Hernan's grandmother passed away. She was the matriarch of a very large family, and Hernan was extremely close to her. Everyone is grieving.
We're going up to GDL Tuesday to see whether my mother-in-law can't get special permission to travel to the States to attend the funeral. At the same time, I'll be trying to get Hanix's passport. We had an appointment for him to register his birth down here with the US consulate and to get his passport, but it would be too late for us to fly. So we've requested a special urgent interview. I hope they give us the passport then and there on Tuesday, but I don't know how it works.
So I might find myself in California next week. Then again, I might not.
I really hope my mother-in-law is given permission to travel. She had a green card back when she was a teenager but it somehow got lost (I didn't understand the conversation, but I think it involved her husband) and she was then issued a visitor's visa instead. But that visa expired last year, and they wouldn't let her renew it. I have no idea why not, and they never gave her a reason. She traveled about once a year to the States, stayed a few weeks visiting family, and then flew home again. She never stuck around or tried to work or anything like that, so I don't know why they wouldn't renew it for her. She's such a sweet lady, but is awfully timid in front of The Man. I'm wondering whether we can't get her her greencard again, since her name surely exists in the government's records.
Anyway, there's no time for that right now. I just hope she gets to go to her mother's funeral. Poor Hernan has no chance at all of going. He hopes his son gets to go. I hope so too.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String
This one's for you, Margherita.
Moving to Meheeko isn't all bad. Down here, for example, you can have fresh tortillas whenever you want! Mexican food is bombdiggity, especially if you can score an in-law to cook it for you.
Avocados. Mangoes. All manner of strange, foreign fruits.
And much of the food is pretty fresh, because is was grown in Mexico. The meat is often butchered within a few block radius of where you are, the eggs are often local.
You can send a small child to the store to buy you beer.
You won't have to shovel snow.
You'll probably be within two blocks of four or more small tiendas, so when you realize you forgot to buy milk it'll probably only take you five minutes (tops) to go back for it, and that includes the time it takes to think of the Spanish to explain to the clerk why you're back so soon.
You get to enjoy seeing people ride horses to run their errands (at least I do. Maybe not in all of Mexico, eh?)
People spend a lot more time outside of their houses (at least in small towns, it seems), especially in the evenings. They chat with their neighbors in front of their houses.
Houses come in surprisingly many colors.
Taunting children who try to climb up a tall pole greased in lard to get to the presents tied at the top (what inspired this post- because that just won't fly in the States).
Men who dance.
Strangers will love your babies.
Um... the opportunity to get to know yourself better.
Not worrying about deportation.
And fresh tortillas whenever you want! Did I mention that?
Feel free to add on, other Mexico residents.
Moving to Meheeko isn't all bad. Down here, for example, you can have fresh tortillas whenever you want! Mexican food is bombdiggity, especially if you can score an in-law to cook it for you.
Avocados. Mangoes. All manner of strange, foreign fruits.
And much of the food is pretty fresh, because is was grown in Mexico. The meat is often butchered within a few block radius of where you are, the eggs are often local.
You can send a small child to the store to buy you beer.
You won't have to shovel snow.
You'll probably be within two blocks of four or more small tiendas, so when you realize you forgot to buy milk it'll probably only take you five minutes (tops) to go back for it, and that includes the time it takes to think of the Spanish to explain to the clerk why you're back so soon.
You get to enjoy seeing people ride horses to run their errands (at least I do. Maybe not in all of Mexico, eh?)
People spend a lot more time outside of their houses (at least in small towns, it seems), especially in the evenings. They chat with their neighbors in front of their houses.
Houses come in surprisingly many colors.
Taunting children who try to climb up a tall pole greased in lard to get to the presents tied at the top (what inspired this post- because that just won't fly in the States).
Men who dance.
Strangers will love your babies.
Um... the opportunity to get to know yourself better.
Not worrying about deportation.
And fresh tortillas whenever you want! Did I mention that?
Feel free to add on, other Mexico residents.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Greased Pole Woe
It is with a heart laden with sorrow and regret that I post today. This year, to celebrate Mexico's triumph of independence there was much revelry, there was joyful celebration, there was great festivity, but alas! there was no greased pole.
Last year's greased pole event was the highlight of the entire Independence Day weekend celebration. It beat out the drunk-driving/water-fight/bicycle-race mayhem, the crowning of the Queen of San Juan Cosalá, and even the street fight, which placed second in the Memorable Events of Independence Day Weekend 2008 Contest. After all, it's not every day I get to see my husband pantsed while shimmying up a pole greased in pork lard to throw presents to a cheering crowd. (Oh, but that it were!)
But this year, the traditional greased pole event did not take place.
The news gets even sadder here, so steel yourself. The reason that there was no present-bearing pork lard greased pole event in the plaza this year is that the "winner" of last year's event shirked his responsibility in organizing the preparations for this year's present-bearing pork lard greased pole event. You can only imagine my credulity when I discovered that the man who deprived me and the whole town (but mostly me) of the year's greatest ado is the very man to whom I pledged my love and lifelong commitment.
To atone, he will begin this very month the preparations of next year's present-bearing pork lard greased pole event, so that this great tradition will not disappear from San Juan Cosalá.
Last year's greased pole event was the highlight of the entire Independence Day weekend celebration. It beat out the drunk-driving/water-fight/bicycle-race mayhem, the crowning of the Queen of San Juan Cosalá, and even the street fight, which placed second in the Memorable Events of Independence Day Weekend 2008 Contest. After all, it's not every day I get to see my husband pantsed while shimmying up a pole greased in pork lard to throw presents to a cheering crowd. (Oh, but that it were!)
But this year, the traditional greased pole event did not take place.
The news gets even sadder here, so steel yourself. The reason that there was no present-bearing pork lard greased pole event in the plaza this year is that the "winner" of last year's event shirked his responsibility in organizing the preparations for this year's present-bearing pork lard greased pole event. You can only imagine my credulity when I discovered that the man who deprived me and the whole town (but mostly me) of the year's greatest ado is the very man to whom I pledged my love and lifelong commitment.
To atone, he will begin this very month the preparations of next year's present-bearing pork lard greased pole event, so that this great tradition will not disappear from San Juan Cosalá.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
El Grito
Last night we walked down to the plaza for el grito. I was sorely disappointed.
Someone on stage read off the names of Mexican heroes (Morelos, Hidalgo, Allende, etc.) and the crowd responded with "Viva!" and then came "Viva Jalisco" "Viva!" "Viva San Juan Cosalá" "Viva!" and then "Viva Mexico" "Viva! Viva! Viva!" I like the idea of everyone getting together and shouting things in unison. (Also why singing "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" with a crowd of strangers is the only part I like about going to a baseball game. Ok, that and the jeering.) But I was disappointed by the crowd's lack of gusto. It seemed half-hearted. I was ready for some proud yelling. AND, I didn't hear a single person do that Mexican laugh/cry thing "Aaaahhh-jai, jai, jaiiii!" and normally all it takes is a good song and a few shots of tequila. I thought of all the days in the year, I'd surely hear some good cries last night.
My in-laws tell me the national anthem has some 28 verses, and most people don't know them all. I'd like to hear them all some day, but I imaging that would try most people's patience. The anthem was played in part in the plaza last night, but sadly it was just a recording and again the crowd let me down, as not very many people joined in.
Otherwise, there was some pretty mediocre folk dancing, the crowning of this year's Queen of San Juan Cosalá, and a mariachi group. We actually have a really good folk dance group in town, but for some reason they didn't perform. The three "princesses" were paraded around in their big, poofy, colorful gowns, but they didn't even have to do anything interesting like answer tough questions about geography or about saving the children in Africa. And, as for the mariachi, they were pretty decent until they invited some high-pitched, off-tone, child to come sing with them. That's when we decided to head home.
So that was last night. Tonight, I hope, oh how I hope! we'll be back in the plaza for the greased pole tradition.
Someone on stage read off the names of Mexican heroes (Morelos, Hidalgo, Allende, etc.) and the crowd responded with "Viva!" and then came "Viva Jalisco" "Viva!" "Viva San Juan Cosalá" "Viva!" and then "Viva Mexico" "Viva! Viva! Viva!" I like the idea of everyone getting together and shouting things in unison. (Also why singing "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" with a crowd of strangers is the only part I like about going to a baseball game. Ok, that and the jeering.) But I was disappointed by the crowd's lack of gusto. It seemed half-hearted. I was ready for some proud yelling. AND, I didn't hear a single person do that Mexican laugh/cry thing "Aaaahhh-jai, jai, jaiiii!" and normally all it takes is a good song and a few shots of tequila. I thought of all the days in the year, I'd surely hear some good cries last night.
My in-laws tell me the national anthem has some 28 verses, and most people don't know them all. I'd like to hear them all some day, but I imaging that would try most people's patience. The anthem was played in part in the plaza last night, but sadly it was just a recording and again the crowd let me down, as not very many people joined in.
Otherwise, there was some pretty mediocre folk dancing, the crowning of this year's Queen of San Juan Cosalá, and a mariachi group. We actually have a really good folk dance group in town, but for some reason they didn't perform. The three "princesses" were paraded around in their big, poofy, colorful gowns, but they didn't even have to do anything interesting like answer tough questions about geography or about saving the children in Africa. And, as for the mariachi, they were pretty decent until they invited some high-pitched, off-tone, child to come sing with them. That's when we decided to head home.
So that was last night. Tonight, I hope, oh how I hope! we'll be back in the plaza for the greased pole tradition.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Soda Boppy
My in-laws drink Coke or Pepsi at every meal. They pretty much only drink soda, coffee, or beer. I'm the crazy one in the house who drinks water. Anyway, to each his own, I suppose. I drink Coke sometimes too (when it's mixed with rum, for example), and I certainly am no model of healthy eating (I'm pretty sure a bar of chocolate a day is not considered healthy eating), but what freaks me out is sometimes seeing toddlers around town with baby bottles filled with soda. If the child is too young to drink from a normal cup, I'm pretty sure they're too young to be drinking Coke. Obesity, diabetes, heart disease, tooth cavities anyone?
On the subject of health and soda, NY has a new ad campaign.
And I enjoyed reading this op-ed "Big Food vs. Big Insurance". While we've all a right to gluttony and poor choice making (and I enjoy regularly exercising this right), there's a lot not right about government subsidies making crap food so cheap. I like the angle this op-ed takes. Let's get the big fellas to take on the other big fellas.
Anyway, soda in baby bottles. Let's make an ad campaign against that.
On the subject of health and soda, NY has a new ad campaign.
And I enjoyed reading this op-ed "Big Food vs. Big Insurance". While we've all a right to gluttony and poor choice making (and I enjoy regularly exercising this right), there's a lot not right about government subsidies making crap food so cheap. I like the angle this op-ed takes. Let's get the big fellas to take on the other big fellas.
Anyway, soda in baby bottles. Let's make an ad campaign against that.
A Woman's Place
I realize I should follow a fellow blogger's example and start using a label "rants". We all know I do plenty of that.
So here's my rant of the evening.
Men and women can't be friends. This may not be true across Mexico (I'm not claiming any expertise, here), but it sure seems true in San Traditional Juan Podunk Cosalá. It's not that I'm trying to cruise for man friends in particular, but I've been down here a whole craptastic year and don't have a single friend to speak of, save my BFF the Internet. Men go out drinking together, they go to pool parties (apparently!) and to play billiards (the other pool party). Hernan invites his 16 year old brother, but not ONE STINKING TIME have I ever been invited. Not even when I make statements like "I'm lonely as all hell and bored out of my frickin mind and I'd really like some company tonight. You think I could come along?" ... Nope.
Granted, Hernan is in a hard place. He always invited me along in the States to go out with his buddies, and they accepted that, and understood that I should be offered beer because I'm, apparently, one of those crazy loose women who imbibes on occasion (and when isn't there an occasion?) But once we got down here to Macho Land Hernan had to start navigating new cultural waters and I got the plank.
And, too, if he were to invite me I'm pretty certain his buddies would be uncomfortable and the evening wouldn't be much fun. Even when they come by the house I might get a "Buenas tardes" but that's about it.
So men go out and DO stuff, and the women stay in their houses and tend to their children, or, in my case, my child and my puppy.
I should respect cultural differences and blah, blah, blah, but I think it's sexist and jacked and staying in the house all the time is boring.
Gah!
OK, end rant.
So here's my rant of the evening.
Men and women can't be friends. This may not be true across Mexico (I'm not claiming any expertise, here), but it sure seems true in San Traditional Juan Podunk Cosalá. It's not that I'm trying to cruise for man friends in particular, but I've been down here a whole craptastic year and don't have a single friend to speak of, save my BFF the Internet. Men go out drinking together, they go to pool parties (apparently!) and to play billiards (the other pool party). Hernan invites his 16 year old brother, but not ONE STINKING TIME have I ever been invited. Not even when I make statements like "I'm lonely as all hell and bored out of my frickin mind and I'd really like some company tonight. You think I could come along?" ... Nope.
Granted, Hernan is in a hard place. He always invited me along in the States to go out with his buddies, and they accepted that, and understood that I should be offered beer because I'm, apparently, one of those crazy loose women who imbibes on occasion (and when isn't there an occasion?) But once we got down here to Macho Land Hernan had to start navigating new cultural waters and I got the plank.
And, too, if he were to invite me I'm pretty certain his buddies would be uncomfortable and the evening wouldn't be much fun. Even when they come by the house I might get a "Buenas tardes" but that's about it.
So men go out and DO stuff, and the women stay in their houses and tend to their children, or, in my case, my child and my puppy.
I should respect cultural differences and blah, blah, blah, but I think it's sexist and jacked and staying in the house all the time is boring.
Gah!
OK, end rant.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
September 16th, 2008
Happy Mexican Independence Day! Last year we had just arrived in town when the festivities began. It was a pretty exciting weekend, so I looked up the mass email I'd sent out to remember all the fun that went down. Yes, before I discovered the joys of blogging I was in the habit of mass-harassment in e-mail form. Blogging feels so much less pushy.
So here is the email I sent out, more or less, a draft of it anyway. The numbers are footnotes, as I apparently found that amusing. :) I'm waiting to see whether this year turns out as exciting.
Oh, and don't you just love the rehash? It's like when a sitcom has an entire episode of flashbacks because apparently no one could come up with a novel storyline in time. Or maybe they were over-budget. So here you go: 2008 rehash!
It was an exciting weekend.
Contrary to US tradition, Mexicans celebrate Mexican Independence Day on the 16th of September instead of on Independence Day, which, as all Americans know, is either the fourth of July or the fifth of May (1). It's unclear why they do this. Anyway, on that particular day, it rained all day and we just stayed in the house with the fam and played cards. But, come the weekend, things got awfully exciting.
Saturday I spent the day in Guadalajara with my sister-in-law and her gringo boyfriend. That was not that exciting (2). We were buying merchandise for the little shop she runs out of the family's house. She sells things like hair products, baseball caps, underwear and children's toys. It was good to get out and see the city, though.
Things picked up after we got back. We went down to the plaza and there was a stage set up for performances. There was a mariachi band, folk dancing, and some local guy graced us with his interpretation of singing. Also, they crowned the 2008 queen of San Juan Cosalá – basically a local beauty pageant. Then we drank cantaritos (think tequila and squirt) and danced to a live band.
That was a lot of fun – but wait until I tell you about Sunday.
Sunday was the local bike race. Cool – one might think – everyone turns out to watch the cyclists race up and down the highway that runs through town (3), between the town to the west (Jocotepec) and the town to the east (Ajijic). Probably they close the highway so the cyclists can have room to compete. Ah, but wait! This is Mexico! Close the highway for a bike race?! Preposterous! Instead, let's do something different: let's get everyone out on the road with their pickup trucks. In the back of every pickup let's pile between 10 and 20 people. That's right, up to 20 people. Then let's drive up and down the highway following the cyclists. In addition, everyone who couldn't fit into the back of a pickup should come out onto the street or up onto their roof with buckets and hoses with which to douse all the people in the pickups. Also, let's get everyone to drink beer, including the pickup truck drivers. Yeah. Now that's a bike race!
So the bike race / town water fight was a lot of fun, and apparently the Independence Day tradition of San Juan Cosalá. I found myself in the back of our truck with only eleven other people. We got soaked the four or five times we drove through San Juan. But my co-riders had planned ahead, and we had our own ammunition: balloons filled with water. It's amazing we made it to even see the cyclists cross the finish line. I'm not sure who won. I'm not sure most people knew.
So then I crawled home like a drenched rat with my cousin Estela. I changed clothes and waited for Hernan to come back. At one point I saw him riding off to Jocotepec with the three queens of San Juan Cosalá and two of his buddies. Hm. Suspicious. When he finally came around again, we made off for the plaza.
We got there a little early and the festivities hadn't yet started up again. So we helped some of his buddies to dig a whole in the middle of the concrete parking lot. I mean, really, why not? This, it turns out, wasn't a random act of vandalism, but a part of another local tradition.
Every year, a group of people get together downtown and dig a hole somewhere. Fun enough on its own, but it gets better. Then they put a bunch of presents - kids toys, DVDs, clothes – into plastic bags and attach these bags to one end of a very long pole. Next, we grease the pole with lard. Obviously. Then, with the help of Random Drunk Dude On A Horse, we put the pole into the hole. Da-na! Now you're ready to watch a group of children struggle to climb 20 feet of greased pole to get the presents down! What could be more fun!? It makes American Independence Day barbecues and fireworks seem suddenly so lame.
So we stood around and shouted encouragement and ridicule at a group of children for two hours. Got to love it. This new generation, it seems, is not quite up to the tradition, because they managed to get only one present down. Finally, after two hours, it started to rain and Hernan decided it was time to step in and show the snot noses how it's done. Part way up the pole someone pulled his shorts down and the crowd got a full moon. That was pretty funny. He managed to both pull his shorts up and get all the way to the top. From the top of the greased pole he threw presents to the children, like a Mexican Santa, and then slid down that pole: more like a stripper than a fireman, and nothing like Santa would. Ah…! That's my man!
After showering off the lard at home, we returned once more to the plaza. Disappointed with the one-beat music that was playing in the town disco, we decided to go home early. But, to top off the weekend, three drunkards started shouting at us and following us home. And that's when we got into a street fight. By "we", of course, I mean Hernan. I just tried to stay out of the way. He was getting all three of them pretty good when about 20 people appeared out of nowhere and jumped in to break things up. The three dudes, plus one more that jumped in at the first sign of a fight, were all major assholes. Apparently they were looking for an easy fight and jumped us because they thought we were out-of-towners. Apparently they hadn't seen how Hernan has just become King of the Greased Pole and the town's favorite son. Moreover, it seems they're now the shame of the town for (1) having picked a fight with someone who's related to probably half the town, and (2) getting beat up pretty badly in a fight of three against one. One of the guys, it turns out, is even the son of a family friend, but didn't recognize Hernan in his drunken state. So we got home ok. A group of relatives and acquaintances who'd shown up suddenly out of nowhere took us home. Hernan only had a scratch on his hand and a scrape on one knee, so he's fine. Monday, we had a stream of visitors all day come by to ask how we were and to tell us that those assholes wouldn't be bothering us again. There's nothing like living in a town of 3000 for getting gossip fast.
So that was the weekend. Folk dancing, beauty pageant, bicycle race, water fight, a greased pole, and a street fight. I can't wait until next year.
Footnotes:
(1) I'd like to make it clear that I do, in fact, know that the fifth of May is *not* Mexican Independence Day. This is a joke. Please laugh.
(2) There was one exciting moment when said gringo boyfriend asked me who I was planning to vote for. So far, I've refrained from talking politics with him at all because I'm certain he's very conservative and I'm extremely liberal, and I haven't wanted to get into it with him because I know my sister-in-law doesn't want that to happen. It's clear she's uncomfortable with us arguing about politics. I told him I'd be happy to talk politics with him, but that we should leave my sister-in-law out of it, go somewhere where we can hash things out just the two of us, you know, somewhere where there'd be no witnesses.
(3) This highway that runs through town is the road that runs in front of the family's house and also the only paved road in town.
So here is the email I sent out, more or less, a draft of it anyway. The numbers are footnotes, as I apparently found that amusing. :) I'm waiting to see whether this year turns out as exciting.
Oh, and don't you just love the rehash? It's like when a sitcom has an entire episode of flashbacks because apparently no one could come up with a novel storyline in time. Or maybe they were over-budget. So here you go: 2008 rehash!
It was an exciting weekend.
Contrary to US tradition, Mexicans celebrate Mexican Independence Day on the 16th of September instead of on Independence Day, which, as all Americans know, is either the fourth of July or the fifth of May (1). It's unclear why they do this. Anyway, on that particular day, it rained all day and we just stayed in the house with the fam and played cards. But, come the weekend, things got awfully exciting.
Saturday I spent the day in Guadalajara with my sister-in-law and her gringo boyfriend. That was not that exciting (2). We were buying merchandise for the little shop she runs out of the family's house. She sells things like hair products, baseball caps, underwear and children's toys. It was good to get out and see the city, though.
Things picked up after we got back. We went down to the plaza and there was a stage set up for performances. There was a mariachi band, folk dancing, and some local guy graced us with his interpretation of singing. Also, they crowned the 2008 queen of San Juan Cosalá – basically a local beauty pageant. Then we drank cantaritos (think tequila and squirt) and danced to a live band.
That was a lot of fun – but wait until I tell you about Sunday.
Sunday was the local bike race. Cool – one might think – everyone turns out to watch the cyclists race up and down the highway that runs through town (3), between the town to the west (Jocotepec) and the town to the east (Ajijic). Probably they close the highway so the cyclists can have room to compete. Ah, but wait! This is Mexico! Close the highway for a bike race?! Preposterous! Instead, let's do something different: let's get everyone out on the road with their pickup trucks. In the back of every pickup let's pile between 10 and 20 people. That's right, up to 20 people. Then let's drive up and down the highway following the cyclists. In addition, everyone who couldn't fit into the back of a pickup should come out onto the street or up onto their roof with buckets and hoses with which to douse all the people in the pickups. Also, let's get everyone to drink beer, including the pickup truck drivers. Yeah. Now that's a bike race!
So the bike race / town water fight was a lot of fun, and apparently the Independence Day tradition of San Juan Cosalá. I found myself in the back of our truck with only eleven other people. We got soaked the four or five times we drove through San Juan. But my co-riders had planned ahead, and we had our own ammunition: balloons filled with water. It's amazing we made it to even see the cyclists cross the finish line. I'm not sure who won. I'm not sure most people knew.
So then I crawled home like a drenched rat with my cousin Estela. I changed clothes and waited for Hernan to come back. At one point I saw him riding off to Jocotepec with the three queens of San Juan Cosalá and two of his buddies. Hm. Suspicious. When he finally came around again, we made off for the plaza.
We got there a little early and the festivities hadn't yet started up again. So we helped some of his buddies to dig a whole in the middle of the concrete parking lot. I mean, really, why not? This, it turns out, wasn't a random act of vandalism, but a part of another local tradition.
Every year, a group of people get together downtown and dig a hole somewhere. Fun enough on its own, but it gets better. Then they put a bunch of presents - kids toys, DVDs, clothes – into plastic bags and attach these bags to one end of a very long pole. Next, we grease the pole with lard. Obviously. Then, with the help of Random Drunk Dude On A Horse, we put the pole into the hole. Da-na! Now you're ready to watch a group of children struggle to climb 20 feet of greased pole to get the presents down! What could be more fun!? It makes American Independence Day barbecues and fireworks seem suddenly so lame.
So we stood around and shouted encouragement and ridicule at a group of children for two hours. Got to love it. This new generation, it seems, is not quite up to the tradition, because they managed to get only one present down. Finally, after two hours, it started to rain and Hernan decided it was time to step in and show the snot noses how it's done. Part way up the pole someone pulled his shorts down and the crowd got a full moon. That was pretty funny. He managed to both pull his shorts up and get all the way to the top. From the top of the greased pole he threw presents to the children, like a Mexican Santa, and then slid down that pole: more like a stripper than a fireman, and nothing like Santa would. Ah…! That's my man!
After showering off the lard at home, we returned once more to the plaza. Disappointed with the one-beat music that was playing in the town disco, we decided to go home early. But, to top off the weekend, three drunkards started shouting at us and following us home. And that's when we got into a street fight. By "we", of course, I mean Hernan. I just tried to stay out of the way. He was getting all three of them pretty good when about 20 people appeared out of nowhere and jumped in to break things up. The three dudes, plus one more that jumped in at the first sign of a fight, were all major assholes. Apparently they were looking for an easy fight and jumped us because they thought we were out-of-towners. Apparently they hadn't seen how Hernan has just become King of the Greased Pole and the town's favorite son. Moreover, it seems they're now the shame of the town for (1) having picked a fight with someone who's related to probably half the town, and (2) getting beat up pretty badly in a fight of three against one. One of the guys, it turns out, is even the son of a family friend, but didn't recognize Hernan in his drunken state. So we got home ok. A group of relatives and acquaintances who'd shown up suddenly out of nowhere took us home. Hernan only had a scratch on his hand and a scrape on one knee, so he's fine. Monday, we had a stream of visitors all day come by to ask how we were and to tell us that those assholes wouldn't be bothering us again. There's nothing like living in a town of 3000 for getting gossip fast.
So that was the weekend. Folk dancing, beauty pageant, bicycle race, water fight, a greased pole, and a street fight. I can't wait until next year.
Footnotes:
(1) I'd like to make it clear that I do, in fact, know that the fifth of May is *not* Mexican Independence Day. This is a joke. Please laugh.
(2) There was one exciting moment when said gringo boyfriend asked me who I was planning to vote for. So far, I've refrained from talking politics with him at all because I'm certain he's very conservative and I'm extremely liberal, and I haven't wanted to get into it with him because I know my sister-in-law doesn't want that to happen. It's clear she's uncomfortable with us arguing about politics. I told him I'd be happy to talk politics with him, but that we should leave my sister-in-law out of it, go somewhere where we can hash things out just the two of us, you know, somewhere where there'd be no witnesses.
(3) This highway that runs through town is the road that runs in front of the family's house and also the only paved road in town.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Folk Wisdom
When I was pregnaz down here I thought I'd heard the limit on folk wisdom, but then my son was born and I have since harvested a whole new crop.
I've already written about goblins and the evil eye. Here are some new snippets of advice. Inform yourself.
Beginning in pregnancy and continuing on into the first postpartum weeks, mothers should wear earplugs, particularly when leaving the house, to prevent air from entering their heads.
After the birth of her child, a mother must visit the church on her first excursion out of her house. If she does not (and, say, visits family first), she is scorning the grace of God and her child will suffer.
Until a new mother has visited the church to express her gratitude to God for the birth of her child, she may not eat any pork products. I'm not sure what happens to her or her child if she does. Chicken and beef, however, are A-Ok.
A newborn needs to have a marble bound to his bellybutton or it will never sink in. The child will be cursed forever with an "outie".
A mother must never drink water while in the act of breastfeeding. If she does, the water will pass directly through her to her infant and drown the baby. Presumably, the water triggers a physiological change, bypassing the woman's normal digestive system to flow directly from her mouth to her breasts. Somehow, the infant also undergoes an immediate change whereby the water then passes from the mouth to the lungs, rather than to the stomach.
And finally, if someone clips a newborn's fingernails, the child won't develop the ability to speak until a year or more later than it's taloned cousins.
Also, with regard to childrearing, it seems to be common knowledge down here that holding your baby too much will spoil it, so you should limit that kind of contact.
In other news, Hanix is doing well. He smiles all the time, enjoys watching telanovelas with his abuelita, and today learned to chortle.
I've already written about goblins and the evil eye. Here are some new snippets of advice. Inform yourself.
Beginning in pregnancy and continuing on into the first postpartum weeks, mothers should wear earplugs, particularly when leaving the house, to prevent air from entering their heads.
After the birth of her child, a mother must visit the church on her first excursion out of her house. If she does not (and, say, visits family first), she is scorning the grace of God and her child will suffer.
Until a new mother has visited the church to express her gratitude to God for the birth of her child, she may not eat any pork products. I'm not sure what happens to her or her child if she does. Chicken and beef, however, are A-Ok.
A newborn needs to have a marble bound to his bellybutton or it will never sink in. The child will be cursed forever with an "outie".
A mother must never drink water while in the act of breastfeeding. If she does, the water will pass directly through her to her infant and drown the baby. Presumably, the water triggers a physiological change, bypassing the woman's normal digestive system to flow directly from her mouth to her breasts. Somehow, the infant also undergoes an immediate change whereby the water then passes from the mouth to the lungs, rather than to the stomach.
And finally, if someone clips a newborn's fingernails, the child won't develop the ability to speak until a year or more later than it's taloned cousins.
Also, with regard to childrearing, it seems to be common knowledge down here that holding your baby too much will spoil it, so you should limit that kind of contact.
In other news, Hanix is doing well. He smiles all the time, enjoys watching telanovelas with his abuelita, and today learned to chortle.
It's Raining, It's Hailing
And suddenly it was raining something fierce. Not buckets, exactly, more like the angels suddenly drained their heavenly swimming pool, and the drain empties out directly over our house.
I ran upstairs to our deck/living room and found that the tile roof wasn't keeping up with the downpour. Water got everywhere. Meanwhile, Goblin, our pooch, got scared by all the thunder and expressed this by emptying his food dish all over the floor. And it was then, of course, that Hanix woke up crying. We managed to fix the roof leaks by shifting the tiles and wiped the water off the couches with the basket of dry diapers and towels I'd just grabbed off the line. We cleaned up the floor and calmed the baby. And then it was quiet.
But then! Yes, but then came the hail. Hail! In September. In Mexico. And good sized hail, too, about a half inch in diameter. The floor was white with it. We worried the skylight would break.
So we re-fixed the roof, and swept out the hail and wiped off the couches and calmed down the pooch and calmed down the baby and then just shrugged our shoulders and laughed.
I ran upstairs to our deck/living room and found that the tile roof wasn't keeping up with the downpour. Water got everywhere. Meanwhile, Goblin, our pooch, got scared by all the thunder and expressed this by emptying his food dish all over the floor. And it was then, of course, that Hanix woke up crying. We managed to fix the roof leaks by shifting the tiles and wiped the water off the couches with the basket of dry diapers and towels I'd just grabbed off the line. We cleaned up the floor and calmed the baby. And then it was quiet.
But then! Yes, but then came the hail. Hail! In September. In Mexico. And good sized hail, too, about a half inch in diameter. The floor was white with it. We worried the skylight would break.
So we re-fixed the roof, and swept out the hail and wiped off the couches and calmed down the pooch and calmed down the baby and then just shrugged our shoulders and laughed.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Introducing Goblin
"Can I keep him?"
That's more or less what my husband said yesterday when I encountered him cuddling an adorable little labrador puppy. Yes, friends, we're now pet owners.
The story goes like this: a friend of my husband had a lab, and she had pups. Mama dog passed away. Husband's friend wanted to give away all the pups. One pup ended up at a cousin's house, but Aunty said "No". Cousin told husband, and husband said "Yes". Now the puppy lives with us.
I really had no interest in having a pet, but I was emotionally blackmailed. Try saying no to a wriggling puppy who will otherwise end up out at "the ranch", alone all day, guarding wire.
Plus he sat in my lap and licked my toes. And, needless to say, he's got puppydog eyes. Yeah, how can you turn those down? Poor little orphan puppy with puppydog eyes who sat in my lap and licked my toes... whimper, whimper, whimper.
I asked whether someone else wouldn't take him, and apparently not, since all the likely puppy owner candidates have already been convinced to take the sibling pups.
So. There you have it. We're puppy owners.
Here he is getting comfy in his new home.
His name is Goblin. He has a play date with his brother puppy tomorrow. I'm reading up on puppy training. Please send me your puppy training tips, because I grew up with cats.
That's more or less what my husband said yesterday when I encountered him cuddling an adorable little labrador puppy. Yes, friends, we're now pet owners.
The story goes like this: a friend of my husband had a lab, and she had pups. Mama dog passed away. Husband's friend wanted to give away all the pups. One pup ended up at a cousin's house, but Aunty said "No". Cousin told husband, and husband said "Yes". Now the puppy lives with us.
I really had no interest in having a pet, but I was emotionally blackmailed. Try saying no to a wriggling puppy who will otherwise end up out at "the ranch", alone all day, guarding wire.
Plus he sat in my lap and licked my toes. And, needless to say, he's got puppydog eyes. Yeah, how can you turn those down? Poor little orphan puppy with puppydog eyes who sat in my lap and licked my toes... whimper, whimper, whimper.
I asked whether someone else wouldn't take him, and apparently not, since all the likely puppy owner candidates have already been convinced to take the sibling pups.
So. There you have it. We're puppy owners.
Here he is getting comfy in his new home.
His name is Goblin. He has a play date with his brother puppy tomorrow. I'm reading up on puppy training. Please send me your puppy training tips, because I grew up with cats.
Evolution Shmevolution
39%. According to a Gallup poll earlier this year, only 39% of Americans believe in the theory of evolution.
Shock.
Not even half. Not even close to half! Oh, dear me.
25% report that they do not believe in evolution. More shock.
Thanks for leading me to this discovery, Jenny Jo.
I poked around the Interweb and found more mad statistics. It appears that there are hordes of non-believers all over Europe, too, just maybe not in as high proportions as in the good ol' U.S. of A. http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn9786-why-doesnt-america-believe-in-evolution.html
I then found this article http://www.angus-reid.com/polls/view/16178 which made me think well of Canadians with their whopping (still so small!) 59% of believers of evolution, until I read the rest of the article, which asserts that 42 percent of survey respondents believe that humans and dinosaurs co-existed.
I wonder what percent of Mexicans believe in evolution.
Another great question is how well most people even understand the theory. I thought this article dealt well with the poll numbers: The Problem with Evolution Surveys.
Still, I'm surprised. I guess I need to get out of my bubble a whole lot more often.
Shock.
Not even half. Not even close to half! Oh, dear me.
25% report that they do not believe in evolution. More shock.
Thanks for leading me to this discovery, Jenny Jo.
I poked around the Interweb and found more mad statistics. It appears that there are hordes of non-believers all over Europe, too, just maybe not in as high proportions as in the good ol' U.S. of A. http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn9786-why-doesnt-america-believe-in-evolution.html
I then found this article http://www.angus-reid.com/polls/view/16178 which made me think well of Canadians with their whopping (still so small!) 59% of believers of evolution, until I read the rest of the article, which asserts that 42 percent of survey respondents believe that humans and dinosaurs co-existed.
I wonder what percent of Mexicans believe in evolution.
Another great question is how well most people even understand the theory. I thought this article dealt well with the poll numbers: The Problem with Evolution Surveys.
Still, I'm surprised. I guess I need to get out of my bubble a whole lot more often.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
"Adios"
I have a new tactic. I'm going to just say hello to everybody.
When the grandmothers sitting in front of their houses stare at me as I pass, I'll say hello.
When the group of neighbors falls silent as I approach, I'll say hello.
When I can't remember if I've met that man or not, I'll say hello.
When a woman sees me coming, says something to her friends and then they all turn and stare, I'll say hello.
When a group of men stare me down as I go by, I don't think I'll be saying hello, but you get the idea.
I've been trying this out and it may not win me friends, but everyone says hello back, and it's at least a lot more pleasant than being silently stared at.
I guess I should add that I might not say hello. I might be saying good bye, because "Adios" is my new favorite way to greet people in the street. It's like saying hello, but doesn't open you up for conversation. You can say it and just keep walking. I'm a fan.
When the grandmothers sitting in front of their houses stare at me as I pass, I'll say hello.
When the group of neighbors falls silent as I approach, I'll say hello.
When I can't remember if I've met that man or not, I'll say hello.
When a woman sees me coming, says something to her friends and then they all turn and stare, I'll say hello.
When a group of men stare me down as I go by, I don't think I'll be saying hello, but you get the idea.
I've been trying this out and it may not win me friends, but everyone says hello back, and it's at least a lot more pleasant than being silently stared at.
I guess I should add that I might not say hello. I might be saying good bye, because "Adios" is my new favorite way to greet people in the street. It's like saying hello, but doesn't open you up for conversation. You can say it and just keep walking. I'm a fan.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
One Year
It was a year ago today that we arrived in San Juan Cosalá. It's been a whole year. A whole hard, stinking, terrible, amazing, boring, crazy year.
I guess it's time for a little reflection, a little confession, and a little resolution.
We chose not to tell everyone that Hernan wasn't in the US legally. There's so much anger and hate directed at undocumented immigrants, and we also didn't want to risk alienating our friends and coworkers. We tried to keep it a secret from a lot of people. This was a little heartbreaking because it's been a huge part of our lives and hiding it made me feel dishonest and distant from people. Yet, the fear we also lived with, fear of deportation, fear of rejection, fear of discrimination, made us decide to keep it (mostly) under wraps.
Hernan came to the US when he was just seventeen. He needed to work and send money home to his family, who were living in poverty under the burden of medical debt. Being here now, I can understand why so many people choose to risk their lives and leave their families for that ol' American dream. Job opportunities down here, in a word, blow.
So he worked hard, learned English, adopted American cultural norms, and fell in love with me. What a great immigrant story, no? But in 1996 the government came up with the 3/10 year bar, by which anyone illegally present in the US for more than a year would be barred from getting a visa for ten years.
Knowing the immigration process is jacked, we decided to try anyway. We decided to try to get Hernan legal status. We were tired of worrying about getting caught. Somehow, if we'd just kept going, we'd almost certainly still be in the US with our friends and families. Because we tried to do "the right thing", and initiated the process, we're now living in San Juan instead.
But we're still hoping. We're hoping we can show that we're both honest, hard-working people, that I've been suffering miserably by being down here, that they can really let us back in and we'll be good. We're hoping eventually we'll get a waiver of that 10 year bar. We're hoping we can both go home again. Maybe we're dumb to keep hoping. Maybe we were dumb to try.
So, after a whole lot of time and a heap of money, the government sent us our appointment date in Ciudad Juarez, the shittiest place I've ever been. We quit our jobs, left our home and friends, got rid of some things, packed up and headed south. September 11th we had our appointment date, and that afternoon processed the despair and heartbreak that came with the big "Fuck You" we of course got from the US government. We got out of that miserable city as fast as we could and headed to Hernan's home town. The silver lining: as least he would get to know his family again, all his loved ones he'd left behind for so long. And we needed to regroup.
So here we are, a year later. We have an amazing baby, who's beautiful and smiles all the time. We have Hernan's wonderful and kind family. We have each other.
We don't have any money. We don't have our friends or my family. We don't have the way of life we miss so much.
I was told that after a year here it would get easier, and miraculously it has. The shock of turning my life upside down and shaking has worn off. I still miss home, and everything that means, but I'm no longer depressed every day.
And I feel overwhelmed by the love, kindness and generosity my family and friends have shown. Every care package, every email, every kindness and word of support, every humorous blog comment has made it easier to persevere and has made me feel less far away.
And then a few months ago I ventured into the blogosphere and found so many other women living down here for the same reason as me, and now I feel a little sense of community and understanding, and a lot more courage. And if these other women can survive and maybe even flourish then maybe I can too.
A year. A whole stinking, difficult, depressing, wonderful, life-changing, awesome year.
So we'll keep hoping and keep persevering and keep doing the best we know how. Somehow, we'll figure it out.
I guess it's time for a little reflection, a little confession, and a little resolution.
We chose not to tell everyone that Hernan wasn't in the US legally. There's so much anger and hate directed at undocumented immigrants, and we also didn't want to risk alienating our friends and coworkers. We tried to keep it a secret from a lot of people. This was a little heartbreaking because it's been a huge part of our lives and hiding it made me feel dishonest and distant from people. Yet, the fear we also lived with, fear of deportation, fear of rejection, fear of discrimination, made us decide to keep it (mostly) under wraps.
Hernan came to the US when he was just seventeen. He needed to work and send money home to his family, who were living in poverty under the burden of medical debt. Being here now, I can understand why so many people choose to risk their lives and leave their families for that ol' American dream. Job opportunities down here, in a word, blow.
So he worked hard, learned English, adopted American cultural norms, and fell in love with me. What a great immigrant story, no? But in 1996 the government came up with the 3/10 year bar, by which anyone illegally present in the US for more than a year would be barred from getting a visa for ten years.
Knowing the immigration process is jacked, we decided to try anyway. We decided to try to get Hernan legal status. We were tired of worrying about getting caught. Somehow, if we'd just kept going, we'd almost certainly still be in the US with our friends and families. Because we tried to do "the right thing", and initiated the process, we're now living in San Juan instead.
But we're still hoping. We're hoping we can show that we're both honest, hard-working people, that I've been suffering miserably by being down here, that they can really let us back in and we'll be good. We're hoping eventually we'll get a waiver of that 10 year bar. We're hoping we can both go home again. Maybe we're dumb to keep hoping. Maybe we were dumb to try.
So, after a whole lot of time and a heap of money, the government sent us our appointment date in Ciudad Juarez, the shittiest place I've ever been. We quit our jobs, left our home and friends, got rid of some things, packed up and headed south. September 11th we had our appointment date, and that afternoon processed the despair and heartbreak that came with the big "Fuck You" we of course got from the US government. We got out of that miserable city as fast as we could and headed to Hernan's home town. The silver lining: as least he would get to know his family again, all his loved ones he'd left behind for so long. And we needed to regroup.
So here we are, a year later. We have an amazing baby, who's beautiful and smiles all the time. We have Hernan's wonderful and kind family. We have each other.
We don't have any money. We don't have our friends or my family. We don't have the way of life we miss so much.
I was told that after a year here it would get easier, and miraculously it has. The shock of turning my life upside down and shaking has worn off. I still miss home, and everything that means, but I'm no longer depressed every day.
And I feel overwhelmed by the love, kindness and generosity my family and friends have shown. Every care package, every email, every kindness and word of support, every humorous blog comment has made it easier to persevere and has made me feel less far away.
And then a few months ago I ventured into the blogosphere and found so many other women living down here for the same reason as me, and now I feel a little sense of community and understanding, and a lot more courage. And if these other women can survive and maybe even flourish then maybe I can too.
A year. A whole stinking, difficult, depressing, wonderful, life-changing, awesome year.
So we'll keep hoping and keep persevering and keep doing the best we know how. Somehow, we'll figure it out.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Hungry Mama, Hungry Baby
We took Hanix to the pediatrician Wednesday. Apparently he's heavier than 95 percent of babies his age. Yes, my little gordito could pin the other two and a half month old babies to the ground with just one of his meaty little thighs.
The doc says we shouldn't worry because all he eats is breast milk and I guess the excess weight should come off easily whenever he has his next growth spurt or whenever he gets mobile. He didn't get fat from eating deep fried twinkies, after all.
And since his whole body is big - his bones, his head, his hands and feet - it's not surprising that he's heavy, or that my arms are now nicely toned and my wrists nicely broken.
The problem, though, lies in my poor little baby's reflux. He wants to nurse all the time to keep the milk (and stomach acid) from coming up, and to comfort him when he's in pain. I'm trying to comfort him in other ways and to keep him from overeating, but sometimes it's hard to not just give him what he wants. Comfort eating? His mother certainly doesn't do that! No way.
So, we're trying all kinds of things to help him out, like keeping him upright and burping him frequently, and I'm on the most horrible of diets, which excludes dairy, citric, spicy food, coffee and chocolate. Since I'm also vegetarian that leaves me pretty much just tortillas. Try not eating tomatoes, chiles, meat or cheese in Mexico. It kind of sucks. I'm planning or reintroducing all those foods one by one to see if any affect him more than others. I'm HUNGRAY!
The doc says we shouldn't worry because all he eats is breast milk and I guess the excess weight should come off easily whenever he has his next growth spurt or whenever he gets mobile. He didn't get fat from eating deep fried twinkies, after all.
And since his whole body is big - his bones, his head, his hands and feet - it's not surprising that he's heavy, or that my arms are now nicely toned and my wrists nicely broken.
The problem, though, lies in my poor little baby's reflux. He wants to nurse all the time to keep the milk (and stomach acid) from coming up, and to comfort him when he's in pain. I'm trying to comfort him in other ways and to keep him from overeating, but sometimes it's hard to not just give him what he wants. Comfort eating? His mother certainly doesn't do that! No way.
So, we're trying all kinds of things to help him out, like keeping him upright and burping him frequently, and I'm on the most horrible of diets, which excludes dairy, citric, spicy food, coffee and chocolate. Since I'm also vegetarian that leaves me pretty much just tortillas. Try not eating tomatoes, chiles, meat or cheese in Mexico. It kind of sucks. I'm planning or reintroducing all those foods one by one to see if any affect him more than others. I'm HUNGRAY!
Health Care - In Mexico
Me and doctors – we don’t always go well together.
Maybe it’s because I was born at home with midwives, and that set me on a path for alternatives to mainstream medicine.
Maybe it’s because my first dentist worked out of a school bus and had psychedelic pictures for us to color while we waited, and by comparison mainstream medicine is just so boring.
Maybe it’s because when I went to get my first vaccines at 17 before traveling to Thailand the rabid nurse verbally attacked my mother for being a bad parent, endangering all of society with her unvaccinated daughter, and nearly reducing our great nation to rubble. Bedside manner? Fail.
Maybe it’s because homeopathic remedies always seemed to work for me.
Maybe it’s because the last dentist I went to in the States couldn’t figure out how to explain to me (in small words I would understand) the dental work he assured me I needed.
Maybe it’s because when I went for a physical exam a few years ago the doctor lectured me on my wanton ways for being sexually active (at age 25 and married) and for drinking alcohol (unlike most tea-tottling twenty-somethings I know). When I asked what kind of lifestyle changes I could make to reduce stress in my life she said “Lifestyle changes are too hard. Let me prescribe you anti-anxiety medication.” Judgmental. Unprofessional. Pill-pusher.
Maybe it's because of all the horrifying stories I hear from friends.
For whatever reason, I expect to be disappointed most of the time.
However, I’m very pleased with the medical care I’ve been getting down here in Mexico. Not what I expected.
I think that when we finally go flat broke in month or two we may have to start using the public health care system, which, from the stories I’ve heard, can sometimes be just awful. Until now, however, we’ve had enough money to pay for private health care, and we’ve lucked out with some wonderful people – first our doula and doctor pair that supported us throughout my pregnancy and labor, and now our pediatrician. Can I hear three cheers for fantastic doctors?
So we drive all the way to Guadalajara to see our pediatrician. But we absolutely think it’s worth it. Our pediatrician is fully supportive of his patient families informing themselves and making their own choices about health care.
Informed patients? What planet is this man from?
One example of this is that he respects whatever choice his patients make regarding vaccines. He’s willing to modify the vaccination schedule however the parents want. That should be a given, in my opinion, but really it isn’t. Also, he provides the fancy new vaccines that contain no mercury, the ones available in the States. We could get Hanix vaccinated for free through the Seguro, but we’d have no choice in which vaccines he’d get, or when, and apparently they usually use the old mercury vaccines that we no longer use in the States. This is as best as I can figure out, anyway. Information can really be hard to come by.
So we are vaccinating Hanix, but we’re not giving him the full set of vaccines that is recommended, at least not yet, or all at once. We gave him his first vaccine yesterday and will give him the next one next month.
I don’t mean to open up a debate about vaccines, because I know many people have very strong opinions about it, while others are very unsure what to believe. I do strongly believe, though, that every patient (or, in this case, the patient’s parents) has a right to accept or decline medical recommendations. In the end, it’s up to us to be informed and make the choice that’s right for us. I appreciate having doctors who agree.
Maybe it’s because I was born at home with midwives, and that set me on a path for alternatives to mainstream medicine.
Maybe it’s because my first dentist worked out of a school bus and had psychedelic pictures for us to color while we waited, and by comparison mainstream medicine is just so boring.
Maybe it’s because when I went to get my first vaccines at 17 before traveling to Thailand the rabid nurse verbally attacked my mother for being a bad parent, endangering all of society with her unvaccinated daughter, and nearly reducing our great nation to rubble. Bedside manner? Fail.
Maybe it’s because homeopathic remedies always seemed to work for me.
Maybe it’s because the last dentist I went to in the States couldn’t figure out how to explain to me (in small words I would understand) the dental work he assured me I needed.
Maybe it’s because when I went for a physical exam a few years ago the doctor lectured me on my wanton ways for being sexually active (at age 25 and married) and for drinking alcohol (unlike most tea-tottling twenty-somethings I know). When I asked what kind of lifestyle changes I could make to reduce stress in my life she said “Lifestyle changes are too hard. Let me prescribe you anti-anxiety medication.” Judgmental. Unprofessional. Pill-pusher.
Maybe it's because of all the horrifying stories I hear from friends.
For whatever reason, I expect to be disappointed most of the time.
However, I’m very pleased with the medical care I’ve been getting down here in Mexico. Not what I expected.
I think that when we finally go flat broke in month or two we may have to start using the public health care system, which, from the stories I’ve heard, can sometimes be just awful. Until now, however, we’ve had enough money to pay for private health care, and we’ve lucked out with some wonderful people – first our doula and doctor pair that supported us throughout my pregnancy and labor, and now our pediatrician. Can I hear three cheers for fantastic doctors?
So we drive all the way to Guadalajara to see our pediatrician. But we absolutely think it’s worth it. Our pediatrician is fully supportive of his patient families informing themselves and making their own choices about health care.
Informed patients? What planet is this man from?
One example of this is that he respects whatever choice his patients make regarding vaccines. He’s willing to modify the vaccination schedule however the parents want. That should be a given, in my opinion, but really it isn’t. Also, he provides the fancy new vaccines that contain no mercury, the ones available in the States. We could get Hanix vaccinated for free through the Seguro, but we’d have no choice in which vaccines he’d get, or when, and apparently they usually use the old mercury vaccines that we no longer use in the States. This is as best as I can figure out, anyway. Information can really be hard to come by.
So we are vaccinating Hanix, but we’re not giving him the full set of vaccines that is recommended, at least not yet, or all at once. We gave him his first vaccine yesterday and will give him the next one next month.
I don’t mean to open up a debate about vaccines, because I know many people have very strong opinions about it, while others are very unsure what to believe. I do strongly believe, though, that every patient (or, in this case, the patient’s parents) has a right to accept or decline medical recommendations. In the end, it’s up to us to be informed and make the choice that’s right for us. I appreciate having doctors who agree.
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