Trial, day 21 -- a look back

So, we finally finished the trial today, and I got to drive back from Newark with a car full of boxes. But now the fun (read: briefing) begins.

But let's focus on other things for a minute. Like how different things are now, versus where they were on January 15:

• When this trial began, it was the beginning of winter. Now it's almost Spring.
• When this trial began, Mitt Romney looked like a viable candidate, and Hillary Clinton was the Democratic front-runner. Back then, the Republicans were playing attack ads, and the Democrats were playing nice. Now John McCain has the Republican nomination sewn up, and Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are fighting it out for the Democratic nomination.
• Since this trial began, I have had two changes to my salary, and I got a new boss. (actually my boss's boss's boss, but who's counting?)
• When this trial began, I hadn't stayed in a Hilton in the better part of a year. Now I have either gold or silver Hilton Honors status.
• When this trial began, I only knew of two good restaurants in Newark. Now I could direct people to at least six. (Unfortunately, five of them have very similar Portuguese food.)
• Since this trial began, I have eaten more M&M cookies than I could count -- more than any time since my childhood.
• Since this trial began, I have been to the gym approximately four times.
• When this trial began, I was eight pounds lighter, and one dress size smaller.
• When this trial began, I had two parents and two grandmothers. Now I only have one of each.

As seen on TV

People always think it's funny when I tell them that I don't watch television shows about lawyers. But I don't -- I can't. I used to, and then I would get angry about how the profession is so distorted.

On television, the case always goes right to trial. But in real life, the trial is only one event in a long chain of events, and in large part, it's kabuki theater -- a show for the judge and/or jury, and by that point, the lawyers and the witnesses have studied their parts, rehearsed their lines, and put on their costumes.

The television viewer doesn't see all of the investigative work that goes into preparing the case -- some of it before it's even filed. The viewer doesn't see all of the motions that are researched, written, filed, and argued before the trial takes place. The viewer doesn't see all the settlement conferences and mediations. The viewer doesn't see all of the scrambling around before the trial starts to get exhibit lists and witness lists prepared and exchanged. The viewer doesn't see all of the long hours in front of the computer screen.

The television viewer sees my job and thinks it's much easier and more glamorous than it is.

Trial, Day 13

Yesterday afternoon, on the train up, I kept thinking about how young and innocent and naïve I was when this goddamn trial started. Back when I thought the universe was a rational place, with a logic -- and, for lack of a better word, sanity.

I have been disabused of such notions. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Today, the trial started up once again -- and I am sick, once again. The judge was clearly feeling badly for me, so, after I had a particularly nasty bout of coughing, she kept offering me cough drops. It wasn't until later in the day that she made it clear that she knew about my mom when she called me up to a sidebar to ask a question. She then followed up with an offer of more cough drops, and told me that if I wasn't feeling well, her courtroom deputy had an office with a couch that I could go lie down on.

And that's when I remembered, once again, that I had entered the twilight zone.

Good news, bad news

Today was kind of a good-news/bad-news day. Actually, it was the very definition of a good-news/bad-news day.

Exhibit A: You won your motion! Now you have to go to trial!
Exhibit B: Remember how you asked for a trial date of January 28? Nope, that's doesn't work. How about January 15?
Exhibit C: You get to be out of the office for at least three weeks! Holed up in a hotel in Newark, NJ.

So, that's the sum of it. Three weeks (or more!) in Newark in January. At least it's not somewhere really cold -- to go along with the crappy.

This afternoon, my coworker sent me a lovely e-mail. In sum, he told me that I get to be the quarterback for the trial team. Of course, I took the metaphor too far. "Great," I wrote. "Hope I don't get intercepted too often -- or sacked." Heh, heh.

So, that's the sum of it. It's a good thing I'm Jewish, because otherwise, my Christmas plans would totally be screwed. I've got a ton of work to do between now and mid-January. And, despite leaving early tonight, I brought work home. It's going to be that kind of winter.

Trial, Day 14

Well, we had more trial today. And then we had dinner. Boy, did we have dinner. We went to a Portugese/Brazilian restaurant, where several of us had the rodizio -- where they bring out giant skewers of meat and keep cutting pieces off until you beg them to stop.

One of my coworkers then told me that he can find this blog by googling my name, and that maybe I shouldn't write specific details about the trial anymore, just in case.

My first reaction was that's probably a good thing, because it's not like anyone really wants to read about my work anyway. But then I got curious. So, once I got back to the hotel, I was on a mission -- I googled my name in an attempt to figure out whether you could find the blog through my name.

Turns out, I couldn't. Especially not when I googled my first and last names, as anyone who knows me would likely do. In fact, I didn't find the blog until I googled the words "Dara" and "blog" -- and even then, it was on the second page of the results.

So, I'm safe for now. But who knows -- tomorrow, I might very well ignore the work stuff and post about Lost. It's more interesting anyway.

Trial, day one

For about five minutes, I thought it would be fun to blog about my trial. Every day. But then I thought that, even though it may be interesting for the lawyers out there, it would totally ruin the whole mirage for the non-lawyers. I mean, everyone should think it's like an episode of Law & Order. Otherwise, it's just a bunch of people in suits belaboring small points about whether or not a document is being used to prove the truth of the matter asserted.

****
On a personal and unrelated note, my grandmother died this morning. I found out during the lunch break at my trial. I'm sad, but ultimately okay with it, I guess. I mean, it's not like it was unexpected. And she did make it quite convenient for me, since I'm already up here and all.

Trial, Day 17

We've had seventeen days of trial -- and it's not over yet! There are at least three more days of testimony -- more likely four -- and then a day for closing arguments.

More importantly, I've been away from my apartment -- and my life, such as it is -- for the better part of seven weeks.

I am sick of room service. I am sick of the three or four decent restaurants that we can walk to for dinner. I am sick of the three or four places that we get lunch from. I am sick of Newark.

Really, I am just going stir-crazy.

I want to go home.

Trial, day 6

I stayed up late last night working on my outline for today's cross-examination. In retrospect, I think I should have taken the "simpler is better" approach, since I made all the points I would have made even without the last-minute revisions, and now I just have another witness to prepare for anyway, and less time to do it with.

But forget about all that. The most interesting thing that happened in today's installment of the kabuki theater that is trial involved a bomb threat. And the requisite bomb-sniffing dogs.

The officers were wandering around the halls of the courthouse, flashlights in hand, accounting for all of the stray bags and boxes. The dogs were especially interested in our paralegal's leftovers from lunch. And, when we asked, one of the officers said that the dogs' sniffing and barking was meaningless -- but that if the dogs suddenly sat down, the officers would run.

Then one of the dogs sat down.

No one ran, though. And nothing exploded. Yet. My head is still a prime target.

Trial, day 2: puke and funerals

I would blog about trial today, but I was only there for a couple hours. Apparently, when you've been puking for hours, your co-workers really don't want you sitting at counsel table with them.

Yesterday, we told our opponents what was going on, and they said that none of my witnesses were going to come up today, so I could take off for the funeral. This morning, one of their attorneys cornered me on one of my frequent trips to the vomitorium (aka bathroom) and smarmily told me that, "Well, I guess we'll have to readjust our schedules, and you'll have to hope that we don't have to call {your witnesses} while you're out."

I told him that we had cleared the schedule with his co-counsel the day before and that had been assured that there was not going to be a problem. I then ran off to puke, and when I came back, relayed the prior episode to my co-counsel. The only word we could think of was "Dick," but feel free to add your thoughts on synonyms below.

So, when the judge got back, my co-counsel asked the judge that I be excused to attend my grandmother's funeral. She agreed. And while I didn't need for it to be on the official record, it was a good protection against them pulling any shenanigans.

Then I left the courthouse, puking all over beautiful downtown Newark on my way back to the hotel, where I tried to drink some red gatorade, puked some more, and went to my grandmother's funeral. Conveniently enough, the cemetery is only about fifteen minutes away from my hotel. Then, everyone went back to sit at my aunt's friend's mother's house, and I stopped in, drank some more red gatorade, and scurried back to the hotel, for another round of puking.

I am hoping to be done with the puking by the morning. And on that note, I'm going to sleep.

Trial, day 3

The bed in the hotel is comfy. Me, not so much -- but at least I'm keeping down some food -- mostly soup and some mashed potatoes for dinner. Which is good, since my brother has decided to come to town late tomorrow night, and he probably couldn't handle it if I'm all barfy and grumpy.

Of course, the fact that I'm not still throwing up is all thanks to the magical cure-all that is red Gatorade. Or, as I emailed my coworker this morning, "The Gatorade has indeed aided this former Gator." It's a wonder drug.

As for the trial, it's going sloooooooowly. Which, on the one hand is good. On the other hand, I'd like to leave Newark sometime soon. Because it totally sucks here. And, as comfy as the hotel bed is, I'd rather be sleeping in my own.

Remembering

I remember that I was busy, and that I got back home for a two-week break in a long trial, the biggest trial of my career at that point -- perhaps still. I remember that I was tired.

I remember that my grandmother had been in a car accident that Friday, and was staying at my parents' house.

I remember talking to my mother before the Super Bowl. Dad was too busy, making chili. And yes, he was very excited about the Giants.

I remember talking to her right after the Super Bowl. Yes, Dad was happy that the Giants won.

I remember talking to her about how much money I had spent on the Catherine Malandrino dress -- too much, in her opinion. I remember talking to her about the planning of the California trip, which was in its nascent stages.

I remember her telling me that she wasn't feeling well, that she was tired, and that she was stressed out about the eye surgery that was scheduled for later in the week.

I remember having a weird dream, and that, as a result, I wanted to call her all day on Tuesday. I remember not getting any answer: no cell phone, no house phone. Dad didn't pick up either.

I remember that I still hadn't heard from her on Wednesday.

I remember finding out from Nana that she had gone to the emergency room.

I remember the phone call from Dad in the evening, from her side in the hospital. I remember him telling me that it was serious. I remember him asking her if she wanted to talk to me, and hearing her say, faintly, "Not now." I remember being shocked, because she always wanted to talk to me.

I remember talking to my siblings.

I remember talking to Dad when he got home that night. I asked him why he left her alone. He said nothing was going to change overnight.

I remember the cell phone ringing in the middle of the night. 3:40 a.m. I remember knowing what it was before I answered.

I remember Dad telling me to call my brother. I remember telling my brother, "Please don't make me say it out loud."

I remember sitting down in the middle of my kitchen floor -- pretty much the only empty space in that entire apartment -- and bawling my eyes out.

I remember booking a flight on the internet.

I remember driving to my office in the middle of the night to send an email to my boss and coworkers and gather the things I might need for the week.

I remember the flight to Florida, writing in the crazy notebook.

I remember my dad picking me up from the airport, and that I kept saying the word fuck over and over again.

I remember going to the funeral home. I remember that my dad couldn't find his credit card, which if you knew him, you would know is the most unusual thing ever. I remember paying with my credit card.

I remember the entire family sitting around the house.

I remember meeting with the rabbi. I remember hating that the rabbi didn't know my mother.

I remember bits and pieces of the services, both at the funeral home and at her grave.

I remember sitting shiva. I remember her friends bringing food, stuff she would have liked. I remember that my friends sent a gift basket.

I remember all of this, but the details get fuzzy over time. What airline did I fly? Was the last time I spoke with her on Sunday or Monday? Did I wear a black suit or a gray suit to the funeral? What did the rabbi look like? Were my cousins there? Was it babka or coffee cake?

I try to hold on to as much of it as possible, but so much of it is hazy. I want to remember, but on the other hand, it just brings me right back to that moment in time, the searing pain and the sheer panic. Maybe I should forget.

Leisure sickness

During law school, I would get sick almost immediately after exams. It was as if the second I stopped being busy, the germs would take hold, and I'd be incapacitated for a couple of days. And not just the sniffles. Really honest-to-god running-a-fever can't-get-out-of-bed non-functioning sick.

At the beginning, my mother was frustrated by this phenomenon. Then she started thinking that it was funny. She'd make comments like, "Well, I'd plan on doing {insert activity here}, but you're going to be sick anyway. . . ."

When I started working, it was like that whenever I had a major deadline or a trial -- as soon as it was over, I'd be sick. And right now, I'm about 98% sure that it'll happen after my big trial this month.

So, last week, in The Washington Post, they had a whole article on the phenomenon of leisure sickness. Apparently, I'm not the only one who gets sick the second she relaxes.

Ad Vingerhoets, an associate professor of clinical health psychology at Tilburg University in the Netherlands, calls it "leisure sickness." Just when you take a break from your busy schedule to enjoy a little relaxation, your leisure time becomes anything but -- full of aches and pains, cold- and flulike symptoms and other health complaints.

***

The underlying cause of the problem, according to Vingerhoets, appears to have a lot to do with stress.

***

But Esther Sternberg, a researcher of neuroendocrine immunology at the National Institutes of Health, disagrees. Sternberg, the author of "The Balance Within: The Science Connecting Health and Emotions," calls leisure sickness a real condition, tied to the release of hormones under stress and their interaction with the nervous and immune systems.

In times of stress, the body's adrenal glands release adrenaline, which makes the heart beat faster and causes you to feel sweaty and anxious. Adrenaline gives a boost to the immune system, the body's defense against infection, Sternberg said. But while adrenaline is pumping, so is cortisol -- a potent anti-inflammatory hormone also released by the adrenal glands.

"The reason [cortisol] works as an anti-inflammatory is because it's turning off the immune cells," Sternberg said. ". . . You're no longer able to effectively fight infection."

The two hormones are timed differently, with adrenaline starting up and shutting down within milliseconds, much faster than cortisol, which takes five to 10 minutes.

"What happens when you stop doing what it is you were doing that stressed you is that the adrenaline shuts off first," Sternberg said. "You are left with this cortisol floating around. And if at that moment someone coughs in your face, you get sick."

I feel vindicated. Take that, Mom!

Trial, Day 16

You know what would totally suck? Having to come back to Newark to finish up the trial in March.

Oh, wait. That's not a joke.

Trial, day 11

Actually, it was a half-day of trial. The rest of the day -- including right now -- was spent doing "prep." Which means that, as I type, I'm printing out a whole bunch of deposition designations.

But the weekend starts tomorrow, and I'd rather think about something else. So here's a list of things I like about staying in a hotel -- or more particularly, this hotel.

• Never having to make my bed or clean the bathroom;
• Room service, particularly grilled cheese and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches;
• The cookies they have at the front desk, particularly the M&M cookies;
• The Dunkin' Donuts downstairs; and
• The 42" widescreen flat pannel tv.

Still, it'll be nice to go home tomorrow.

Trial, day 5

The trial started off great today. I had two witnesses on cross-examination, a fact witness and an expert witness. I kicked ass on the expert witness. I made all my points, quickly and effortlessly. And the best part was that it was over and done before he even knew what happened to him.

In the afternoon, I had the fact witness. It was going so well. And then, I made two mistakes -- and in the process, did three things that a lawyer should never do.

First, I violated the "one question too many" rule. It's a pretty basic concept. You work real hard to set everything up perfectly, and the witness is going along with it, agreeing with everything you say -- and then you ask the one question that clues the witness into where the questioning is going, and he starts to rethink and backtrack from everything he said previously.

At that point, the judge needed to take a break to take a phone call. So, instead of taking the break, I rested, which was bad on two levels. First of all, taking a break instead of resting would have given me the opportunity to confer with my co-counsel to go over things I may have missed. And second, it was stupid to end on a note that wasn't great. I could have redeemed myself.

Rookie mistake. I'll have to make up for it tomorrow.

Illogical conclusion

According to this article (and the research it discusses), on average, people lie twice every ten minutes. Therefore, the article concludes that putting Scooter Libby on trial for perjury "is somewhat like putting them on trial for breathing."

Wow. That's a mighty big leap, don't you think?

Trial, day 4

I'm already tired of blogging about my trial. And today was all about accounting, which even bored the accountants in the room.

Instead, I could write about how they threatened to take away my internet access for running too many computers -- but that's because I have more than one computer with me.
Indeed, right now, as I type, I have three computers and a printer in this hotel room. Imagine how many we'd have if we were sharing hotel rooms.

So, suck it, wireless people. Just because most people only bring one computer to a hotel room. . . .

Lawyering at its finest

Can someone be too old to get a fair trial?

A 79-year-old woman set to be tried on charges that she fatally shot her 85-year-old ex-beau is being deprived of her constitutional right to a fair trial, her attorney said.

The reason? Because the potential jurors are not old enough for her to be judged by a jury of her peers.

News breaks, and I post it

After a four-week long trial, the Maryland jury took just four hours to find John Allan Mohammed guilty of six sniper shootings.

Not that this is a surprise to anyone who's been keeping up with the latest trial.

Trial, day 10

Today, we started putting on our case, and the first witness was my witness. Now I have no more witnesses until we get to the plaintiff's rebuttal case.

Tomorrow, the judge has an emergency criminal matter to take up in the morning, so we don't have to be in Court until the afternoon.

With no witnesses and a late start, I am looking forward to finally getting a good night's sleep.