THE TURKEY BASTER

                   Thanksgiving is the beginning of the holiday season. From the moment the turkey comes out of the  oven, you find yourself thinking about things that hadn’t crossed your mind all year long. Suddenly, you’re wracking your brain trying to remember what your sister Chloe, or your aunt Rebecca pointed out to you that day at the mall. That thing you made a mental note of, and were going to buy and hold on to until the holidays came around. One whiff of pumpkin pie, cinnamon and nutmeg and you’re reminded that you were supposed to be ten pounds lighter by now!

             Thanksgiving is a joyous day, and also a “good” guilt day. Good guilt is the kind you keep to yourself, the kind that doesn’t hurt or affect anyone around you. The kind you can shed whenever you’re ready.

While most people on Thanksgiving remember aunt Rebecca and are still ten pounds heavier than they hoped to be, my mind goes to another dimension. It happens every year. I’m standing in front of big bird, eyeing the instrument in my hand, having nothing but one thought. Liver biopsy.

I’m quite familiar with the instrument; I mean the biopsy needle much more than the turkey basting syringe. I can’t count the times a doctor, with a quick slight of his hand, plunged the long, thick needle into my skin under which my liver lies. Before I knew it, the procedure was over, and the doctor had extracted a sliver of my liver.

Big bird was dinner, but I had been there too.  

On the day of the Oscars two years ago, I was all smiles. Sure, my body was swollen with fluid since my organs were only four months old. This reaction was similar to when you bang your head. The bump that forms is liquid protecting the traumatized area. I was full of fluid, protecting me from the transplants. This healthy, bodily function made me smile, but it was my husband’s nomination for an Academy Award, which was the real reason for my smiles.

A few hours before attending the event, a doctor at UCLA Medical Center stood over me, holding the “turkey baster” while I lay in the pan, I mean on the cot. As soon as the needle pierced my belly, the bottle began to fill fast. 18 liters later, I went from being a plumper to shrinking to a Foster Farm size turkey filet (I love that commercial). Lying on the cot, I turned to the three full bottles and thought, Oh Lord, that’s all I need, is to look like a dried up prune on the red carpet.

Thankfully, I looked like my usual, belly-less self. I drove home light on my feet and relieved, ready to slip into my skin-tight Oscar gown. I had left the house in the morning with a beer belly, and had returned with washboard abs. Well, not quite. Anyway, I was going to the Oscars with my youngest son and my husband, the nominee for best Foreign Film. We had a blast on the red carpet and laughed at Hugh Jackman's jokes. We didn’t win, but all three of us looked and felt like winners.

                     I’ve been telling myself not to think about liver biopsies and needles this Thanksgiving, but somehow, I have the feeling it will happen again. It has become my “good” guilt. I’ve got this, I said to myself smiling devilishly, standing in the kitchen, turkey baster in hand last year, you’re going to be the most delicious, juicy bird ever. I strategically plunged the juice-filled, five-inch long syringe into the bird, with all the precision of a surgical instrument. While I gave my turkey its biopsy, I couldn’t help but stare at the liver resting in the juices at the bottom of the pan. 

LETTER TO MICHAEL DOUGLAS

Dear Michael,

I’ve heard in the news that you’ve been diagnosed with throat cancer. I’m very sorry to hear this and wish you all the best. Michael, I’m rooting for you but more importantly you go ahead and root for yourself.

The doctor in the news said something of the nature, “Your perspectives look good because you’ve got the right frame of mind.”

Way to go Michael, that’s a great start to beat this thing. After all, it has become a commonly accepted notion that all illnesses require constructive emotional self-persuasion if you want a shot at health.

We all carry on a conversation in our minds. We are our best friend and our worst enemy. When you’re sick, though, it’s time to give the demons we so willingly fight in our thoughts a rest. Michael, you’re presently in a situation, which demands reeling in your thoughts, and focusing them on your physical wellbeing.

Let me give you another tip Michael. The right frame of mind is all fine and well. But you’ve got to take it a step further.

It’s called one hundred percent certainty that you’ll make it through this affliction. You must believe with all your heart, soul and mind that you’ll beat it. Get proactive within yourself. Let this one hundred percent certainty spew into every particle, which makes up your DNA. Don’t just say you’re going to beat it. As every motivational speaker will tell you, know it, feel it, embrace it, own it. Feed this one hundred percent certainty to your fiber, your muscles, your pores, your bones and your throat.

That bares the question how do you do this? How do you know you’ve absorbed this one hundred percent certainty? Well, Michael, you’re probably ahead of the game. You already know that life is beautiful and that you’re beautiful. If you live by these inalienable truths, you’ve just increased your chances of success. Then there’s also the business of letting go.

Let me tell you a little story Michael.

My girlfriend recently spoke of her uncle. His doctors had told him to go home and put his affairs in order, because he had terminal cancer and had a month to live. So he put his affairs in order, and then did something he had always wanted to do. He flew to Argentina and learned to dance Tango for the last month of his life…last two months of his life…last three months of his life? No…wait…last years of his life and still counting.

This story has such an effortless ring to it. Deadly diagnosis; write a will; pack up for the time of your life and, in the process, cure cancer. I’m almost inclined to think cancer can be cured through any satisfying activity. In fact, if that were the case, Michael, you would already be healthy. You can afford your favorite activity because, well, you can afford just about anything. 


Perhaps there’s a lesson for all of us to learn, and that is, money is not the answer to everything. It certainly isn’t a cancer cure. 
Still, Michael, I like the idea of letting go. Your demons might not involve stress about paying your mortgage, but there is surely some kind of stress you need to shed. All in all Michael, I agree with the doctor in the news who commented on your chances.

Take it from an old pro, if you have that one hundred percent conviction, if you focus on your body in the most positive way possible, if you let go of your stresses, Michael, I predict a success much bigger than an Oscar.