(Prada Mama's NOTE: This is the second in my REHASH, REUSE, RECYCLE series. I wrote the following article early in my pregnancy, when it was clear that I had to wean my last baby, TROY, due to concerns over PRETERM LABOR. I now find myself exclusively breastfeeding again, this time with our newborn baby daughter, REANNA LOREN, who was born last May 13. REANNA arrived at 37 weeks and 1 day, still a little early, but considered full-term, nonetheless.)
THE WEANER'S CIRCLE
I'm still breastfeeding. My youngest son, Troy, will be 29 months tomorrow, and I'm proud to say he's still nursing.
To the uninitiated, this may seem like no mean feat. But believe me, the world is full of guilt-ridden mothers, who feel they should have kept their now-grown babies at the breast just a little bit longer...
I know, because I was one such Mom. With my first son, Max (now 10), I didn't get much support from my ex-husband, who ran to the nearest 24-hour Walgreens for formula as soon as the new baby came home. When I was pregnant with Max, my ex-husband used to regale us with stories of his mother, and how she would dump an entire batch of formula down the drain after finding a dark speck of something floating in it. I should have known even then that I would be alone in my endeavor.
I really wanted to try breastfeeding, knowing the healthy benefits this bestowed upon my baby. I even put up a valiant effort, buying a breast pump to increase my milk supply and always offering my breast before showing my baby his bottle. I needn't have bothered. Even then, Max was already smart enough to choose the path of least resistance. With Similac with Iron so readily available, why bother with the much more difficult task of extracting milk from Mommy? This, of course, led to painful engorgement on MY side (well actually it was my FRONT).
As if this weren't enough, I was also saddled with a nervous first-time Dad hovering over me, shooting me reproving looks everytime I even dared to bare my offensive/nonfunctioning mammaries in front of THE BABY.
Actually, I didn't always suck at breastfeeding, if you'll pardon the pun. During our two-day stay at the hospital, Max and I were able to forge a tenuous nursing relationship. With the aid of a lactation consultant, Max was well on his way. He was already learning to latch on, and I was getting more comfortable with the cradle and football holds.
I remember how it felt to feed my baby for the first time, knowing he was taking nourishment from my own body. It is the most gratifying feeling any woman can ever have. The two of us bonded in the quiet confines of our hospital room, the bud of early motherhood fluorishing in a vacuum.
Unfortunately, my nursing accomplishment at the hospital was not so easily duplicated at home. Max continued to breastfeed sporadically for the next two weeks, but it was apparent the spell had been broken.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, my resolve to continue nursing was worn down by the domestic distractions of everyday life. I knew my milk was getting scantier by the day, but there was always that elusive tomorrow, when I would finally have the time to pump enough milk to keep up my supply. Apart from exhaustion, I believe denial is the main reason why many mothers never succeed at breastfeeding beyond the first few weeks.
I can never forget that day when I realized I was bone dry. There I was, looking at my baby's beautiful face, his eyes half-closed in slumber. I was about to offer him his bottle when he turned his face toward my breast, instinctively reaching with his mouth. It was then that the bitter realization hit home: I literally had nothing in me to offer. My milk had run dry. For all intents and purposes, the process was irreversible. Oh, the finality of it all. Resignedly, I gave Max his formula, which he gulped down greedily. I wept that day and many nights after that. I felt that I had failed as a mother.
With this memory still haunting me, I was adamant that my next baby would be raised at the breast. Lance was born six years after Max, and his Dad, my husband, Lorenzo, was thankfully supportive of my nursing efforts. This was very important because Lance was born prematurely, six weeks before his due date. But despite his early arrival, Lance was deemed healthy enough to go home with us. Lorenzo stayed up with us those first sleepless nights, keeping us comfortable during our frequent feeding sessions.
It was soon apparent that our baby was not thriving on breast milk. Because of his early arrival, Lance's sucking reflex was not fully developed yet. He wasn't taking in enough milk to boost my supply. To complicate matters, he was starting to turn yellow. Lance's bilirubin level was getting dangerously high, and he was starting to develop jaundice. The only way Lance could get rid of the bilirubin was to do it the good old-fashioned way: poop it out. This meant he had to take in a lot more milk than he was getting from me. There were no two ways about it. He needed supplementation.
We took him to his pediatrician, who issued a direct order: stop breastfeeding for two weeks. I protested vociferously, saying my milk would surely run out if I did that. He countered by saying it was MY breast milk that was actually causing the jaundice. That did it. Defeated, we went home with our baby, after I cast one last baleful look at his doctor. That evening, Lance got his first taste of formula. Even then I knew there would be no turning back.
Throughout my defeat the second time around, I found a sympathetic ally in my husband. Whenever Lance would come down with diarrhea or an ear infection, Lorenzo would join me in burning effigies of Dr. Javid. To this day we still blame him for depriving our baby of his most important source of immunity, his mother's milk.
Enter Troy, my beautiful baby, who is lovingly called Tisoy by my in-laws, due to his fair skin and brown curls. Troy, like his kuya, also came early. He arrived at 36 weeks, four weeks ahead of his due date. In fact, he was in such a rush to see the world, his first sight of it was the storage closet in Kaiser. Troy came so fast they didn't have time to prepare a birthing room for me, but I didn't mind. I was just happy I didn't give birth in my van!
Troy settled into nursing quite well. Like Lance, he was healthy enough to come home with us, despite being a preemie. I was also getting better at breastfeeding, feeling comfortable enough to do it even while lying down. We were adjusting to our new routine, and we had a perfect angel of a baby.
Indeed, Troy always used to elicit smiles from people who would see him in his carrier. He looked like a perfectly proportioned doll: he had just the right amount of hair, not bald, not a mop head; and he had the cutest little button nose. People always stopped to tell us how beautiful our baby was. One lady summed it all up when she said, "Aren't newborns just a taste of heaven?"
Unfortunately, Troy also developed jaundice. In fact, his case was worse than Lance's. He actually had to go back to the hospital for a couple of days. I can still picture him lying under the bili-lights in his incubator, wearing nothing but a diaper. I stayed with my baby those two days, and Lorenzo stayed home with Lance, the two of them visiting us everyday bringing my favorite sourdough burger from Jack in the Box.
This time around, I was blessed with a more sympathetic pediatrician. Dr. Elaine Chen explained to us that yes, for some mysterious reason, breastfeeding does contribute to jaundice, but that did not mean I had to stop it. In fact, Dr. Chen told me to continue nursing and pumping milk to increase my supply, and she was adamant that Troy did not need formula.
I must admit that I tried to feed Troy formula once or twice, when I had run out of stored breast milk, but I noticed a change in his stool whenever I did, so I stopped. After that, I just resolved to feed him more often. In fact, in those first three months it seemed that all I did the whole day was nurse, but it was not as exhausting as I thought because I was "forced" to take a break from housework during these feeding sessions.
It also helped that I had an industrial-grade breast pump with Troy that would've made any dairy farmer proud. This pump cost thousands of dollars, but was affordably rented out at about $70 per month. After Troy had taken his fill, I would empty both breasts and store my milk in the fridge. I also operated on a schedule, pumping every 2-3 hours, and this got my supply going well. I eventually returned the pump when Troy was 4 months old. I was elated to discover I didn't need it anymore!
So there I was, finally tasting success the third time around. Every nursing session was a celebration. I felt like a lawyer who finally passed the Bar on his third attempt. This time around, I was the envy of other mothers who didn't succeed in breastfeeding. "How'd you do it?" they would say, and I would smile, remembering the times when I was the one asking those questions.
Troy was an avid nurser. He would summon me with his cries when he was hungry, and I had to drop everything I was doing. Many times, when we were driving, Lorenzo would have to stop the van so I could move to the back seat to feed. If I didn't get there fast enough, I would be reprimanded by a look of reproach in my baby's eyes as he nursed hungrily, the unspoken accusation fading as his hunger was sated.
When Troy had his fill, he would be content to fiddle with my blouse, a constant source of amusement to his Dad. Lorenzo says it's genetic, because he used to do the same thing when he was little. This hasn't changed much over the years, except now Lorenzo prefers feather pillows over clothing. At any given day, you may be able to catch Lorenzo and Troy clutching the same pillow, father and son feeling for feathers under the material while watching TV. They have a term for this habit back home in the Philippines. We used to call it "pang-uutong", which literally translates to "nippling", if that makes any sense.
I resolved to breastfeed until Troy was two. This turned out to be a good decision, because Troy started showing signs of a milk allergy early on. He also developed atopic dermatitis, his sensitive skin flaring up after I would eat nuts and other allergens. Whenever I felt guilty for passing these on through my milk, Dr. Chen would reassure me that the allergies would've surfaced anyway. In fact, she said, it would've been much worse if I wasn't breastfeeding.
So I continued to nurse as Troy got bigger. I was always discreet about it. I never breastfed in public, remembering how militant La Leche Leaguers used to bother me when they would expose themselves in full view of everyone. If we weren't home, I would excuse myself and feed Troy in someone's empty bedroom. If we were out driving in the van, I would go to the back seat (thankfully, my windows are tinted). You can always breastfeed without offending other people's sensibilities.
Troy has benefited greatly from the experience. He has grown to be very healthy; in fact, you can count the times he was sick in one hand. Whenever he would have a fever or diarrhea, it would be because another tooth was on its way, not because of some virus in his system. As an added bonus, our frequent nursing sessions also strengthened our physical bond, and he is much more tolerant of hugs, snuggles and showers of kisses than his kuya. It still warms my heart to see him coming to me with his hands up, asking for a cuddle.
Troy continued to breastfeed three times a day until the end of November. He would feed upon waking up, before taking his afternoon nap, and at bedtime. His lolas, my Mom and mother-in-law, were pleasantly surprised that I could sustain my nursing for so long. I was proud of my accomplishment.
However, the month of October heralded change. On October 22, I found out I was pregnant again. The news was a welcome surprise to Lorenzo and me. Since I was on the pill and still breastfeeding Troy, the last thing we expected was my getting pregnant! With all the odds against it happening, we could only see it as a gift from The Lord.
With the new baby's upcoming arrival, I began to do my research. I started to read up on subjects such as breastfeeding while pregnant and tandem feeding after birth. With this pregnancy labeled "high risk" for premature labor (after my two preemies), I was concerned when I read one woman's account, blaming her continued nursing for her subsequent miscarriage. Apparently, breastfeeding promotes the production of oxytocin, which brings about contractions. I read these words with a heavy heart. I couldn't take any chances. For the sake of the coming baby, I had to wean Troy.
I then launched my "don't offer, don't refuse" campaign, deciding that I would let Troy wean himself. I didn't have the heart to quit cold turkey. Besides, I felt reassured when I found out most toddlers wean themselves when their mothers get pregnant, as the taste of breast milk usually changes during this time. Indeed, Troy had been showing signs of losing interest, especially in the mornings, when he preferred to watch his shows.
Then Lance got out of school after Thanksgiving. With the abrupt change in schedule, it has been much harder to stick to our daily routine. Lance, for one, refuses to take his afternoon nap. Since Troy usually follows his brother, this effectively eliminated most of his afternoon naptime (and nursing) sessions. And since they have been missing their naps, my boys now fall asleep very early, sometimes in the family room before we can even get them ready for bed. Alas, this means less opportunities for bedtime nursing sessions as well.
Troy, thankfully, has still been feeding at least once a day. Sometimes, he asks for milk when we snuggle in bed in the morning. More often however, he says "milk, Mommy" when I am trying to put him to sleep at night. I have come to love these little requests, usually followed by the serious task of choosing which side he would like to try first. Recently he has taken to pointing to my right breast, since my left one is usually the more cantankerous of the two.
I don't know how much longer I can prolong this wonderful experience. I now look at each nursing session as if it were my last. I will forever miss the nearness of my baby, feeling his warm softness beside me, smelling his hair. I will always remember how it feels to nurse...my baby's mouth and tongue tugging at my breast in tandem. His rhythmic breathing soothes me, his hands and feet kneading my body like a kitten purring contentedly at its mother's teat. Then comes the slow, gradual release of his hold as he drifts into sleep.
After the Sandman claims my Troy, I slip my breast back under my shirt and hold him close, showering his precious little face with kisses. Then slumber claims me too, and I fall asleep with him in my arms, tightly snuggled with his head on my shoulder. I usually don't sleep too deeply. At the back of my mind, I know I have to bring him back to his room and put him in his crib before he wakes up again.
Alas, last weekend ushered in another milestone...Troy slept out of his crib for the first time. We had moved his bed to Lance's room in order to make way for the new baby. He initially met this move with resistance, refusing to sleep in his new bed at first. But now he is beginning to adjust to his new room and his new surroundings. I added a few enticements: a Bob the Builder bed set and a Harry Potter calendar.
Troy loves Harry Potter. Just recently, he was watching "The Sorcerer's Stone" when his older brother, Chris, started bugging him. We were surprised to hear a mad little voice ring out, clear as a bell: "I'M WATCHING HARRY POTTER!!!"
Troy, my little baby, is indeed on his way.
Friday, May 07, 2004
(Prada Mama's NOTE: After I posted this entry, my husband, Lorenzo, also wrote a LETTER of his own, dedicated to our coming baby daughter, REANNA LOREN. She was born just a few hours after that letter was published. You may view Lorenzo's letter at his SITE, "One Day Isang Araw" at kindat.com.)
REHASH, REUSE, RECYCLE
Today, we went to the dump.
Actually, the proper term is "Recycling Center", since the place only accepts recyclables, but Lance kept referring to it as "the dump". Considering it didn't smell much better than our local landfill, "the dump" seemed appropriate, so we spared our four-year-old the technicality.
Lance and Troy looked on as Daddy unloaded cans and plastic bottles to be weighed. Then they watched the articles go up a conveyor belt before being deposited into their proper dumpsters. My sons had seen a "Mr. Rogers" show on recycling, and this novel, if smelly, first-time experience was a source of fascination to their still-unjaded eyes.
Ahh...the wonders of childhood. At what other phase in our lives would we be so enthralled to be in a modified quonset hut overflowing with glass jars, plastic bottles, aluminum cans and cardboard boxes? But throughout this olfactory ordeal, there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the line, towards the exit, was a booth where we could turn our junk into treasure. Our recycled refuse netted us a cool eighteen dollars and change.
We gave Lance and Troy a dollar each for their piggy banks and proceeded to Arby's to spend the rest of our loot. After downing Beef n' Cheddar sandwiches, curly fries, and a quick-disappearing apple turnover, Lorenzo and I talked to the kids about the virtues of recycling, explaining how it was good for us (since it bought us a yummy meal) and the environment (I won't bore you with that one!).
Days earlier, Lance had brought home a picture bookmark with a very wise saying: "Teach children to choose the right path, and when they get older they will remain upon it." Hopefully, through our little exercise, we were able to impart a wee bit of wisdom to our young ones. Wisdom that would serve them well beyond these years of wide-eyed wonder.
It is this sense of wonder which I tried to capture once, in a letter I e-mailed to Lorenzo years ago. Lance was still the reigning baby in our family then, as I was still pregnant with Troy. This letter was already featured in my former website, before I moved to Pansitan.net. I am "recycling" it now, so to speak, since it didn't really get too much circulation before.
This is the first of a series of "lost" articles which I plan to republish, in anticipation of my coming "blogless period" brought about by the coming baby.
So without further ado, I present to you a day in the life of Baby Lance, in accordance with my convenient new credo: Rehash, Reuse, Recycle...
"Hi Daddy!
Mommy and I went out for a walk after taking my kuyas to school. It was still a little cool, so Mommy bundled me up in my sweater and we were on our way. I saw many black birds, some big, some small. I was also amused at the water sprinklers, which were always threatening to wet Mommy and me. We didn't get wet, but I felt the cool mist on my face.
Mommy picked out dandelions for me. She taught me how to blow on them to scatter them in the wind. I know how to blow, but I have to put them close to my mouth because I can't blow too hard yet. Mommy also plucked a little yellow flower for me, which I held for a while. She thought I was trying to eat the flower, but I was just blowing on it like she taught me to blow on the dandelion.
On the way home, Mommy sat on the park bench and took me out of my stroller. I practiced walking while holding on to the park bench. Then Mommy saw a ladybug and picked it up from the ground so I could play with it. I was laughing and having so much fun. The ladybug crawled on my hand and back to the park bench. I kept picking it up and Mommy said I was very good because I was gentle with it. When I was done playing with the ladybug, Mommy put it back on the leaf so it could eat. I had dropped my cracker on the ground. I wanted to pick it up, but Mommy said to leave it there for the birds to eat. I picked it up and ate it anyway, when Mommy wasn't looking.
At around 9:30 it was getting to be really warm, so Mommy took my sweater off. We started walking home because Mommy noticed that I had taken a doodie. On the way home, I saw a shopping cart on the curb. I pointed it out to Mommy because I wanted to ride in it, but Mommy didn't think it was a good idea. She promised me that I would sit on a shopping cart next time we went to a supermarket, which she said would be soon because we're out of bread. Speaking of bread, Mommy says you forgot to bring your sandwich, so Mommy had it for a snack after we got home.
I am now taking my nap. I can't wait to see you again, Daddy. I love you very much. Will you come with us to pick up my kuyas later? They don't get off till 4:45, so Mommy thinks it would be a good time to stop by the bowling alley to put down a deposit for Kuya Joey's surprise birthday party. I'll see you later!
Love, LANCE"
REHASH, REUSE, RECYCLE
Today, we went to the dump.
Actually, the proper term is "Recycling Center", since the place only accepts recyclables, but Lance kept referring to it as "the dump". Considering it didn't smell much better than our local landfill, "the dump" seemed appropriate, so we spared our four-year-old the technicality.
Lance and Troy looked on as Daddy unloaded cans and plastic bottles to be weighed. Then they watched the articles go up a conveyor belt before being deposited into their proper dumpsters. My sons had seen a "Mr. Rogers" show on recycling, and this novel, if smelly, first-time experience was a source of fascination to their still-unjaded eyes.
Ahh...the wonders of childhood. At what other phase in our lives would we be so enthralled to be in a modified quonset hut overflowing with glass jars, plastic bottles, aluminum cans and cardboard boxes? But throughout this olfactory ordeal, there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the line, towards the exit, was a booth where we could turn our junk into treasure. Our recycled refuse netted us a cool eighteen dollars and change.
We gave Lance and Troy a dollar each for their piggy banks and proceeded to Arby's to spend the rest of our loot. After downing Beef n' Cheddar sandwiches, curly fries, and a quick-disappearing apple turnover, Lorenzo and I talked to the kids about the virtues of recycling, explaining how it was good for us (since it bought us a yummy meal) and the environment (I won't bore you with that one!).
Days earlier, Lance had brought home a picture bookmark with a very wise saying: "Teach children to choose the right path, and when they get older they will remain upon it." Hopefully, through our little exercise, we were able to impart a wee bit of wisdom to our young ones. Wisdom that would serve them well beyond these years of wide-eyed wonder.
It is this sense of wonder which I tried to capture once, in a letter I e-mailed to Lorenzo years ago. Lance was still the reigning baby in our family then, as I was still pregnant with Troy. This letter was already featured in my former website, before I moved to Pansitan.net. I am "recycling" it now, so to speak, since it didn't really get too much circulation before.
This is the first of a series of "lost" articles which I plan to republish, in anticipation of my coming "blogless period" brought about by the coming baby.
So without further ado, I present to you a day in the life of Baby Lance, in accordance with my convenient new credo: Rehash, Reuse, Recycle...
"Hi Daddy!
Mommy and I went out for a walk after taking my kuyas to school. It was still a little cool, so Mommy bundled me up in my sweater and we were on our way. I saw many black birds, some big, some small. I was also amused at the water sprinklers, which were always threatening to wet Mommy and me. We didn't get wet, but I felt the cool mist on my face.
Mommy picked out dandelions for me. She taught me how to blow on them to scatter them in the wind. I know how to blow, but I have to put them close to my mouth because I can't blow too hard yet. Mommy also plucked a little yellow flower for me, which I held for a while. She thought I was trying to eat the flower, but I was just blowing on it like she taught me to blow on the dandelion.
On the way home, Mommy sat on the park bench and took me out of my stroller. I practiced walking while holding on to the park bench. Then Mommy saw a ladybug and picked it up from the ground so I could play with it. I was laughing and having so much fun. The ladybug crawled on my hand and back to the park bench. I kept picking it up and Mommy said I was very good because I was gentle with it. When I was done playing with the ladybug, Mommy put it back on the leaf so it could eat. I had dropped my cracker on the ground. I wanted to pick it up, but Mommy said to leave it there for the birds to eat. I picked it up and ate it anyway, when Mommy wasn't looking.
At around 9:30 it was getting to be really warm, so Mommy took my sweater off. We started walking home because Mommy noticed that I had taken a doodie. On the way home, I saw a shopping cart on the curb. I pointed it out to Mommy because I wanted to ride in it, but Mommy didn't think it was a good idea. She promised me that I would sit on a shopping cart next time we went to a supermarket, which she said would be soon because we're out of bread. Speaking of bread, Mommy says you forgot to bring your sandwich, so Mommy had it for a snack after we got home.
I am now taking my nap. I can't wait to see you again, Daddy. I love you very much. Will you come with us to pick up my kuyas later? They don't get off till 4:45, so Mommy thinks it would be a good time to stop by the bowling alley to put down a deposit for Kuya Joey's surprise birthday party. I'll see you later!
Love, LANCE"
Sunday, May 02, 2004
TALES FROM THE NEWSROOM
We all have our stories to tell.
Based on the enthusiastic response I got from "THE NAME GAME", I would like to recount some tales from my glory days, while I can still remember them. With another epidural looming in the horizon, my lucid days may very well be numbered.
When I started as a radio newscaster, at the barely-legal age of 17, I was welcomed into a close-knit family of kindred spirits. Many of my co-workers were working students, like me, and since most of us were still in the final throes of adolescence (while the rest of the on-air staff was suspended in a state of arrested development), chaos was likely to break out at any given moment.
A radio station's On-Air staff is usually comprised of jocks (that's a hunkified version of "disc jockey") and newscasters. It was not unusual for the former to play tricks on the latter. In fact, all of our DJ's seemed to delight in finding new and more innovative means of torture to inflict on their gullible, unsuspecting on-air partners.
It was not unusual for the jocks to try to make us laugh in the middle of our most serious newscasts. Sometimes, they would make faces, other times they would just act plain silly. If this didn't work, the bolder ones would actually try to tickle you, and there you were, just trying to make it past the finish line (usually signaled by the weather news) with a straight face.
Another diabolical prank was burning the bottom part of the newscaster's script while she was "on board" (that's radio lingo for going on-air). Luckily, this never happened to me. I once asked a former colleague how she dealt with this crisis at crunch time. The poor girl said she had to talk really fast for fear she'd have to recite the rest of her newscast from memory!
One of my weirdest newscasts was when I did "107 Music Info" with gunfire in the background, not because I was out in the field during a military coup, but because Tom Lupton, my morning show jock, played a sound effects record of internecine warfare instead of my news bed. I must've sounded really stupid, talking about something mundane like the Smiths' latest concert while a war exploded around me. Of course, I was blissfully unaware of what was going on because my headsets were rigged before I entered the booth, so that all I could hear was my usual news bed. (The news bed is that familiar background music you hear during the newscast.)
Tom Lupton and I had just the right brand of madcap chemistry to make our morning show work. One day, we actually called a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in Makati to ask how big their breasts were. The poor guy on the phone didn't quite know how to answer the question. Tom, sensing his unease, went straight for the jugular, firing pointed questions at the flustered fellow so that in the end, he blurted out "as big as your hand!". It was hilarious, but in retrospect, I'm glad no one from KBP was listening at the time. We could've certainly been suspended for our harmless little prank.
I really had fun doing radio news. It was also a source of money on the side, when I would do voicings and dubbings for radio and TV commercials. I also dubbed some foreign films, mostly Chinese, into English. I found that I had to augment my radio salary with these other projects because my paycheck wasn't growing directly proportionally with those of my male counterparts. Our radio shows were all rating very well, but despite "107 Music Info's" being ranked as high as number 11 in its time slot in the Pulsitron ratings, I was the only one who wasn't given a substantial raise. It is interesting to note that I was also the only FEMALE member of the on-air staff back then. Sadly, the glass ceiling also exists in radio.
When I made my transition to TV news, I missed the easygoing camaraderie I enjoyed with my radio colleagues. But they always considered me part of their family, still setting aside concert tickets and movie premiere passes for their former "boardmate" long after I had left the confines of the newscaster's booth.
Indeed, radio was hard to get out of my blood. In fact, even when I was already doing TV news, I would jump at the chance to help out old friends in the business. At one time, Eric Eloriaga, my fellow anchor in RPN News, was also program director for 99.5 RT. When one of his newscasters went abroad on vacation, he asked me if I could pinch-hit for her. I was happy to do it, feeling that old familiar feeling when I took over the newscaster's "hot seat" once again.
My new home, the TV newsroom, is so far removed from the casual, relaxed atmosphere of the newscaster's booth. Here, you will find a beehive of activity, usually around the banks of phones, all ringing non-stop. All these calls are fielded by the news desk officer, who barks out assignments to the various news reporters. These reporters go out into the field with their drivers and cameramen, rushing back to the newsroom in the early afternoon to go over their footage with the video editors. After they are done writing and producing their segments, they hand their stories to the news writers, who type out the final script.
It is usually at this juncture when the news anchor sails majestically into the news room, hooking up with her ally, the make-up artist. Together, they discreetly disappear into the make-up room, where she is transformed from Traffic Tigress to Newsbabe Barbie. After the metamorphosis, she goes over her finished script and makes some last-minute changes, sometimes seeking out a reporter or two to ask for the proper pronunciation of an unfamiliar name. And then she goes up to the news studio and sits on her anchor's chair while the lightmen and cameramen make their final adjustments.
It is important to sit still for these sessions, because light men and camera men hold within their power the ability to make you look good or ghastly. You may have heard that the camera adds 10 pounds to its subject. Well, if you add an irate camera man who is fed up with your primadonna attitude, you may very well be framed in such a way that you look bordering on the obese. Lightmen can also spell the difference between gorgeous ang gruesome, giving you another reason to be nice to these studio denizens, even though every once in a while you catch them trying to make boso under your miniskirt.
RPN's news studio is one of the most inhospitable places on earth, with its hot, glaring lights and stuffy atmosphere. In the sweltering heat of summer, flies are usually added into the mix, and there you are, hoping a fly doesn't alight on you during your closeup. It takes a lot of poise to be able to sit still and deliver your news while a pesky fly buzzes busily around your head. For some reason, flies seem to be partial to Aqua Net hairspray, our make-up artists' preferred brand.
I guess it wasn't too bad that the biggest pests in our studios were flies. At least flies are small, and almost unnoticeable on camera. There was once an incident at another channel when a cat jumped onto a veteran newscaster's desk while he was doing his news. I would've probably cracked up laughing at the sight of it.
One of the hardest things to control in this world is a fit of giggles. It is even harder to stifle your laugh when you know that millions of people are watching you. I had a particularly hard time keeping a straight face once, during a CrimeWatch story about two people getting into fisticuffs because of fishballs. The scene in my mind's eye was so hilarious that I had to stop in mid-sentence, knowing that if I continued, I would've burst out laughing. It didn't help that I could see my co-anchor's shaking shoulders out of the corner of my eye (she, too, was laughing, but she was more successful at keeping it quiet).
I tried to collect myself, valiantly having a go at the next sentence with a straight face, but I ended up sounding like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist". The more I tried to stifle my laugh, the more it took over. During times like these, there is nothing to do but give in to that bubble of mirth coming straight from your belly. And when that giant guffaw finally comes out, you have no choice but to ride the wave until it, and you, are literally spent.
There was once an infamous newscast (luckily not mine) where one of the anchors started laughing so our director changed cameras to the other anchor, who read the same script. Unfortunately, the other anchor also started laughing uncontrollably, so they had to go to a commercial break. Good thing this happened late at night in the weekend, not on prime time.
Then there are those times when you are caught doing something else on camera. Something totally unprofessional like checking your hair or powdering your nose. Usually this happens when the Director presses the wrong button, putting your camera live on-air when it isn't your turn yet. During these times, you try to look as poised as possible, even though you know you'll be hearing about it during the next commercial break. One of the first cardinal rules an on-cam talent learns is "No unnecessary movements on set".
This brings to mind one of my strangest newscasts. There I was in the anchor's seat, introducing a story from Bong Aznar, our man from RPN Cebu. During these Cebu segments, it is customary for the anchor to be framed beside a TV monitor featuring the Cebu correspondent, standing by. Unfortunately, for this particular newscast, someone forgot to turn the TV on, so I was introducing a blank screen. It was during this juncture when our TV viewers saw a disembodied arm slowly appear from the right side of their television screens, turning the monitor on. The "helping hand" belonged to our teleprompter operator, Ablan, whose gallant effort to save the newscast was rewarded by a brief on-cam appearance during the closing credits.
There is a certain glamor associated with being an on-cam talent. You get invited to fun things like ribbon-cutting ceremonies, people recognize you when you're out in public, and you get to rub shoulders with other people in the limelight. Once, after my newscast, I was having dinner with friends when I saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. I kept looking at her, trying to place her face, when I noticed that she was also looking at me. Finally, she smiled, mouthing "I watched you tonight", just as I realized she was Dulce, the singer.
Of course, you also get a lot of attention from government officials and other news denizens. Most of the time, you welcome the attention, but at other times, it could be unsettling, especially if you get repeated calls from this particular congressman or that certain government official, both of whom are supposedly "happily" married. Oh, and did I mention the occasional blind item or two? These are the unpleasant byproducts of being in the business, but you take it all in stride, knowing you're now in the public eye and it's ALWAYS open season.
One thing that I DO miss is having strangers come up to you, saying "Excuse me, aren't you so-and-so?" You get to meet a lot of nice people this way. I have been told time and again that I have a "suplada/mataray" look about me, so I try to smile and put people at ease as soon as I meet them, even if they don't know who I am.
There is a story I once read, about another Renee in the limelight, Renee Zellwegger, who struck up a conversation with a fan. The two of them had a very nice chat, and when she finally left to go, the fan gushed "Oh, it was so very nice to meet you, JEWEL!"
This has happened to me too. I would be out and about, doing something when I would overhear some people whispering, "Di ba siya 'yung newscaster?". This would be my cue to smile, letting them know it's okay for them to approach if they wanted to. Most of the time, they would come over, and we would have a nice conversation, usually started by "Ano nga pala'ng pangalan mo?" I never minded this, because people usually mispronounced my former name, Renee Caplan (pronounced CAPLAN, my ex-husband was Canadian Jewish), changing it to the more Filipino-sounding "ReNEH capLAN".
Being a news anchor, I take the expression, "Anong balita?", quite literally. Once, when I was pregnant with Lance, I was taken into conversation by a friendly group while waiting for my driver. They asked me about the latest developments in the story du jour, and we exchanged views about the subject. These were obviously educated people, and I enjoyed our short discussion. One of them asked for my card. When I saw my car coming, I bade them farewell, telling them to watch my news later. As I was boarding my car, I saw them gather around my card. I remember giving them a final wave as we were pulling away, just in time to hear a puzzled voice say:
"Hindi ba si KATA INOCENCIO 'yon?"
(PLUGGING: Prada Mama's other blog, 87 GENTLE STREET, and her online photo album, BRAG BOOK.)
We all have our stories to tell.
Based on the enthusiastic response I got from "THE NAME GAME", I would like to recount some tales from my glory days, while I can still remember them. With another epidural looming in the horizon, my lucid days may very well be numbered.
When I started as a radio newscaster, at the barely-legal age of 17, I was welcomed into a close-knit family of kindred spirits. Many of my co-workers were working students, like me, and since most of us were still in the final throes of adolescence (while the rest of the on-air staff was suspended in a state of arrested development), chaos was likely to break out at any given moment.
A radio station's On-Air staff is usually comprised of jocks (that's a hunkified version of "disc jockey") and newscasters. It was not unusual for the former to play tricks on the latter. In fact, all of our DJ's seemed to delight in finding new and more innovative means of torture to inflict on their gullible, unsuspecting on-air partners.
It was not unusual for the jocks to try to make us laugh in the middle of our most serious newscasts. Sometimes, they would make faces, other times they would just act plain silly. If this didn't work, the bolder ones would actually try to tickle you, and there you were, just trying to make it past the finish line (usually signaled by the weather news) with a straight face.
Another diabolical prank was burning the bottom part of the newscaster's script while she was "on board" (that's radio lingo for going on-air). Luckily, this never happened to me. I once asked a former colleague how she dealt with this crisis at crunch time. The poor girl said she had to talk really fast for fear she'd have to recite the rest of her newscast from memory!
One of my weirdest newscasts was when I did "107 Music Info" with gunfire in the background, not because I was out in the field during a military coup, but because Tom Lupton, my morning show jock, played a sound effects record of internecine warfare instead of my news bed. I must've sounded really stupid, talking about something mundane like the Smiths' latest concert while a war exploded around me. Of course, I was blissfully unaware of what was going on because my headsets were rigged before I entered the booth, so that all I could hear was my usual news bed. (The news bed is that familiar background music you hear during the newscast.)
Tom Lupton and I had just the right brand of madcap chemistry to make our morning show work. One day, we actually called a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in Makati to ask how big their breasts were. The poor guy on the phone didn't quite know how to answer the question. Tom, sensing his unease, went straight for the jugular, firing pointed questions at the flustered fellow so that in the end, he blurted out "as big as your hand!". It was hilarious, but in retrospect, I'm glad no one from KBP was listening at the time. We could've certainly been suspended for our harmless little prank.
I really had fun doing radio news. It was also a source of money on the side, when I would do voicings and dubbings for radio and TV commercials. I also dubbed some foreign films, mostly Chinese, into English. I found that I had to augment my radio salary with these other projects because my paycheck wasn't growing directly proportionally with those of my male counterparts. Our radio shows were all rating very well, but despite "107 Music Info's" being ranked as high as number 11 in its time slot in the Pulsitron ratings, I was the only one who wasn't given a substantial raise. It is interesting to note that I was also the only FEMALE member of the on-air staff back then. Sadly, the glass ceiling also exists in radio.
When I made my transition to TV news, I missed the easygoing camaraderie I enjoyed with my radio colleagues. But they always considered me part of their family, still setting aside concert tickets and movie premiere passes for their former "boardmate" long after I had left the confines of the newscaster's booth.
Indeed, radio was hard to get out of my blood. In fact, even when I was already doing TV news, I would jump at the chance to help out old friends in the business. At one time, Eric Eloriaga, my fellow anchor in RPN News, was also program director for 99.5 RT. When one of his newscasters went abroad on vacation, he asked me if I could pinch-hit for her. I was happy to do it, feeling that old familiar feeling when I took over the newscaster's "hot seat" once again.
My new home, the TV newsroom, is so far removed from the casual, relaxed atmosphere of the newscaster's booth. Here, you will find a beehive of activity, usually around the banks of phones, all ringing non-stop. All these calls are fielded by the news desk officer, who barks out assignments to the various news reporters. These reporters go out into the field with their drivers and cameramen, rushing back to the newsroom in the early afternoon to go over their footage with the video editors. After they are done writing and producing their segments, they hand their stories to the news writers, who type out the final script.
It is usually at this juncture when the news anchor sails majestically into the news room, hooking up with her ally, the make-up artist. Together, they discreetly disappear into the make-up room, where she is transformed from Traffic Tigress to Newsbabe Barbie. After the metamorphosis, she goes over her finished script and makes some last-minute changes, sometimes seeking out a reporter or two to ask for the proper pronunciation of an unfamiliar name. And then she goes up to the news studio and sits on her anchor's chair while the lightmen and cameramen make their final adjustments.
It is important to sit still for these sessions, because light men and camera men hold within their power the ability to make you look good or ghastly. You may have heard that the camera adds 10 pounds to its subject. Well, if you add an irate camera man who is fed up with your primadonna attitude, you may very well be framed in such a way that you look bordering on the obese. Lightmen can also spell the difference between gorgeous ang gruesome, giving you another reason to be nice to these studio denizens, even though every once in a while you catch them trying to make boso under your miniskirt.
RPN's news studio is one of the most inhospitable places on earth, with its hot, glaring lights and stuffy atmosphere. In the sweltering heat of summer, flies are usually added into the mix, and there you are, hoping a fly doesn't alight on you during your closeup. It takes a lot of poise to be able to sit still and deliver your news while a pesky fly buzzes busily around your head. For some reason, flies seem to be partial to Aqua Net hairspray, our make-up artists' preferred brand.
I guess it wasn't too bad that the biggest pests in our studios were flies. At least flies are small, and almost unnoticeable on camera. There was once an incident at another channel when a cat jumped onto a veteran newscaster's desk while he was doing his news. I would've probably cracked up laughing at the sight of it.
One of the hardest things to control in this world is a fit of giggles. It is even harder to stifle your laugh when you know that millions of people are watching you. I had a particularly hard time keeping a straight face once, during a CrimeWatch story about two people getting into fisticuffs because of fishballs. The scene in my mind's eye was so hilarious that I had to stop in mid-sentence, knowing that if I continued, I would've burst out laughing. It didn't help that I could see my co-anchor's shaking shoulders out of the corner of my eye (she, too, was laughing, but she was more successful at keeping it quiet).
I tried to collect myself, valiantly having a go at the next sentence with a straight face, but I ended up sounding like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist". The more I tried to stifle my laugh, the more it took over. During times like these, there is nothing to do but give in to that bubble of mirth coming straight from your belly. And when that giant guffaw finally comes out, you have no choice but to ride the wave until it, and you, are literally spent.
There was once an infamous newscast (luckily not mine) where one of the anchors started laughing so our director changed cameras to the other anchor, who read the same script. Unfortunately, the other anchor also started laughing uncontrollably, so they had to go to a commercial break. Good thing this happened late at night in the weekend, not on prime time.
Then there are those times when you are caught doing something else on camera. Something totally unprofessional like checking your hair or powdering your nose. Usually this happens when the Director presses the wrong button, putting your camera live on-air when it isn't your turn yet. During these times, you try to look as poised as possible, even though you know you'll be hearing about it during the next commercial break. One of the first cardinal rules an on-cam talent learns is "No unnecessary movements on set".
This brings to mind one of my strangest newscasts. There I was in the anchor's seat, introducing a story from Bong Aznar, our man from RPN Cebu. During these Cebu segments, it is customary for the anchor to be framed beside a TV monitor featuring the Cebu correspondent, standing by. Unfortunately, for this particular newscast, someone forgot to turn the TV on, so I was introducing a blank screen. It was during this juncture when our TV viewers saw a disembodied arm slowly appear from the right side of their television screens, turning the monitor on. The "helping hand" belonged to our teleprompter operator, Ablan, whose gallant effort to save the newscast was rewarded by a brief on-cam appearance during the closing credits.
There is a certain glamor associated with being an on-cam talent. You get invited to fun things like ribbon-cutting ceremonies, people recognize you when you're out in public, and you get to rub shoulders with other people in the limelight. Once, after my newscast, I was having dinner with friends when I saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. I kept looking at her, trying to place her face, when I noticed that she was also looking at me. Finally, she smiled, mouthing "I watched you tonight", just as I realized she was Dulce, the singer.
Of course, you also get a lot of attention from government officials and other news denizens. Most of the time, you welcome the attention, but at other times, it could be unsettling, especially if you get repeated calls from this particular congressman or that certain government official, both of whom are supposedly "happily" married. Oh, and did I mention the occasional blind item or two? These are the unpleasant byproducts of being in the business, but you take it all in stride, knowing you're now in the public eye and it's ALWAYS open season.
One thing that I DO miss is having strangers come up to you, saying "Excuse me, aren't you so-and-so?" You get to meet a lot of nice people this way. I have been told time and again that I have a "suplada/mataray" look about me, so I try to smile and put people at ease as soon as I meet them, even if they don't know who I am.
There is a story I once read, about another Renee in the limelight, Renee Zellwegger, who struck up a conversation with a fan. The two of them had a very nice chat, and when she finally left to go, the fan gushed "Oh, it was so very nice to meet you, JEWEL!"
This has happened to me too. I would be out and about, doing something when I would overhear some people whispering, "Di ba siya 'yung newscaster?". This would be my cue to smile, letting them know it's okay for them to approach if they wanted to. Most of the time, they would come over, and we would have a nice conversation, usually started by "Ano nga pala'ng pangalan mo?" I never minded this, because people usually mispronounced my former name, Renee Caplan (pronounced CAPLAN, my ex-husband was Canadian Jewish), changing it to the more Filipino-sounding "ReNEH capLAN".
Being a news anchor, I take the expression, "Anong balita?", quite literally. Once, when I was pregnant with Lance, I was taken into conversation by a friendly group while waiting for my driver. They asked me about the latest developments in the story du jour, and we exchanged views about the subject. These were obviously educated people, and I enjoyed our short discussion. One of them asked for my card. When I saw my car coming, I bade them farewell, telling them to watch my news later. As I was boarding my car, I saw them gather around my card. I remember giving them a final wave as we were pulling away, just in time to hear a puzzled voice say:
"Hindi ba si KATA INOCENCIO 'yon?"
(PLUGGING: Prada Mama's other blog, 87 GENTLE STREET, and her online photo album, BRAG BOOK.)
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