Fah-HEE-nah. That's how you say it in spanish. You know, the V-word. For some reason, I just can't bring myself to write it here. I can write penis. See, I did it, but I just can't write the v-word, unless it's a phonetically spelled version of the spanish word. If I were to actually write it out in spanish, it would be spelled the same as in english, I believe. Okay, since we are going to talk about Fah-HEE-nahs, I just have to make sure there are no men from my ward reading this post. In case you aren't familiar with the term "ward", a ward is a group of Mormons living in the same geographical area who attend the same church service each Sunday. If I say someone is in my church, that means that they are one of 13.5 million Mormons throughout the world, so you see, that is very different from saying someone is in my
ward. I really don't know why any man in my ward would be reading my blog, that would just be weird, but just in case you are a man in my ward reading my blog, can you just leave? Like now? Here, you can go read
THIS. Buh-bye. (John, you can stay, but you could go read that, too, later... if you want, not that you need to, but you know, just for fun.)
Okay, now let's talk about what it's like to visit the OB/GYN in Mexico!
First there is the babysitting that has to be arranged. Since the babies both had hand, foot and mouth disease, we really couldn't leave them with anyone, so guess what? They got to come with us! So did the 3-year-old boy! Had it been safe for me to drive alone to the big town, John would have stayed home to babysit, but because of repeated robbery and kidnapping attempts, no one drives alone anymore.
Because it was nap time, John asked his sister if she could come along to simply sit in the car with the babies as they slept while we went into our appointment. Yes, that's what sisters do, and she did. Here are the babies 3 minutes are leaving our carport...
As we drove up to the outskirts of the big town, I frantically realized I hadn't brought anything with me to eat. I have to have something in my stomach at least every two hours to quell the nausea, so we would have to stop before seeing the OB. We stopped at a paleteria, a place that specializes in frozen fruit popsicles and they are delicious...
Here is John coming out of the paleteria, having faithfully purchased my two bags of Doritos, not Tostitos, and my bottle of mineral water, or agua mineral.
Here's the clinic where my doctor is...
I had never met him before, so I was a bit apprehensive about how the visit would go, but after seeing the waiting room, I was relieved at the pristine conditions of my surroundings...
I didn't actually photograph anything that went on in the office, as, again, I'd never met my doctor and I didn't want him to freak out. Doctors are often targets of extortion and I didn't want to scare him by taking photographs of him or his office. I'm considerate that way.
The first thing I said to him was, "Yo hablo poquito espanol." and I made my thumb and forefinger almost touch together to show the universal sign of "a little". With that, he began firing off questions in spanish, looking at me and me only, as I stumbled to answer them. About every three questions I would turn to John for translation, but in general, I didn't do too bad. I was impressed that he made it a point to look to me for every answer rather than my fluent, spanish-speaking husband.
After the questioning, we all went into the examination room, along with his nurse and he began the ultrasound. The first thing he said was, "Hay uno." meaning, there's one. John was VERY relieved, but I was slightly disappointed. My mother and I had always talked about how boring it would be to be pregnant with only one after having the twins, but, at least I can look forward to the fact that I won't have to endure the grueling first year with twins again!
During the ultrasound, he measured and counted heartbeats and even pressed down on my uterus to make the baby move. When he did that, it kicked and wiggled it's hands so cutely and I said, "Ay, que chula", which means, oh, she's so cute. If I would have said "que chulo", that would have meant that I was referring to a boy, but because I'm like 100% positive it's a girl, I said "chula".
That's when I learned the word fah-HEE-nah. Not hers...mine. He pointed to a long tunnel-like area on the ultrasound and told John that that was my fah-HEE-nah. He referred to it again later and for some reason, it made me really uncomfortable. As my sister with the Ph.D. pointed out, that is probably the least invasive way anyone could see my fah-HEE-nah ever, so she couldn't understand why it would bother me. I agreed with her wisdom, but still. Just weird to have two men looking at your fah-HEE-nah on a big screen TV.
The good news was that he said I could deliver naturally after having the twins via c-section and that there was no reason I needed to eat meat during my pregnancy, just very little sugar, as I'd had gestational diabetes during previous pregnancies. Cool! I liked him!
After we left the office, our truck was gone because John's sister had had to drive it around the block to keep the babies asleep. We were so grateful to her for the fact that we didn't have to take all three into the visit! Thank you again, M_____!
Since it was after two, and neither John nor I had had lunch, we decided to stop at the torta place. A torta is a sandwich made on a fresh bun with pork, sweet cream, tomatoes and avocadoes. I usually get extra avocados instead of meat, but since my body's been craving meat, I opted for chicken instead of pork. The torta place has a drive-through, which means that you just park in a line in the road next to the store, like so...
Here's the torta place...
Sitting on the ground next to the torta place was a young Tarahumara girl. The Tarahumaras are an ethnic group here in Northern Mexico indigenous to this area. All the women wear colorful, full dresses and they are very poor. Here is me giving the girl some change...
While I waited in the truck in the street for the tortas, John, his sister and the 3-year-old boy went into the "Dulceria" or candy store next door to purchase a pinata and candy for a party we were having for some twin friends that evening. Here is the back of my sexy sister-in-law going in to the dulceria...
I could only be so lucky to look that good when I'm her age :) . Actually, I have no hope of that, because I don't look anywhere near that good now, so nevermind.
Here they are, having purchased the pinata and said candy...
...and here is the torta guy finally having brought us our tortas and coming back for the tip...
John and his sister then had to go to the grocery store, so again, I waited in the truck with the sleeping baby while they went in. Twin A had woken up by this time, so they took him and the 3-year-old boy in.
I had been trying during the whole trip to get a photo for you, my faithful reader, of a special ethnic (that's probably not the right word) group of people called the Mennonites. I wasn't sure if they were into having their pictures taken because they're kind of like the Amish, so I had to do it in a clandestine fashion, because again, I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I'm just considerate that way. The following is the best shot I got, through the truck windshield...
The women all wear old-fashioned dresses make from seemingly the same pattern, and the mean always wear dark blue denim overalls. They are of German decent, as you can see from the bleach-blond hair of their little boy in the cart. They speak a form of altered German, called "low" German, and many speak spanish, english and/or "high" German, as is spoken in Germany. Many of them do not believe in using modern technology such as electricity and cars, but this couple got into their truck, so I guess they were of a more progressive group. Incidentally, we, as Mormons, went to one of their churches one sunday to sing Christmas carols for them and as we were all mingling outside after the services, I noticed some women talking to the 3-year-old boy in low German. When he looked at them with blank stares while we walked up smiling, they said, "Oh, we're sorry! We thought he was one of us!" See, look, he doesn't look all too different from the above-pictured boy in the cart with the Mennonites...
On the drive home, we saw various merchants selling produce, such as corn from a van...
...and peaches from under a tree...
(I'm glad they had that shade of a little tree.)After 30 minutes of driving, we finally arrived to the little valley we call home...
The large white building on the right is a Mormon temple, a very special place of worship different from a regular chapel and we are so grateful to have one in our tiny community.
So there you have it...how it is to visit the OB/GYN in Mexico! Thanks for listening.
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