Kitty Dentures; Or, Why My Cat Has No Teeth

 

This is Brie.

If you think she looks a little sad, you would be right. When this picture was taken, she was in so much pain that she had stopped eating. She would walk over to the food dish, sniff it a little, look around to see where I was, and meow plaintively.

We adopted Brie from the Humane Society in Mt. Pleasant in early 2007. She was nine months old and seemed afraid of everything. She also had some behavioral quirks; most notably, she didn't chew her food. When we first brought her home, we thought she swallowed her food whole because she was afraid there wouldn't be a next meal. Having a constant supply of dry food, however, didn't seem to make a difference, and for the five years we have owned her, she has never chewed her food. She also seems to lack a sense of smell. We didn't think it was that big of a deal, though, because she ate and played with our other cat as if everything was normal.

Over the past two years, however, it became clear just how problematic it is when a cat doesn't chew. She developed severe gingivitis. She stopped eating a few days before a week-long trip back to Michigan, so we took her with us for a vet appointment there. The doctor anesthetized her for an ultrasonic teeth cleaning procedure, after which he told us he had never seen a mouth that bad on a cat that young. He gave us antibiotics for her, and we went home.

But the problems became a cycle: she would feel better for awhile, and then her mouth would become red and irritated, sometimes with bleeding gums. Her breath smelled awful. She had trouble properly grooming herself. So we would return to the vet for a combination of injections: steroids and antibiotics, usually with an at-home antibiotic to be given over the following 2-4 weeks.

She hated the antibiotics. One kind was a bitter liquid we had to squirt into her mouth with a dropper. Another kind was a pill that she would inevitably spit out a few times. We became adept at forcing open her mouth, shoving the dropper or pill-popper (a cruel-looking wandlike device that shoots the pill down the cat's throat) far enough into her mouth that she couldn't dislodge it with her tongue. I have several scars on my arms and legs resulting from these treatments. Eventually, we started wrapping her in a towel before attempting to medicate her.

And then, a week and a half ago, she stopped eating again. She was clearly losing weight. She was clearly miserable. Her back teeth were blackish-gray. I took her back to the vet for the steroids and antibiotics, during which Brie screamed (!) and tried to bite the vet tech assisting the doctor. It was heartbreaking. But the doctor leveled with me: the best thing would be to remove as many teeth as was necessary to end the infections, so we wouldn't have to keep bringing Brie back and getting the injections.

We had broached the topic before, but the cost was staggering: cats have 30 teeth, and it could cost $35 per tooth, plus the fees for medications, boarding, etc. We were looking at possibly spending over $1,000 to make the cat healthy again. And I felt like a terrible, cruel, inhumane person every time I postponed the inevitable surgery, because as much she needed it, we had other expenses to consider.

This time, though, I couldn't put it off any longer. Something about the way Brie seemed to have completely given up made it impossible for me to keep her waiting. I scheduled the surgery (without consulting Aaron) and drove home, panicking a little. I knew I had made the right decision, but I didn't know where the money would come from. When I called him, he understood, reassuring me that it was okay.

In the days leading up to the surgery, I tried to be as kind as possible to Brie. The steroids and antibiotics had already taken effect, to the point where she gained nearly a pound in less than a week because she was eating so much. Two days before the surgery, I fed her chicken-flavored baby food from a spoon, and she didn't have to share with Muenster.

We dropped her off Monday afternoon for a Tuesday morning surgery. When the procedure was over, the vet called me to say Brie was awake and very "talkative." They had removed 23 teeth, and since seven had already fallen out on their own, our cat was now completely toothless. When the vet tech brought her into the room where we waited, Brie seemed a little dazed, but eager to see us.

It's sometimes hard to know if pets understand our motivations. But it seems like Brie knows that now, despite having no teeth, she is much better off.

And she will never again bite the hand that feeds her.

Home Sweet Hotel

After our trip to Elephanta Island, we had a small chunk of free time to do with what we wished. As excited as we were to see Mumbai, we were even more excited to get better acquainted with our expensive hotel room. While Biplab headed out to a phone store to get help with repairing the damage from the puddle encounter and Rob walked around Mumbai to get souvenirs, we dragged ourselves into the elevator and instantly slumped against the walls.

While we were gone, the bed had been made and dressed up with throw pillows:

Somehow, this is one of the only pictures we managed to take of our hotel room. I guess we were too busy thinking about video production to bother documenting what the room was like. I promptly messed up the bed by collapsing, fully clothed, into the center of it. Aaron downloaded pictures and footage from the cameras onto his laptop and made the first of his video-diary entries (which he did not manage to keep up with over the course of the trip because by the end of each day we were just too tired). We were supposed to have about 45 minutes, so it wasn't long enough to take a real nap and feel rested.

For as upscale as the hotel is, our room was relatively plain. It was nice. It was clean. But, for the most part, the room wasn't overly spectacular, for which I was grateful. I always feel uncomfortable in fancy places, like I'm underdressed, outclassed, and clearly an outsider who will be commanded to leave once someone in power notices I'm there. Thankfully, our room didn't make me feel this way because we were staying in the Tower wing rather than the Palace wing. Our main indulgence was that we had a sea-view room rather than a city-view room.

No joke, this hotel is a fancy-pants place for rich tourists, politicians, celebrities, royalty, and anyone else who expects luxury. The Obamas stayed here. Oprah stayed here. John Lennon stayed here. And I understand why they stayed at the Taj, how if you're going to stay in Mumbai, this hotel is unquestionably the place to stay.

But the whole time we were there, I felt very conflicted about staying in such a lavish hotel. I didn't fully belong there, but I also didn't really want to belong there. I won't deny that I've been fortunate in my life, and have benefited from a position of privilege (especially concerning race, educational opportunities, and employment). I'd like to think, however, that even with my inborn and acquired privilege, I have managed not to take it completely for granted or devolve into an entitled, ungrateful wench (well, I hope so, anyway). I'm not great at being grateful, but I try.

That first day, I was grateful for the quiet of our room. Clean sheets. Bottled water. Privacy, if I thought I wanted or needed it. Distance--not only from the restless clamor of the city, but also from my life back home, from everything familiar, from the petty things I think about on a day to day basis. I was also grateful that I was having this experience at all, and that I was lucky enough to be sharing it with Aaron.

Physiological needs did make themselves more apparent in India, though, and we both realized that it had been almost 12 hours since our last real meal (we had eaten trail mix bars sometime between the Gateway and the rooftop shoots). We were supposed to have dinner with Rob and Biplab when they returned from their shopping. We went back to the lobby to wait for them. And we waited. One hour passed, then two. Ordinarily, this is the kind of situation we would have been peeved about back home. Feeling very hungry and sleep deprived, and then having to wait longer than expected for other people to show up so we could finally eat? Somehow, the situation didn't really even matter to us. We felt the hunger, we felt tired, but we also were content to have a comfortable place to sit.

Rob came through the revolving doors, without Biplab, explaining that the damaged phone was proving more difficult to fix than anticipated. In fact, the phone was currently in pieces at a nearby shop, being meticulously dried and inspected, so Biplab had said for us to go ahead without him. We asked the front desk for a recommendation regarding the restaurants in the hotel, specifying that we were looking for options other than Indian food (Rob's stipulation) and that it couldn't be too expensive or formal (a concern for all of us). We were told to go to the Sea Lounge, one of the casual-dining restaurants that serves high tea and some American/European food.

I wanted to experience everything I could while in India. But after the long day we had, I didn't feel too guilty ordering a safe, boring chicken BLT burger and fries. Aaron and Rob both ordered fish and chips. We sat in a quiet, air conditioned restaurant staffed by impeccably uniformed wait staff. We were three Americans waiting for a friend to join us. We could have been anywhere in the world, really.

Biplab couldn't stay for dinner because he planned to stay at his sister's home that night, and it was a two-hour ride from our hotel, even though it was somewhere in Mumbai. I had the terrible realization that this would quite possibly be the last time I would see Biplab in person. We had only known him for a day, but it had been so much less stressful and also enlightening because he was so knowledgeable, articulate, and open to answering all of my questions about India.

By the time our food arrived, Biplab had left and I was practically slapping myself to stay awake so as to avoid one of those embarassing "I literally fell asleep face-down in my plate of food" moments we've all had as small children (and most of our parents have the pictures to prove it). Rob told us he planned to go back to Elephanta Island so he could visit the caves; we decided that we'd spend the day walking around Mumbai, since this would be our only chance to see any of the city before flying to Hyderabad in the evening.

I was also ready to get closer to India itself: to see the traffic, talk to strangers, see what we could. I needed to get out of the hotel and walk down the street because I needed some grit--I didn't want to remember Mumbai just as it was inside the Taj because that isn't the Mumbai most Indians see or experience. I needed to feel more than just safe and comfortable. I knew India would teach me about wealth, privilege, class, race, culture, and power. It was up to me not to flinch.

Still Not Right

Dear India: 

Please, make it stop. You have ruined my immune system. I'm drinking juice and water by the gallon. My brain feels like it's being squeezed in a vice. My sinuses are on fire. I can think of far better ways to spend my upcoming birthday than being strung out on antibiotics that make me woozy. Also, I don't like being this physically aware of the workings of my internal organs. Kidneys should not pulse. I should not feel my heartbeat in my teeth. You get it, right?


Love, 
Katie

I've pretty much been sick with one thing or another since returning from India. So far, I've had two colds, the full gamut of gastrointestinal issues, and now another infection requiring a doctor's visit and antibiotics.

I don't have health insurance (yet) because it makes more financial sense to pay out of pocket for the one time per year I usually go to a doctor of any kind. I haven't been to a dentist in two years. But if things don't work out well with my current illness, we may have to add me to Aaron's insurance plan to cover the expensive tests that will be needed.

Meanwhile, I have work I need to catch up on, and antibiotics to take. But I will continue posting about India in the next few days, and maybe even tonight (if I can stop feeling headachey and nauseated, and if staring at a computer screen for five or six hours for work doesn't make it worse).

Be Prepared (or, When Boy Scouts Go to India) Part 3

I promise, this is the last post about preparations!

By now, you're probably thinking that it's no wonder Aaron has been very stressed out for the past eight months (and also why we've declined invitations for dinner and hanging out on more than one occasion). It has been the major focus of Aaron's attention for a very long time, in addition to working full-time, running his business, managing our finances, and being married to me (which is no small undertaking). Even with the seemingly detailed, exhaustive blog posts, I don't think I've adequately described the work Aaron has put into this project and how it has (at times) disrupted our lives. I feel like half a person compared to him, in terms of the mental and physical energy he puts into his work.

What I also want to make very, very clear is that we are in no way ungrateful for the chance to even attempt an international production. It's hard to write about the experience without sometimes complaining, but that also means I have the misfortune of sounding like an over-privileged, whiny snot--the ugly American who feels entitled to far more than she deserves, which is really not the case. I also don't want to come off as culturally insensitive about our experience in India; at the same time, I want to convey all of the bewildering, frightening, and fascinating parts of it from what is, by default, the perspective of a complete outsider. What I describe might make you uncomfortable; we certainly were at times. But I firmly believe that learning and growth don't come from places of comfort, and sometimes you get rubbed raw in the pursuit of knowledge.

Training

Having never taken video production, photography, or art classes, I desperately needed Aaron's help to become a competent production assistant. As I've mentioned, I've taken some film classes and I had a basic understanding of shot composition. I've been around Aaron for enough years to have seen how production works. But I'd never really picked up a good camera and tested my abilities, and I was afraid of failure (and of incurring Aaron's wrath). He had the unfortunate task of educating me from doltish ineptitude to passable competency, fighting against my stubbornness and klutz-tastic ability to trip over my own feet, drop things, and otherwise mess things up (like the time I dented his laptop while on our first big roadtrip together--Houston, we have a problem, indeed).

Each armed with a Canon DSLR, we did some outdoor photography training at Giant City State Park. I felt like a blundering moron with very little idea how to use the most basic functions on the camera, but Aaron's a good teacher, and he was able to explain concepts so that they lodged in my atrophied little brain. We also went to Nashville in December (mostly to watch the Red Wings crush the Predators) and did some more shooting downtown. I took a few decent pictures, and a lot of stupid ones. It probably didn't help that I kept saying "Stand back! I'm making ART!" in a dramatic hipster voice. But Aaron could see that I was learning, so he put up with it.

ART!

Double ART!

What was probably most helpful were the six hours of training videos we watched together. I'm usually a book-learner first and then a hands-on-learner, but these videos were excellent for explaining and demonstrating concepts without being condescending or dry. If you want to learn more about photography but can't afford to take classes (and don't have access to someone like Aaron), I highly recommend Lynda.com's training videos.

Other portions of my training included learning how to set up and take down the lights (which we did not take to India); setting up tripods, securing the cameras to them, and using the tilt arm smoothly; figuring out how to use the iPad for script editing, releases, as a teleprompter, as a clapper, and for talent releases; using the audio recorder and microphones; and all aspects of setting up, hauling, storing, and handling all of the production equipment so that I did not damage it in any way. I was expressly forbidden from panicking once we were in India.

Luggage

Accepting that were would be going on a Tourist VISA felt like a demotion, but it also meant that we had to transport our equipment in baggage that made us look less like professionals and more like vacationing Americans. The Pelican cases for the laptop, cameras, and accessories were out; we did keep the microphones, one of the hard drives, and the memory cards in their own small Pelican cases, though. Nope, nothing here but a technology nerd and his disheveled wife, both of whom also happen to be amateur photographers.

Part of my "dowry" (read: crap I brought with me when we moved in together and have kept through our marriage) was a 4-piece set of plum-colored no-frills luggage I initially bought for study abroad. I paid $58 for the whole set back in 2002, and it was worth every penny, in the sense that it has not completely disintegrated in the intervening decade of use and abuse. Well, some of the seams are ripped. The biggest case sports wide bands of permanently ground-in duct tape adhesive. The inner plastic support walls have shattered. The luggage smells funny. Miraculously, all of the zippers still work. But this is not luggage I would trust again on an international flight--especially one that would require the bags remain intact through multiple airport transfers.

After scouting the aisles at a few stores and reading positive online reviews, we decided to buy two of the Heys 4-Motion 29" cases at Target to serve as our checked baggage. I won't go into a big sales pitch, but these bags were really great for our purposes, and having four wheels made it a lot easier to lug them around various airports, through Customs, and into hotel rooms. They GLIDE. No joke. We bought TSA-approved locks with an indicator that showed whether they had been opened by baggage screeners, too, for that inevitable moment when they wonder if that's a tripod wrapped in a sweatshirt or if we're just happy to see them.

For our hand baggage, I already had a decent Jansport backpack with sufficient pockets for the things I would want on a daily basis and on the planes. Aaron needed a way to protect the iPad and laptop, and we ended up finding a clearance-priced rolling suitcase with a slim detachable backpack for him at Target (and please, read the About Us section on the company's website--it's so earnest).

Aaron bought himself a new camera bag, since he had included his old one when he sold his previous DSLR. For "my" camera, we exercised our cheapskate muscles and managed to find a Gillette shaving bag with an inside zippered pocket and two outer zippered pockets at the Carbondale Goodwill--for $3 (it was also full of Mary Kay shaving products!). It didn't have a shoulder strap on it, though, so I bought some D-rings and upholstery thread so I could attach a spare strap. It was just big enough for the camera body, one lens, the filters, and few accessories in the side pockets. I ended up keeping my passport in the inner zippered pocket most days.

Air and Ground Transportation

Booking our plane tickets was tricky because it would mean there was no backing out--and things weren't exactly rock solid in the month and a half before we left. We had to renew our passports, and we couldn't apply for a VISA without them. The VISA application process was not going smoothly due to misinformation. And everywhere we looked, we were advised not to book our plane tickets until we had secured proper documentation.

But we didn't have a choice, and the longer we waited, the more the fares would rise. We wanted to make sure we were on the same flight as Rob getting into Mumbai because we had never been there before, so that meant routing through Detroit and Amsterdam.

We thought we had it (maybe) figured out ourselves, but went to a travel agent just in case. Visiting this kind of business establishment is like time-traveling back to the early 1990s (and where we live, some people never left the early 1990s, in terms of favored hair, make-up, and clothing styles). But do you know what kind of fees travel agents charge? It's obscene. I get that they're trying to stay afloat in a time when computers can do everything for you, but we couldn't justify giving her lots and lots of our money to do what we already figured out how to do, so we went home and booked the tickets ourselves (and enrolled in Delta's SkyMiles program).

When you're faced with the prospect of returning from 22 hours of flights and the accompanying layovers, and you'll be two hours from home when you step off the last plane, the idea of driving yourself home from the airport is an instant emetic. There was just NO way. And though we could have chartered a BART van to drop us off and pick us up, there were some uncertainties and associated expenses we didn't want to mess with. So we chartered a Brenna, using my car. She was kind enough to ride to St. Louis with us, drive our car home to Carbondale and store it at her apartment, and then pick us up at the end of our trip, which was pretty much the best idea ever. And we're going to pay her in food and gifts tonight. It's a win-win all around.

Hotels

We had been assured that arrangements had been made for our lodging in Hyderabad, but we also needed to book a room for the first two nights of the trip, which we were spending in Mumbai. So we stayed here:

"Opulence, I has it."

Actually, we stayed in the tower part of it, which isn't in the picture. Does it look familiar? Here's another angle that might jog your memory a bit:

The hotel was among the sites attacked by terrorists in 2008. Security has been tightened considerably, but staying there seemed like it would be just another way that we were drawing attention to ourselves. We knew we would stand out: our equipment was sure to draw stares and possibly suspicion. We are undeniably, blindingly white, and thus either American, European, or Australian by default. I was a little nervous about what would be assumed about us as it was, and the hotel choice didn't make me feel any more relaxed.

But this hotel was also right next to the Gateway of India and the harbor, both of which we wanted to include in the host segments of the video. It was convenient, and since we didn't have much time in Mumbai, we knew staying this close to our shooting locations would ease our stress and make it easier to transport the equipment (and go back to the room if we forgot anything or needed to stow the equipment quickly).

We weren't scared, necessarily. Just cautious.

Be Prepared (or, When Boy Scouts Go to India) Part 2

Thankfully, and for the sake of Aaron's sanity, there were some aspects of planning and preproduction that we did together, like a dysfunctional team. Like dyslexic synchronized swimmers who are highly allergic to chlorine (no offense to the dyslexic, synchronized swimming, and those with allergies). I was just happy that sometimes Aaron was able to fall asleep at night without an incessant commentary about all things associated with INDIA (which became a capitalized, four-letter word in blazing, buzzing neon quite quickly). It's not that we were ungrateful for the opportunity--it's that we didn't always know what we had signed up for, and sometimes the surprises were a little unpleasant, and usually expensive.

Script

We had our first face-to-face preproduction meeting at CMU in August 2011, where I finally met Rob Hassen, CMU's coordinator of graduate recruiting. Aaron had worked with him in 2008 on a recruiting video for CMU that apparently got really good results for the university, which is how Aaron got the India opportunity. We also met Kundana, an Indian student (and now an alumna!) of CMU's MSA program. Through a few days of meetings, we discussed the purpose of the video and came up with a rough outline of the content. Rob was our subject-matter expert, and Kundana was our uncompensated actress.

Through e-mails, online collaboration tools (thank you, Adobe), phone calls, messages, and more e-mails, Rob got us a working script that we then edited, line by line, in another face-to-face meeting in December. Aaron developed a shooting script with all of the visuals so that we would know what needed to be shot, when, where, and how. I helped when I could, making some use of all those years as an English major as well as the few film classes I've taken (thanks to Tracy Cox, Patty Williamson, and Anthony Williams--all wonderful professors).

When we were finished, we had a 28-page shot-for-shot and line-by-line plan, which was somehow a source of both relief and terror. "Oh, this is what we're doing. That's nice." But also: "Oh, wow, THIS is what we're doing? Can we do this?" I was the doubter, of course, because I worry like it's a sport.

Medical

Having traveled very little outside the U.S., Aaron and I had only heard tales of horror, supplied by helpful friends, regarding what would happen to our bodies once we landed in India. We knew the cliche warnings: Don't drink the water. Get vaccinated. Bring an arsenal of remedies for all things gastrointestinal. And, the worst one: You're going to get sick, no matter what. Except when you're traveling to the other side of the world for work, getting sick isn't an option.

We scoured the U.S. State Department and CDC websites for tips and some of idea of what to expect, and got the somewhat puzzling advice to see a "travel doctor," which both travel agencies and medical professionals in southern Illinois think is a made-up term, right up there with Obamacare and Lady Gaga. We called various doctor's offices and health departments, only to be referred, again and again, to SIUC's student health center for a travel consultation.

Had we been current SIUC students, this would have been more affordable. As it was, the lady cut us a break since she was meeting with us together, charging Aaron for a full session and me for a half-session. Rejoice, my frugal heart. We sat in a little room, filled out our complete medical histories, shared our Bay County Health Department vaccination record books, and let the scare-fest begin.

Most of the information she gave us was a repeat of what we had seen on various government websites, but this medical practitioner described diseases in bone-chilling, graphic detail and with accompanying printouts. Dengue fever? Yeah, there's no vaccination for that one. And it sucks. There were tales of biting and burrowing insects; warnings about bites from rabid bats, dogs, and monkeys (which we knew we might encounter, given our plans); admonitions about vaccinations for typhoid, polio, measles, hepatitis, tuberculosis, and tetanus; dire warnings against tap water, even if used for rinsing fruits/vegetables or brushing your teeth; and a reminder about avian flu--we scoffed at her advice to stay away from places where live poultry was being caged, processed or otherwise handled, but this was a rule we ended up breaking on our last day (foreshadowing! Exciting, I know!). I felt all of the symptoms as she described them, like my own roller coaster of sick.

And then I acknowledged that, contrary to my nature, I would have to make a promise that I would not, under any circumstances, touch any animals while in India. I would not seek out stray dogs or cats. I would not pet the cows. I would not startle the bats or get too close to the monkeys (it turns out that was more up to them than up to me, because those suckers were FAST). I would not, as I normally tend to do, treat any animal in sight as my own personal petting zoo. It was a matter of life or death! I told Aaron that he had to make me promise, and to remind me during our trip if it looked like I was about to reach out and get friendly with living things.

We also got two prescriptions each: one for antimalarial pills and one to treat traveler's diarrhea, which was described as "you'll definitely know it if you have it." The choices for antimalarials are almost comical. The one that is quite effective and low on side effects also happens to cost around $6/pill (and we would need a total of 40 between the two of us). The other option, which had a long list of unpleasant side effects including severe nausea, yeast infections, and photosensitivity, only cost about $.30/pill but had to be taken for much longer. We opted for the generic form of the expensive one, which the Marion Walgreens had to special order but which would have cost almost double at CVS.

After our travel consultation, where we found out the atrocious prices SIUC charges non-students for vaccinations, we called the Jackson County Health Department for their price list. It was cheaper. And then, like the consummate bargain-hunter I've been all my life, I suggested we call yet another health department, which was even cheaper. We made an appointment to get all of our vaccinations and boosters on the same day, which I only recommend for the truly masochistic, since the aftermath of getting 4-5 shots at once is feeling feverish, achy and generally crappy for a few days. But it brought us one step closer to being ready for the promised microbial onslaught.

Yup, that's some Pinconning cheese. Oh, and some typhoid. No big deal.

 

Together, we assembled a massive toiletry/first-aid/death prevention kit for the greatest possible chance that we would remain physically functional for the duration of our stay in India. We based our gathering on the summation of recommendations from anecdotal and professional sources alike. Here's some of what we packed, between our hand baggage, in our quart-size clear zippered bags for gels/liquids, and in our checked luggage:

• Hand sanitizer gel
• 100% DEET mosquito repellent
• Sunscreen in both SPF 50 and SPF 30
• SPF 15 lip balm
• Baby powder (since the expected average daily temperature was between 75 and 90 degrees F, and Jude was kind enough to warn me about what that's like.)
• Gatorade packets for mixing with bottled water for the inevitable dehydration
• Delicious snacks that also traveled well: canned chicken and tuna, raisins, toaster pastries, granola and trailmix bars, since we had no idea how our bodies would respond to Indian food
• Bottled water (Yes. We brought bottled water, JUST IN CASE)
• Bandages
• A manicure set that included tweezers, scissors, etc.
• Eyedrops
• Over-the-counter drugs: aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, sleep aids
• Facial tissues in travel packs
• Earplugs
• Chewing gum
• Hiking boots, long socks, and long-sleeved shirts

We ended up using/needing* most of these things. But that still didn't prevent a late-night trip to a pharmacy for me (More ominous foreshadowing! Dun dun dun...!).


*I have to qualify that term after experiencing India, for reasons which will become apparent in subsequent posts.

Be Prepared (or, When Boy Scouts Go to India) Part 1

Aaron is (and I say this without an ounce of sarcasm) a multi-talented guy with an encyclopedic knowledge of a few specific topics. He knows more than I ever will about the technical aspects of film production, video editing, photography, and all the associated equipment, accessories, and software. I've watched him shoot video. I've watched him edit. I've watched him direct. The boy knows his stuff. So it's good that he was hired to make the India video, because that also means he did the bulk of the planning (and that I was merely his lowly production assistant, utterly terrified of making mistakes lest it reflect poorly on him).

He's also a lifelong Boy Scout with a penchant for order, a finesse for organization, and an intense (almost supernatural) knack for spatial relations. If he can't afford it, he finds a way to get it cheaper, or crafts a substitute, MacGyver-style. The hamster wheel of his brain runs at a decidedly different speed from my own, all of which helped him PREPARE like a boss.

Equipment

For the past few months, Aaron has been holed up in his office researching everything we might possibly need for making the video in India and considering all kinds of obstacles, problems and full-on disasters. How do you account for the difference in the electricity? Would we need shooting permits? What if we bought all this equipment and schlepped it to India, only to have our baggage lost/stolen/damaged or seized by Customs? Would bribes be necessary? Would we be able to rent and/or buy anything we weren't able to bring?

Aaron looked at a lot of websites, some with grim accounts of what happened to the ill-prepared. He researched the CARNET, which is basically third-party yet "official" documentation for importing certain kinds of equipment into a foreign country which would hopefully prevent a Customs seizure. He e-mailed people who had done video productions in India (although it was hard to find anything but huge film crews with multi-million-dollar budgets). He called people and corporations (also Republican for "people") asking for advice and help. He got very, very frustrated. We had some lively discussions (and a few screaming arguments) about the whole thing.

He bought two DSLRs, an LED light panel, two tripods, an iPad, a laptop, hard drives, a battery charger, a power adapter, an audio recorder, microphones, a remote timer, a slider...and that's just what I can remember. He also bought cables, cords and various accessories. And hard Pelican cases for everything.

Documentation

A big issue was getting the right kind of VISA that would allow us to enter the country with our equipment but without drawing undue attention to ourselves. Aaron spent a lot of time on the phone with two different VISA companies (and India outsources its VISA process to a third-party company!) as well as the Consulate. We had letters of invitation from the Andhra Pradesh Productivity Council.

Were we going on Business? Well, kind of. There would be meetings. We were going as Aaron's video production company. Would an Employment VISA be more appropriate? We would be paid for our work, but not by an Indian company. With our equipment, would we qualify as Journalists? No one could give us a straight answer, and sometimes we got conflicting answers between an organization's website and the customer service representatives we called for clarification. We spent a lot of time on hold. We spent a lot of money on applications, shipping, photocopies, and money orders.

We each ended up with a Tourist VISA, which meant we couldn't safely take more equipment than the average American tourist would. We were probably being paranoid, but thousands of dollars of equipment being seized by Customs is nothing to joke about--especially when that would mean scrambling to rent/buy what we needed in a foreign country where we had few contacts, and with our already-strained finances.

We also had to renew our passports, during which I learned the hard way that CVS takes horrible passport photos. Too bad I was already at the post office, ready to mail my application, when I noticed and I didn't want to go complain because I needed to get my application sent before the Thanksgiving holiday. Walgreens takes much nicer photos for the same price, so we did our VISA photos there.