkable nonetheless.

And I think dad is feeling better, not having the responsibility of caretaking. He is a homebody by nature, so he hangs at home watching Taiwanese programming on YouTube, tracking his stocks, doing his busy body tasks. He really is a hermit in his natural state.

With all the shut downs and SIPs, I started to worry about his nutrition and meals. Every time I called, he said he was fine: he went to Costco and bought boxes of microwaveable rice, and that’s all he would eat three times a day. For protein, he’d throw in a handful of nuts. I offered grocery delivery, food delivery, everything and anything. Not interested. It was frustrating the heck out of me. Why are you living like a goddamn pauper? Just spend some money to make life easier and more comfortable. Jesus Christ.

Finally, I set him up on Door Dash. Ordered him a steak and grilled fish from Ruby Tuesdays. Thinking that he had been eating rice and nuts three times a day for weeks, I figured the two meals with sides would last at least 3-4 meals. Nope. Gone in two meals. Huh? I offered to order more— Chipotle, Arby’s, Roy Rogers, whatever. “No, no. I’m fine. It’s too much trouble.”

Dad. Door dash is ZERO trouble. There is nothing more convenient than me clicking a few items on my computer screen and pressing Deliver. The food shows up on your freaking doorstep. You don’t have to talk to anyone. You don’t have to transfer funds. Nothing. A few clicks and then food miraculously appears on your stoop. There is NOTHING more convenient that that. It’s practically MAGIC.

I’m telling you: old people are so goddamn stubborn. It kills me.

Thankfully, the steak and grilled fish triggered his appetite, and it finally opened the gates for my beloved NuWave oven, which I had purchased for them years ago. I kept touting how easy the damn thing was to use— just three buttons to cook lamb, chicken, turkey, ANYthing. Resistant, resistant, resistant. Finally, after the Ruby Tuesday’s meal, he went to Costco and bought steaks. I showed him on FaceTime how to cook it up. Salt and pepper on both sides. Set on the 4” rack. Cook Time – 1 – 2 – Start. Twelve minutes later, flip the steak. Repeat. Done.

He actually got excited that the steak turned out delicious. And then he started using the NuWave to heat up other foods, make lamb chops. Jesus Christ. Welcome to the world of the living. It only took like 4 years!!!

Of course a few days after his new enchantment with the NuWave, he was back to rice and vegetables. Too much meat, he said. Ah well, so long as he can have some variety beyond rice and nuts, that’s the best I can hope for. At some point, he’s supposed to give the frozen fish fillets in the freezer a try. Baby steps.

The 4 Fs

Welcome to middle age. At the end of January (Chinese New Year), our friends invited us to the Four Seasons for a fancy lunch buffet. It was a great experience until I got home and my tummy started feeling really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I got food poisoning from the charcuterie board or poached eggs? The abdominal pain got increasingly worse, and that afternoon, I found myself writhing around on the bed for the rest of the day.

Jesus, how much did I fucking consume? I chalked it up to a combo of overindulging and possible food poisoning. A week later, my tummy was still feeling mild discomfort– then again, I was eating fried eggrolls and veggie pizza, you know, practicing my usual eat whatever-the-fuck-I-want strategy. At my open house on Sunday afternoon, the pain was excruciating. I had to sit down; I was feeling tons of pressure on my upper abdomen, like right under my chest. It was a fullness sensation in a place I had never experienced before and the cramping was through the roof and starting to cause back pain. After the open house, I could barely pick up my signs and drive my damn self home, as I was curled over. Another night in discomfort and then I was fine again.

The following week, I went to see the doctor– she wasn’t my usual physician, just the next available. She listened to my food list from the past week and determined that I had GERD. WTF is that? Gastro esophageal reflux yada, yada, brought on by a high-acid diet. Huh? She sent me off with pepcid and a random list of foods that needed to come off my plate: tomatoes, pasta sauce, citrus, tea, wine, chocolate… what the hell? Oh and ALSO, the list said that I shouldn’t wear tight-waisted pants. Who is writing up this shit? I am the queen of stuffing the sausage! That’s my daily m.o. for getting dressed! Plus, what a weird diet. It’s like the anti-purine diet where it’s just a random mash of tasty foods!?!?

As soon as I got home, John expressed his doubts (he’s such an Eshleman with their distrust of the medical community). It’s not heartburn, he insisted, bc that shit burns near your throat. I dunno what to tell you, bro. I explained to the doctor that I didn’t feel a burning sensation. I told her the pain was level 8/10, located above my belly button and below my sternum. She said GERD is very common. Ok, fine.

So I started taking the pepcid before meals. I only slightly modified (not really) my intake of trigger foods. Everything seemed fine again. A few weeks later, it’s John’s bday. We go out for breakfast and I get eggs benedict. I ate it all (clean plate club), and it was just a regular portion. Afterwards, that full/bloated feeling returned. We went for a walk and continued about our day. I made dinner plans at an Italian place and by then, my appetite was totally gone, so I picked around at the Caesar salad. By the time we got to the comedy show, I was feeling super uncomfortable. I took a couple of Gas X and as the show progressed, things got worse and worse. Finally, I went to the bathroom. I was in there forever, feeling nauseous, fevery, and dizzy. I passed a BM and then proceeded to puke in the sink. Ugh. Then, I had to clean out the sink, bc nothing was going through the drain. Finally, I make it out of the bathroom and then we leave. The rest of the night, something just doesn’t feel right. I call the nurse advice line and book an appointment with my primary care for the next day.

The next day, at my appointment, she suspects either dyspepsia, pancreatitis, or gallstones. She kinda says let’s do blood work and an ultrasound to rule out stones. The next day, I go in for the ultrasound and while on the bed, the specialist asks if I’m sure I fasted beforehand and didn’t have anything to eat or drink. Shit woman, I’m a rule follower. I had nothing. Why do you ask? Then she backtracks and says she’s just asking. Uh huh.

A few seconds later, she says my gall bladder looks constricted like it does after you eat. Oh hell no, that’s not good. Afterwards, I’m starving from having fasted for like 10 hrs, so I treat myself to my favorite veggie sandwich at Specialty’s. It was delicious: cheese, sprouts, mustard, ranch, lettuce, tomato, avocado on herb bread. As soon as I swallow that last savory morsel, the doctor calls. Gallstones. Recommended action? Appointment with the surgeon to discuss removal of the gallbladder. Hold up, WHAT???? I’ve never had surgery in my life. How many stones and how big? Don’t know.

At that moment, I found myself immediately reacting like an Eshleman. For sure, there’s been some mistake. The ultrasound person didn’t even give a quantity or size. I just ate a monster sandwich and I’m fine. Surely, this is just a fluke. Yup, I went into full blown denial.

Two days later, I do a video appointment with the surgeon. I ask about quantity and size, and he says people always ask that and the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Once you have the gallstone attacks, you pretty much should get the organ removed. But since I insist on proof, he pulls up the scan and points to MULTIPLE stones. Fuck.

Mind you, I realize that there is probably no easier procedure than this: it’s laparoscopic, takes 1-2 hrs, and it’s same day surgery. In and out. Still, I’m like worried about the FOUR incisions, tools/instruments getting left inside my body, infection afterwards… Here’s the thing. Don’t be fooled by me being “skinny.” I’ve had a LOT of problems, including H1N1, walking pneumonia, shingles, plus the vasovagal fainting spells… if something’s gonna go wrong, I’m kinda the poster child.

So what does the doc say? Well, you can try limiting your diet to low-fat, but just know that with gallstone attacks, good fats and bad fats are all bad. So like avocados? They are considered good fats, but in the case of gallstones, bad. Sensing my reluctance, he explained that gallstones are a common issue. The typical patient is what they call the 4Fs: female, forty, fat, and fertile. Oh my.

Then he acknowledges the non-PC nature of the 4Fs and tries to reassure me: if he had a lineup of patients who needed the surgery, he would pick me bc I’m lowest risk. And since I’m not overweight, he expects that he’ll have good visibility of the organs and ducts once he’s inside. Hmm, flattery is a helpful tactic.

I told him I’d think about it and let him know. John kept harassing me about my denial and reluctance. Who’s behaving like an Eshleman now? Step aside, dude. The next day, I scheduled the procedure for April 6. I’m still not keen on the four incisions. I mean, it’s not like I have a six pack or bikini bod of any kind… in fact, I have a muffin top for sure. Still, I don’t like the idea of tools poking around my belly.

As it turns out, since my appointment, this coronavirus situation has REALLY hit the fan so that may buy me some more time before the surgery. As it is, I have reduced my volume at mealtime and avoided eggs… so far so good. I mean, for sure: every meal is still a gamble, but so far, I’m feeling ok. Yeah, I might still be looking for my out at this point. Shrug. Turns out I’m a closet recalcitrant patient after all!

Chin Up

It’s been another long while and another long slog. I’ve been quiet on the blog lately, bc I joined a new coaching program in November and was spending a lot of energy ramping that up. I was hopeful and excited for a new wave of learning— skills, strategies, and mastery… but three months later, it’s been a rocky road. I know, story of my life and story of working in this industry.

The coaching program focuses a lot on lead generation through direct response marketing which involves print as well as internet ads. Initially, things were amazing. I was getting lots of leads and making calls several times a day. I was having conversations with people about real estate! The path of course is to call the leads, set appointments from the calls, and then convert the prospects at the appointments into clients. So yeah, many steps even before they sign on to work with me.

But I was actually reaching people on the phone and to my surprise, I got meetings booked! Then, people began to flake. Or they’d want to buy mobile homes…

One lady signed on with me and was so pleasant to work with. I busted my ass working with her for three weeks, and I was so thrilled to get her into contract. Yeah, we beat out 14 other offers and then she couldn’t deliver the damn deposit. And as all of this unraveled, I put two and two together, ultimately coming to the realization that she was being scammed. Yes, no joke, she was a victim of elder financial fraud where someone had convinced her that she had inherited some insane amount of money from overseas. I had to involve the legal team, my managing broker, the contracts guy… EVERYone wanted to know what was going on and what was to happen next. I swear, it was like I was in a real estate soap opera, if there were such a thing. I wanted to get the FBI involved, but bc of my fiduciary role, I could not report anything without her permission. Meanwhile, she insisted that her funds were legit AND that she knew where her money came from. I mean, I won’t go into all the details but none of this was a straight line. She was battling walking pneumonia the whole time, I was having to drive to doctors’ offices and the hospital to meet her to discuss the next steps in the transaction, and she would go dark hours at a time being totally unreachable. It’s over now, but I lost three weeks of my life and the extreme stress of uncovering something so predatory and sinister and having my hands tied (she refused to acknowledge she was a victim) triggered extreme abdominal pains. Not to mention the mental anguish of being the poster child of shit going wrong in a real estate transaction…

Around the same time, I also found out that the couple that had dumped me before Thanksgiving closed on an expensive home that paid 3% buyer side commission. Fuckers. They kept insisting their budget was $1.5m max and they didn’t want to be “too burdened” by a high mortgage, yada, yada. They bought at $1.7m. I still get so roiled up about it. I wasted three months covering an insane area and then they finally decided to be decisive and buy after 2 weeks with a new agent.

Needless to say, another shit start to a new year. Is it even surprising that I got diagnosed with GERD for the first time in my life (the pain was so intense, I thought I had stones), and I had a meltdown at the office yesterday?

Despite the numerous setbacks, I know I am mentally strong. I still believe I’m a careful and thorough agent. I still believe my values of advocacy, education, and care benefit the people I serve. It’s freaking disheartening and demoralizing trudging through all the sludge just to get to the sweet spot. People say to remember all of the good things in your life. I do and I am so grateful for the blessing that I have. But they almost make me feel unworthy. I just want to be successful. I just want to be a winner. I know these things require work. And I’m willing to do things that are not easy. I’m willing to put myself out there. I’m willing to face rejection and rude, disrespectful people every day. And yet, I am stuck.

All activity, no results. It’s frustrating and it’s painful. But I cannot wallow in the disappointment. Bc I know no matter my level of despair, millions of people are out there fighting bigger battles without the resources, support, and privileges that I have. So I don’t want to complain, and I don’t want to dwell in self-pity. Life moves on.

My next steps are to keep plugging away at the activities and use them as a way to improve my skills. I am also reaching out to more experienced agents to seek their insights and to see if I can establish new partnerships and exchanges.

Oh man, I had a buyer appointment scheduled for today at 12:30 pm. A Taiwanese lady was referred to me by another agent who does not speak Mandarin. The prospect lost her keys, so now the appointment is canceled. What can you do but try to reschedule and move on to the next challenge. Shrug. I really cannot make this shit up.

The Bon Vivant

My friend G lamented once that Chinese people don’t know how to have fun. It’s kinda true. Most other cultures are frequently dancing, singing, partying… celebrating things. But Chinese (immigrant) culture? They obsess over depressing themes of struggle, sacrifice, shame, regret, and overall discontent.

Surprisingly, my grandfather Yebbie ran against that grain. He found joy and pleasure in simple everyday activities like: riding his bicycle, listening to music, repairing broken gadgets, polishing his leather shoes, enjoying a cold bottle of Heineken…

My maternal grandparents lived with us from the time I was six years old. Every day, Nai Nai (grandma) and Yebbie prepared and cooked signature Chinese specialities for our family: from dumplings to zongi to pork with mustard leaves to ribeye steak with A1 sauce (ok that one’s American)… Yebbie was the ultimate foodie.

Throughout the 1980s, when Yebbie would drive us an hour away to our weekly Chinese school, he’d scout out the area while we were in class. Not only did he find several Chinese grocery stores stocked with all the special ingredients, he also discovered a local lake to go fishing, as well as a video rental shop for Chinese movies and soaps. He’d rent out the entire season and we’d binge watch together (before there was Netflix) while chomping on Planter’s honey roasted peanuts.

My grandfather was a man of many talents. He was a cook, a mechanic, a skilled fisherman, and a formidable mahjong player. He was also pretty damn fashionable despite being in a family of frumps. He had a penchant for Nike cross trainers, Adidas track pants, leather goods, Tissot watches, and Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. Pretty much he was the badass Chinese mobster boss of Frederick.

Yebbie passed away on December 12. He was in his 90s, but sadly he contracted TB a few months ago and suffered complications/side effects from the meds. I realized only recently that he was the first true bon vivant I’d ever met. Even in his final years, he remained active and mentally sharp— beating everyone at the mahjong tables and ordering the latest goods and gadgets off of the Taiwan QVC shopping network.

Cheers to you, Yebbie. I don’t know how you put up with a family full of uptight, austere, neurotics. We appreciated your senses of humor, wonderment, and adventure. Thanks for showing us there’s more to life than academics, tests, work, and money.

Dumped

What can I say, at the end of August, I was so excited and thrilled to have multiple buyers in my pipeline. I closed one family at the end of October, but unfortunately, I just lost the second family a few days ago.

Sure, from the get go, it was a doubtful and challenging scenario with the hubby and wife currently living four hours apart, both being out of town with limited availability to scout out homes during the week, and ultimately with the wife calling all the shots all while communicating SOLELY through her hubby. In retrospect, maybe the multiple red flags should have tipped me off, but honestly, I was just so dang happy to get them signed on to work with me, and I was so determined and perhaps naively optimistic that I would find them the right house.

Remember that family to whom I showed over 30 houses a year or so ago? Fuck that. 30 homes was nothing. For this latest family, they covered a geographic region from San Jose to 90 minutes south in north Salinas. Yes, all of it was possible— they could live in ALL those places, they insisted. So, I scouted out probably 70 homes on their behalf in the three months of working together.

Last Saturday, while I was away at a conference, the wife texted through the search platform the oddest message and then she went on and on about really loving a house that just came on the market. Being as this wasn’t my first rodeo, I told her let’s see how the hubby reports back when he checks it out. Also, let’s wait for the disclosures. Immediately after the hubby saw it during the open house, they had me trying to prep for an offer. On Monday, as soon as I returned to town, I made arrangements to meet the list agent and tour the house and run comps. On Tuesdays, the disclosures were released. My clients reviewed and then late Tuesday, the hubby called me to say they were not only passing on the house but also passing on me.

The explanation was that the wife was burned out (SHE’S burned out from conducting the search strictly behind her computer monitor from the comfort of her own home?!?!), she wanted to take a break, and then they wanted to use another agent “to get new perspective.” Yup, just like that. Three months of hardcore work up in smoke. I will earn zippo on that whole project.

To be honest, I was stunned. I had been pulling/reviewing disclosures, contacting list agents, building rapport, running comps, talking to their lender, checking stats/inventory on THREE different markets, so much fucking work for nothing. I cried so much that night. And then the next day, all day I was sobbing on and off. Yet another asshole out there viewing real estate agents like a goddamn commodity. You just swap them in and out. No respect. I barely even got a thank you out of the hubby, and absolutely zero acknowledgement or comment from the wife. What absolute dickwads.

Thankfully, during the three day conference, I had already decided to sign on to the coaching program. My goals through the program are to build my skillset, implement an organized and integrated system marketing/tracking system, and generate a plethora of leads so that I am better positioned to be selective about clients. Moving forward, clients have to be 1. motivated 2. qualified to buy 3. nice. You have no idea how difficult it is to find people who meet just those three basic criteria.

It’s an interesting lesson for me. The whole time, John was telling me I was spending too much time on these people. Their (her) criteria was constantly evolving. First, we started out looking for homes with granny units or enough space to build an ADU. They had zero understanding about the regs surrounding ADUs. I educated them and pointed them to resources. Then, the ADU requirement went away and there were suddenly other criteria. It was a whole laundry list and yet, I found homes to check off everything. Then the demands changed again. Each time, I asked questions to better understand their needs. John told me to scale back and stop asking questions. You’re wanting to find patterns and apply logic to what they want. It defies logic. You can’t work with crazy. But I was so determined…

A few months ago, my 83-year old seller (for whom I worked out a solution with the local housing agencies) told me “you’re very optimistic.” I thought it was the strangest compliment, bc if anything, I consider myself a realist/pessimist. But now I see what she meant. No matter how unreasonable my clients were, I just doubled down and worked harder. For whatever reason, I convinced myself that we were closer to closing on a home than not. And boy was I wrong. Boy did I misread. As Bubbey and my friends told me, she was never going to buy. I didn’t believe them. After all, we had written two offers before… they were serious. That was my proof. But I suppose, the ultimate proof will be in the pudding. That family that viewed 30 homes? I looked them up in public records about 1.5 years after we’d met. They still hadn’t purchased a home. We’ll see if that’ the case too with this family.

As fate would have it… a few days before they cut me loose, I had a memorable conversation with their lender. I told him how I had seen so many homes on their behalf. He said he’d known them a long time and during that time they had worked with many agents and professionals. The consensus was that no one ever communicated with the wife, yet she was the only decision maker. And the hubby was always the messenger. They’d run through multiple agents and be in and out of contract (red flag), and universally, people found them to be very difficult to work with. Honestly, I had underestimated a lot:

1. The hubby’s level of pain. When I first met him in August, he had already been searching for 8 months on his own. Scouring open houses an hour away from where he currently lived then driving eight hours every weekend to reunite with the wife and kid and return for work on Monday. I thought to myself… how long could this possibly go on? Apparently, this arrangement of living apart and driving an inordinate amount every week can go on forever. And now my realization is that she’s a saboteur— perhaps she doesn’t even want to live with him anymore!

2. The wife’s power. Being in a relationship where J and I are mostly balanced in discussing big decisions, it never really occurred to me that the hubby would be so damn spineless. My goodness, I showed him numerous homes that he LOVED and then as soon as she seemed lukewarm on the home, he’d suddenly call out a bunch of things he didn’t like about the home he had previously LOVED.

3. I can’t work with crazy. The whole time, I kept studying the homes they saved or liked, looking for patterns or common characteristics. I’d ask for feedback so that I could fine tune or improve my search parameters… In the end, J was so frustrated with me. He said I kept trying to get clarification to better understand but their decision making was not based on logic. You just can’t work with decision makers who decide based on emotion. It’s too much based on whim.

Well, no matter how you report on the autopsy, it’s a shitty deal. It really hurt my feelings and hurt my confidence. And now I’m at the end of November and the deal I was hoping to close by year end is gone. And I don’t even want to think about the high opportunity cost I paid for this very undeserving and ungrateful family.

New Clients

Believe it or not, business started picking up at the end of August. My lender sent me a lead for a couple (first-time homebuyers) looking in San Benito County, an hour plus south of here. I wasn’t too thrilled about them looking that far away, but as I’ve learned in some of our training, you have to reward the behavior. A referral is always a good thing, and I was certainly very grateful. The lender told me the couple would be interviewing with other agents, so I jumped on it as soon as I could and set up a buyer consult.

At first, they were looking in Hollister. Considering I had just closed a deal in Gilroy and Hollister was maybe another 20 minutes away, I figured I would suck it up and do it. After I met the family, they seemed so lovely AND their timeline was two short months so I why not? They signed on to work with me, and I was so thrilled. A few weeks in, I realized, they were actually looking in THREE different counties– none of them mine. Long story short, I made many visits south– as far as Salinas, which is 90-120 minutes away. Then, they were focused on new construction, then old construction, then back and forth again. You have no idea. On some weekends, I just couldn’t do an open house, tour with an existing client, and then tour with these new clients… I had to enlist the help of my mentor, who took them out twice.

It’s now October, and after three offers (one other one getting into contract), we’re in contract again. And you know me: I never get an easy file. Not only is the home far away, but their loan is not the easiest AND with the first home where we got into contract, I uncovered about $700/year in special taxes and assessments that the seller and disclosure reports never disclosed. Now, we’re in contract on another home and this time, there’s a 20-year solar agreement that the sellers didn’t know they were in. I’m telling you: I am reading so many contracts that John is lamenting I should have just gone to law school bc at least I would be getting paid (instead of working for free– at least until a deal closes). I can’t believe it but shit man, all those years helping my dad with his real estate transactions trained me up for reading this tedious and annoying fine print. Shit, I know the agreement better than the fucking solar company, I tell you!

Anyway, I’m hoping this deal will progress and I can get it through until closing day at the end of October. Meanwhile, I also signed on a new client through one of my open houses. The family has a healthy budget and is seasoned with home buying BUT the family is currently living in separate cities (way out of town) and they have a home for sale. Needless to say, for the last month and a half, it’s been a beotch coordinating two clients, both from out of town and searching for homes out of town. The logistics are a serious headache. The second family is nice but there’s also been a lot of flip flopping, so I’m getting pretty worn out.

I try to explain it to my friends: I’m super stoked and excited for the business. Both clients have signed me up as their exclusive agent. But both cases are very challenging, from the logistical standpoint trying to schedule showings and meetups as well as from the client navigation/guidance/management perspective. Their needs/wants are constantly changing, so things are hot one minute then cold the next.

Last weekend, I was out in Hollister all day long. Then both clients wanted to submit offers at the same time but on different homes. This shit happens in such a flash, that I ended up copping a squat at the local Safeway and using my mifi hotspot to review all the disclosures, run comps/analysis, make calls, prep the docs. Four hours later, I get an offer submitted. The second one is nearly good to go. On the drive home, the second family changes their mind on the home. All that work for nothing. Back to the drawing board… And that’s how this shit rolls. Up and down, on and off, hot and cold, stop and go.

But I realized yesterday that, despite the frustrations, once I get my people into contract, I like what I do. Especially with the first-time homebuyers, the work is very rewarding and I actually put two and two together last night. Real estate works for me bc it combines education with advocacy and care. I care about understanding the docs. I care about knowing the process and knowing all the ins and outs. And I want my clients to know what the hell they are signing with all these legal documents. Ultimately, I advocate for them and protect them even if it means the deal falls through and I don’t get paid.

Interestingly, remember my listing that imploded in April? Even though everyone around me and my co-listing agent insisted that my clients had no case (they signed what they signed), six months later, we got the City to work out a deal with a partnering housing nonprofit. We’re still getting the paperwork tied down, but at the end of October, my client will get almost $150k more than she would have gotten had we just acquiesced and accepted going by the book. Sure, it’s still not the market price we originally thought we’d get, but given the deed restrictions and her acquiring the home through an affordable housing program, this is a wonderful outcome. And I’m glad that we persisted– that we reached out to the City departments, made repeated appeals, scheduled repeated meetings, and thankfully, multiple agencies came together to create a better solution: synergy at it’s best.

So work is definitely picking up. I’m doing far more activities– I’m just hoping these activities will lead to results soon, bc I would really love to end the year off on a high note.