Four Ounces of Sanity

I´m not a fan of extremists.  Or extremes, one way or another.

However, I have a newborn.  He doesn´t share my distain for extremism.

Because, let me tell you, this kid would be happy to hang on the boob ALL DAY.  And, for those who know newborns, you know that when I say all day, I mean all night, too.  It´s all the same around here, lately.

Now, there are plenty out there who get a little militant about breastfeeding.  Plenty of moms swear up and down that a bottle will NEVER touch their baby´s lips.  They happily feed their children around the clock, a lactating frenzy.  They eat with maximum production in mind.  They´ll even pump between latch-ons, stocking away "liquid gold".

If you are one of those moms, I congratulate you.  To be honest, I´d like to be you.

But I´m not.

I do believe in breastfeeding.  Having breastfed my other children, I know that pulling out the boob is much easier than heating a bottle.

And it´s free.  Can´t say enough about that.  

But during these first two weeks, breastfeeding can be really, really hard.

After all, when a mom is beginning to breastfeed, she is also:

• recovering from giving birth.  Depending on one´s experience, there may have been a bit of trauma involved.  So while the mother is dealing with the pain of recovering from her C-section, an episiotomy, or simply pushing another person´s head out of her body, she is simultaneously subjecting her sensitive nipples to being mangled every couple of hours.  

• really, really, really, really, really tired.  

• Hormonally out-of-whack, which often means that one´s emotions are all over the place.  

So if you are like me, and your child has been on the boob for five hours straight, and you´re about to throw him across the room BECAUSE he´s been on the boob for five hours, I´ve got a secret.  

It´s OK to give him a bottle.  

It´s even OK to give him a bottle of formula.  It´s not necessary to pump it out.  

Because, let´s face it--if the kid has been sucking for five hours, the tatas probably have not had a chance to replenish themselves and he probably isn´t getting much of anything anyway.  

My first child was born a little small, so the doctor suggested supplementing with formula.  Let me tell you, she sucked down bottle after bottle in the hospital.  While I did successfully breastfeed her, every bottle I gave her in those first few weeks felt like a symbol of my failure.   

My second baby didn´t touch a bottle at the hospital.  I was determined that he was going to be the perfect, breastfed-only baby. Then we brought him home.  He screamed for the first 24 hours.  I finally caved in and called the pharmacy so they could deliver some formula to our house.  I gave him the bottle and he finally fell asleep.  

Blessed relief!  

Yes, breastmilk is best for our babies.  I try to give mine as much as I possibly can.

But when he sucks away for hours at a time, I am done.  Those four ounces of magic might just be why I make it through those first six weeks on the upside of sane.*

Of course, if one does want to continue to breastfeed, take it easy--one or two bottles a day, max.  (Unless you kid is crazy, of course.)  Just keep in mind that if nothing comes out of the boobies for 24-48 hours, the magic will end.  The girls won´t work until baby has a sibling.

But if the baby has 4 ounces once or twice a day, no harm, no foul.

After a few weeks (or months, in my daughter´s case) both of my older children were exclusively breastfed.  In a few weeks, this baby will be, too.  But I´ll let him decide.

Watching me feed one of my babies the fake stuff, my mom told me in her saddest, most wistful voice, "I wish someone had told me I could haven given you a bottle now and then."

I´m passing on the secret.  Ain´t no shame.

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*This is in NO WAY a condemnation of those who´ve suffered post-partum depression.  That´s a whole different ball of wax.  There´s no shame in that, either, but do what you have to do to get through it.  And that´s the bitch about depression--it makes one not want to do anything to get through it.  Huge red flag right there.  Don´t blow it off.  

What Do You Know?

I´m one of those people who just looks at someone with pinkeye and--BAM--I´ve got it myself.

I was 23 the first time I had it, and thanks to my insurance, wasn´t able to get to the doctor in well over 24 hours.  When the doctor finally saw me, she took at step back and said, "Wow--we should take your picture!  You´re the poster child for pinkeye."

So last Thursday when Clara woke up and her eyes were just about glued together, I knew we were in for a long weekend.

However, I had a new trick up my sleeve.

See, the last time I went to the doctor with pinkeye, he asked me, "what have you already tried to get rid of it?"  I was baffled.  What had I already tried?  Dude--you´re supposed to give me the medicine to get rid of it.  He did.  It disappeared.

But then I got pinkeye again while visiting my mother-in-law.  Instead of immediately waltzing off to a clinic, she suggested concentrated chamomile tea.  My husband has always cleaned the kids´ eyes out with this whenever they had anything remotely suspicious.  So I gave it a whirl.

48 hours later, the pinkeye was gone.  Huh.

We tried it again this past weekend.  No more pinkeye!


What do you know?  Fewer antibiotics for this lady in the future,   that´s for sure!

Jill vs Typhoid--I think I Won!

Yep, I´m still here.  Things are finally starting to feel like normal. 

I´ve been sidetracked for a few months, thanks to a bout of typhoid. 

That sounds more dramatic than it was.  But now that I´m officially recovered, I am realizing that it really did knock me for a loop for quite awhile.  Kind of like my pregnancy with Joey. 

Actually, yeah, it was a lot like that.  And I described my symptoms to one of my friends who was CONVINCED that I was pregnant.  It would have made sense.  Fatigue, dizziness.

But nope, definetly NOT pregnant. 

Not long after my last post, I was attempting to get our Thanksgiving turkey in the oven, but I had to lay down every 10 minutes or so because I was so dizzy.  Finally, I gave up and let Mario do it, coaching him from the couch.

I spent the better part of those two weeks in bed, not feeling terrible, just very, very dizzy when I tried to do anything vertically.  Then the symptoms went away and I didn´t think about it anymore. 

However, as we were driving home from Indiana to Saltillo, the dizziness happened again (resulting in mild carsickness for two days straight).  Furthermore,  I added insomnia, a lack of appetite, and losing weight to my list of drama and I decided that it was high time that I found a doctor. 

It turns out that insomnia is not a symptom of typhoid, so I´m not sure what that was all about.  But when I listed all my other symptoms, my new doctor immediately diagnosed me with typhoid.  OK, she did wait for my bloodwork to come back to officially diagnose me with typhoid (and write me a prescription for antibiotics), but she knew immediately. 

Apparently, typhoid has a tendency to come back, so I had to get even more blood drawn this week to confirm that I really, really got rid of it. 

Yep, I´m good. 

And, if anyone in Saltillo needs bloodwork done, I highly recommend the lab, Centro Medico de Saltillo, located right across from the University Hospital/University Nursing School on Calzada Francisco I. Madero #1236-2.  I´ve gone there a number of times, I believe there is only the one doctor in the lab, and she has the magic touch for drawing blood.  Often I don´t even feel the needle prick. 

And that´s something--I am terrified of needles!  Seriously, go there.  She´s great.

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So I´m almost back to business (just as soon as I shake Monster Cold). 

It seems like we´re just about to shake winter, too!  Things are looking up! 

Take that, you suckers up north with record snow this winter!  Come visit me! 

And just to add one more exclamation mark, I think I´ll go to bed!!!!  (OK, 4 more.)

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My apologies for turning into a crochety old lady and describing my every ache and pain, but that´s where I´ve been, and I had to start SOMEWHERE to get back on this blogging horse!  

Little Guy Has Arrived!

Warning: Possibly Too Much Information

Pregnancy website and books tell expectant parents to have some kind of "birth plan". For Clara's birth, my plan was to simply wing it. Not knowing at all what my options were (all my books and websites were written with a stateside audience in mind), I really kind of refused to investigate. Mexican medicine in general is a very paternalistic affair, so I figured that my options were extremely limited anyway. While I've never presented a birth plan to my obstretician, who is in my opinion an excellent, excellent doctor, I'm fairly confident that I'd hear his low chuckle, although bet he'd try to hear me out while patiently explaining why my "options" weren't an option at his semi-public hospital. Really, I didn't want to know much more about the birthing process than absolutely necessary. I figured that everyone else gets through it, so I would, too.

We survived, but I decided that the second time around I wasn't going to go into the experience blind.

In fact, Birth Plan A consisted of us moving to the US, so I could get an epidural as I walked into the hospital, even at a mere 3 cm dilated. I have an OB/GYN friend who mentioned (I believe, correct me if I'm wrong) that many of her patients get sent right to the anesthesiologist after being admitted, and a number of friends have mentioned the modern miracle of a pain-free birth, thanks to the power of drugs. That was what I wanted. Give me drugs, baby!

However, I never discussed this plan with Mario (whose cooperation was vital to the success of the plan). I knew the timing wasn't quite right for him, so I just kind of held my breath, hoping that fate would intervene. As the months went by, it became clear that Plan A was not going to work out.

Nuts. Now, I don't what standard procedure is in most Mexican hospitals (and, with modern medicine being what it is, IS there even any kind of standard procedure?). However, in comparing experiences on the births of our first-borns, my two friends and I had remarkably similar experiences. One was very commited to having a natural birth, the other was quite interested in having in having hers unmedicated, and I just wanted drugs--the sooner, the better. However, all three of us were given epidurals at the very, bitter end of our kids' deliveries.

There may be three very different reasons for this. I know for a fact that in my case, as Clara was born at 1:30 am and I entered the hospital sometime around 10 pm, that at least part of the holdup was that they simply couldn't find an anisthesiologist until the last minute. Maybe they would have doped me up earlier. But I never asked my doctor, so I had no way of knowing. Also, there is no way of knowing that Child #2 wouldn't be born in the middle of the night, so it's entirely possible that the same holdup would occur.

So I went to the opposite extreme. A friend of mine, whose first child's birth was much more traumatic than Clara's, borrowed a copy of The Bradley Method from a friend. As she was going into labor with Child #2, she said that she and her husband read through it, followed their relaxation exercises as best as they could, and had a MUCH more positive experience for their daughter's birth. I figured if it could work for her, it could work for me.

So I borrowed the book, too. Turns out that holding off on epidurals until the last minute is the healthier way to administer them . . . too bad. But the book helped me be prepared for anything. If the hospital offered me an epidural straight away, sweet. I'd take it. Otherwise, I was starting to look forward to trying out the relaxation techniques for real, to find out how well they really worked. It's one thing to practice relaxing. It's a whole other thing to relax while one's body is being turned inside out.

At 8:30 on Sunday morning I woke up knowing that I'd have the baby that day. I knew that second babies come much faster than first-born babies, but with Clara it took twelve hours' worth of light contractions before they got serious. Four hours after that, we went to the hospital, and three excruciating, unmedicated hours later, Clara was finally born. After that experience, I knew I wanted to spend as little time at the hospital as possible with #2.

We went through our normal Sunday routines, as my contractions were merely of medium-strength, menstrual-cramp variety. After Clara woke up from her nap at 4, as I was pulling the popscicles out of the freezer, it was becoming clear that things were becoming more intense. Clara and I sat on the patio with our limeade popscicles, watching Mario finish tarring the roof. I took breaks from the stimulating conversation with the two-year-old to focus all my energies on relaxing every five or six minutes. She didn't mind too much.

When Mario finished up and and showered, I requested that he and Clara go out for lunch, as I just needed to have her far from me while I worked through the contractions. Being quite confident that I still had hours to go, at five o'clock I told Mario and Clara to go eat and check back on me in an hour. I cleaned up various things on the patio and then decided to try out deep-relaxation mode, as prescribed by Dr. Bradley's childbirth method. It was a lot of work, but I did have a feeling that I was much more in control of myself than I had been for Clara's birth. Then, at 5:15 (or so) I had a feeling that I just couldn't do much more of that and feared that I sent Mario away at a very inopportune time.

During the next contraction, my uterus reared up and started PUSHING. Oh, shit! The book was right. It was a feeling that one just couldn't fight. Problem was, I wasn't supposed to be at home at this stage. Alone.

Feeling utterly alone, I called out Mario's name. He must of hear me, way out at the grocery store, as he and Clara were back home within five minutes, well before I told them they should return.

I had him call the doctor. While he was doing that, Clara was standing at the side of my bed (I was facing away from her). But one of my arms was behind me, so she held my hand during two of the worst contractions. This was not AT ALL what I wanted my two-year-old to witness, but so is life. After the second contraction she either got scared or mad that I wasn't paying attention to her (or both) and started crying. Mario finally came and got her, while I told him to put Clara in the car, get the bags, and then we'd drive to the hospital.

As he came to get the bags in the car, I was pretty certain that the boy was crowning. Mario confirmed this through freaking out (really, he did pretty well). He called the doctor again (our house is, fortunately, right between the doctor's house and the hospital) and, as he was on the phone, Little Guy slithered right out.

Yep, the baby was born at home. On our bed.

I am fairly certain that this will always be up there as The Coolest Experience of my life.

Five minutes later, after un-hurriedly enjoying the baby's first moments, the doctor showed up, and confirmed that we were all OK. I did need a few stitches, but that was waaaay better than the episiotimy that I had with Clara. We stayed in the hospital for 24 hours (for stitches and observation's sake, I suppose). We could have left after a mere 12 hours, except straightening out insurance hassles took the extra twelve.

The Little Guy slept through the night while we were in the hospital, so between him not being born in the middle of the night and automatically losing an hour of sleep that way, we're still doing quite well.

I'm in worlds better shape than I was two days after having Clara. I'm chalking it up to:

• the birth being far less traumatic than Clara's (I'm fairly confident that the experience was worse for Mario than for me)
• not recovering from an episiotomy
• not having missed a night's sleep (until last night, but that's another story and--cross your fingers--I think the problem is solved)
• I have a feeling that postpartum hormones are triggering an ecstatic wave right now. So if I miss another night's sleep tonight, this post may have taken a much different tone than had I written it tomorrow. Not looking forward to getting those switched around . . . so I'll ride the wave while I can.
  
• Just knowing that I delivered the baby myself is staggering. While Kiddo was keeping me up all night last night, I might have normally lost it somewhere around 3:30am (especially keeping in mind those postpartum hormones--they must really get triggered by lack of sleep). However, every time I looked at him, I'd keep thinking about that moment, after working and knowing that he was coming, when it was just me and him in the house, when he just gushed right out and the first quiet seconds when I wasn't sure whether he was OK or not . . . this kid is MINE in ways that no other kid will ever be.
  

So for those who've been wanting details--there you go! For those who got too many details--you were warned!

And for those who are or may become pregnant, as fantastic as this experience was, I highly recommend getting to the hospital on time. I'm really glad it worked out this way for me, but we're also very lucky that we had no complications. True--in the majority of births, there won't be complications. But for those births that do pose risks (and often there's no telling until labor is well underway) it could be a life-or-death risk for both individuals involved. I know we're fortunate. It could have gone so very, very badly. So if you choose to do the home-birth thing, actively choose it as an option, and have a midwife or doctor present.

I need to go to bed, so if there are typos, or odd phrases that don't make sense, I'll edit those the next time I'm on the computer.

Further updates on the boy and all his accomplishments will more likely be brought to you on www.xanaidah.blogspot.com

Ewww . . . really?

The other day, I took my daughter, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law to the park so one of the four of us could play outside for the afternoon. It was a lovely day with the sun shining, a breeze blowing the tree branches, well-dressed kids teasing the turtles in the pond after their graduation ceremonies, and then . . .

"Could you spit on my daughter's foot, please?"

WHAT?!?

Clara was happily rocking away on her motorcycle, when a woman and her 12-year-old daughter came up to us. The daughter was clearly uncomfortable, as her mother explained that an ant had bitten her. Yep, that does sting. Then again, it may have been her mother's request that really made uncomfortable.

Being at the park, they were all out of ice, meat tenderizers, and other home remedies for cutting pain from stings. She had heard that pregnant women's spit could ease stings. And, when she mentioned this, I felt like I had heard this somewhere, too.

So I spit on the poor kid's foot.

I hope it helped even a little bit, because if she wasn't uncomfortable before, having her foot smeared with a stranger's spit could easily change the situation from uncomfortable to unbearable.

In my defense, though, I do remember a dentist of mine telling me that one's saliva gets slightly more acidic when pregnant, and he recommended rinsing my mouth out nightly with baking soda and water, to counter the effects of my more acidic saliva so it wouldn't attack my teeth. So maybe there is some truth in this, after all.

However, I still think the girl might have gotten more relief from sticking her foot in the turtle pond.

My Latest Trip to Visit the Vampire

I had been waiting to make my next doctor's appointment, as he doesn't want to see me without the results of my latest bloodwork. Ugh. I hate, hate, hate having blood drawn. I set myself a date that I'd do it as soon after our weekend in Morelos as possible. And that meant yesterday.

Oops.

I almost put it off again today, as it dawned on me at 8am that I need to fast before getting my blood drawn. Fortunately, I hadn't had breakfast yet. There was still time to go.

Unfortunately (apart from today, I will NEVER, EVER say this is an unfortunate event), Clara has been sleeping in until about 10. Actually, who knows how long she'd sleep if I let her, as I decided that 10am is late enough and I woke her up the last two days.

Seriously, who has to wake up their toddler? (Again, I am NOT complaining!) ;)

I could have slipped out of the house at 8, got the bloodwork done, and been back home before Clara even woke up, as Patty has her day off today. However, I had not advised Patty about this plan, so running off and leaving her Clara without her knowledge didn't seem exactly fair, especially if Clara wouldn't actually sleep the morning away.

I stayed hungry, woke Clara up at 10, got her dressed, out the door, and into the first taxi I could find. Normally I would walk, but given how hungry as I was, I wasn't sure we'd actually make it to the clinic. The lab is right in the building where my doctor has his office. No appointment is required. Walk in, offer the arm, pee in the cup, fork over 200 pesos, and I'll have my results at 4pm.

Yes, this afternoon. I love how straightforward and easy medical experiences have been in this country so far. (Except for the fact that IMSS doesn't think we're registered and I therefore can't get a tetanus shot . . . but at this point I don't think I should get one until August anyway.)

I could go pick up the results this afternoon, but she also suggested that she could send them straight to the doctor. I thought that was a more sensible option, although I realize that I will have to prod the doctor with questions for him to tell me the few things that I understand from the results . . . sometimes there are perks to picking them up myself. But I'm really in no hurry to go back out there today.

Besides, if the doctor has the results this evening, I can schedule an appointment with him for tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow. Not a month from next Thursday.

Did I mention how much I love how easy this is here? None of this "we'll-send-you-the-bill" crap, appointment on demand (usually), pay in cash, ask for a receipt to deduct it from our taxes and BAM that's it!

We could have ultrasound #2 by the end of the week! Oh, boy! (Is that a hint? We don't know yet!)

Ooo--the lab technician remembered me from two years ago--yikes! Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but she didn't seem upset to see me again. Whew.

La Dentista

I can't explain how happy a good visit to the dentist can make me. But I'll try.

First, it helps to know what it's like to visit a bad dentist. For the first 30 years of my life, I had no idea what a less-than-perfect dental checkup was. After moving to Saltillo, our dental insurance was finally in order when I was 8 months pregnant. It had been at least 3 years since I had seen a dentist. Therefore, when the dentist told me that I had my first cavity--no, not my first cavity, but SEVEN first cavities--I was not completely surprised.

The cavities were filled when Clara was about 5 months old and it was a pain I chalked up to equaling childbirth. Obviously, I'm a little irrational when confronting pain. In retrospect, it wasn't near that bad. However, the Novocaine wasn't working 100% on the left side. It's an experience I'm hoping I'll never have to repeat.

Therefore, getting all the damage of 3 years of dental neglect and a calcium-sucking pregnancy out of the way, I was expecting a glowing report after my next cleaning. However, thanks to new insurance, I had to look for a new dentist. As I wasn't a huge fan of the man who filled my cavities (although he did appear very competent), I was looking forward to the change.

I called for an appointment at an impressive, US-style clinic downtown. Awed by their multiple consult rooms, state of the art equipment, receptionist, and magazines, I was getting a little giddy. And the dentist wanted to replace my ugly gray fillings with white resins. Sweet. If insurance covered most of the cost, that sounded great!

But, by the time my consult was finished, the dentist found SEVENTEEN cavities that he thought should be filled with resin. SEVENTEEN! That's about one cavity for every two teeth! For me, who's never had a cavity in my life before. At least, until I moved to Mexico and started seeing Mexican dentists.

Yeah, and the total of my 20% copay was well over 3000 pesos--equal to a month's rent! And that was with insurance included!

I canceled the appointment for my fillings and consulted the yellow pages again.

And I stumbled across Dra. Mariza Valdes Valdes. Dear heavens, I love her.

Yes, I have to go all the way across town to visit her. However, instead of insisting on filling all my cavities, she commented that they were tiny cavities. She recommended just watching them to see if they get any bigger. Or to perhaps use sealants, like on kids' teeth, to keep them in check. But she didn't want to damage the surrounding healthy tooth by drilling out those tiny cavities. Yes--someone who makes sense!

After my second cleaning with her, we're still just on watch with the cavities. And she has an ultra-sound wand to clean my teeth--so weird, so messy, but my teeth come out so clean. It's got an irritating, high-pitched whistle and sprays water all over my face ("the bath comes free", she told me). But it's the cleanest my teeth have ever felt.

I think I even convinced Mario to visit her.

Anyone in Saltillo, if you want the name of shady dentist (so as to avoid him), I'm happy to pass that information on through email.

About to Get the Ax

For a solid year, I adored our pediatrician. He was Clara's favorite mustachioed man. He was there when Clara was born and the one person that I liked in the delivery room (Mario was not there). And I genuinely like the guy.

But as soon as Clara turned a year old, I've felt that his childrearing advice has turned shady.

When she was little he pounded home the message that I needed to nurse her. It's the best thing for her. "You're nursing her, right?"

"Yes, sir. This kid is getting nothing but booby." He always seemed a bit taken aback that I was actually following his advice.

When we came for her 12-month checkup he asked again, "You still nursing her?"

Very proudly, I answered, "You bet!"

"You need to stop now."

WHAT?!?

While I didn't initially have plans to keep nursing her past a year, it happened. And lots of childrearing books say that's just fine. Not our pediatrician, though. We just went back for her 15-month checkup (yeah, she's almost 17 months). He was much more adamant. I'm just blowing him off.

Furthermore, at the 12-month checkup, he was already concerned that Clara wasn't walking. I assured him that she would most likely not walk for quite some time, given our family history. Despite the fact that babies that walk at 12-months are early walkers, he was convinced that she needed to be walking into her next doctor's appointment.

Obviously that didn't happen. And if it doesn't happen for another two months, she's still well within the range of normal. Not according to the doctor. Seriously--do I know more about child development than my pediatrician?!?

Final straw: Clara weighed in at 9 kilos exactly. (I'm quite sure she was a good 300 grams heavier when she got vaccinated the last time, but the IMSS scale tends to run heavier than the doctor's scale . . . now I'm convinced that his scale is miscalibrated.) Anyway, being nearly 17 months old and weighing only 9 kilos officially places her off the standard height/weight curve chart. Keep in mind, she has been hovering around the 10th percentile her entire life, so falling off the curve doesn't take much doing. The doctor was very, very grave about this.

He prescribed her medicine to increase her appetite. Mario and I would rather give her as little medicine as possible, so a regimen of appetite inducers three times a day sounded like a terrible idea. Like a good Mexican (or Hobbit), I am now introducing "second breakfast" (or almuerzo) to her eating schedule. I'm betting that this will put her solidly back onto that 10th percentile.

Appetite inducers . . . por favor. Let's be reasonable, doctor.

Having blown off all our doctor's advice, we basically just went to get her weighed and measured. We can do that at the IMSS. For free. One more visit full of crummy advice and we'll may just start making our taxes work for us.

And that could turn out to be the second time that I've preferred treatment from the IMSS than from a private doctor.

Go figure.

Home Remedies

My stomach got attacked with something the last couple of days, and it blew up into a serious problem last night. After I had downed the last and only Lomotil in the house (the best medicine ever for diarrhea), Paty and I scooted out to the OXXO to get some more.

But the OXXO was out of Lomotil. Time to panic!

Fortunately, Paty had two home remedies up her sleeve. First, she suggested drinking half a cup of lime juice with a teaspoon of sugar. I was willing, although I lamented what that might do to my tooth enamel. Then she suggested half a cup of Coke with the juice of half a lime. Still a dentist's nightmare, but it sounded a lot more palatable.

I tried the Coke and lime concoction twice and have had no further problems (knock on wood). It just may work.

Or, it may have been helped by that one Lomotil that I was able to get down.



Does anyone else have any other successful home remedies for this or other ailments? Knowing that this may have worked, I'm curious to know what else may be equally simple and equally successful.

The Evil Eye

For about the last eight months, it has struck me as odd that nearly everyone in Mexico who comes in contact with Clara feels the need to touch her gently on her head. Not being weirded out by legions of strangers touching my child, I just chalked it up to being a cute, touchy-feely custom of Mexican women who clearly love babies.

Then, while I was visiting NPH, one of the older kids asked me why Clara doesn't wear a red string on her wrist.

"Because I don't believe in the Evil Eye," I replied.

A-HA! That's it! All these strangers who have been touching Clara on her head have touching her to avoid giving her "mal de ojo" or the Evil Eye.

Ever since moving to Mexico, I've been fascinated with mal de ojo--what it is, the symptoms, and, most importantly, how to pass it on. Of course, I've been fascinated as a skeptic. Plenty of people really do believe in the Evil Eye.

Children who are infected by the Evil Eye are just mysterously ill. Now, being familiar with the causes of Mexican illnesses, this must be something to do with the child having flu-like symptoms, but as the child hadn't been out in the cold, the wind, or wet, this illness must have been caused by the Evil Eye . . . because germs clearly don't have anything to do with disease, right? *sigh*

Mario's niece was apparently infected with the Evil Eye when she was about 18 months old. Fortunately for me, I was visiting at the time (and I probably gave it to her). Mario's mother doesn't really believe in the Evil Eye, but Dulce's other grandmother does. So, Other Grandmother performed a cleansing ritual for Dulce. This involved bouncing the naked child in a blanket and then sticking some herbs behind her ears (rather Julius Cesear-like). Odd. But it must have worked, as Dulce recovered. Because, as Mario's mother warns me, despite the fact that she doesn't really believe in it, children have been known to die from the Evil Eye.

But Clara is going to take her chances. No red string bracelets for her. Fortunately, all the female population of Coahuila is willing to touch her after looking at her, which promptly lifts the curse.

Oh, I think of all those children I've flirted with while waiting in line at the grocery store. I hope they're OK. I didn't mean to give them the Evil Eye.

(OK, sometimes I did try.)

Adventures in Health Care

"So, you're going to have your baby in MEXICO?"

"Yes." For a variety of reasons:
1) We live here.
2) We can not afford to have a baby in the US. (We do have emergency health insurance for the US, but I don't think they'd count a full-term, natural delivery as an emergency.)
3) . . . OK, it appears that the money issue pretty much seals the deal.

Having now experienced Mexican health care in a variety of forms, I am fairly satisfied with the system. However, keep in mind that Mario's job provides us with excellent private health insurance, on top of the national system (which will hereafter be referred to as social security). Also keep in mind that I was one of those millions of uninsured Americans for at least two years, and it is such a relief to know that I can now seek medical attention without being thrown into welfare.

In summary, Mexico has two systems for its citizens. Well, let me be honest--I could say it has three. The most overarching system is the public system (social security). Any Mexican who pays taxes is eligible to receive services from social security for themselves and immediate family. A second option for many Mexicans, though unfortunately a small minority, is private insurance provided through one's employer (or for those who have the cash to shell out for a policy). The third option, for those who don't pay taxes, which comprises a significant amount of the population, is the shift-for-yourself method. Clearly, this is the failing of the system. However, keep in mind that Mexico is a developing country and I think the country as a whole does very well with the resources it has (in health care, at least). It's still absolutely horrible that many can not access decent health care, but the majority of the population do receive proper attention. In some ways, I think this system has the US's system beat, especially when you consider how many tax-paying Americans have no medical insurance.

I have had limited experience with Mexican public clinics, but my experiences have been positive. When I lived in Puebla, I woke up one day with a horrible, horrible sore throat and could not go in to work. The people at the school called in an appointment for me at the clinic that day. I didn't have to wait horribly long, they provided me with a translator, and prescribed me some antibiotics. I paid nothing apart from the taxes taken out of my paycheck. (Side note: I also went to a private doctor, as it was recommended from my school. That doctor forgot to check which medications make me throw up and prescribed me something that made me feel sicker than I already was. I would have been better off with the basic antibiotics from social security!)

Now that Little Girl needs vaccines, we do go to social security for those. We could get them through a private lab, but we'd be paying out the nose. Social security gives them out for free. We decided it was well worth our time to stand in line. So early on a Saturday morning (hoping it would be less crowded), we registered Little Girl and began a wait that we were sure would take roughly five hours. Only two hours later, we were called in, Little Girl received her monthly medical exam from the doctor and was sent to the lab for the shots. Fifteen minutes later we were out of there! The lab technician scheduled her next vaccine, so we wouldn't have to wait. And true to his word, we didn't wait at all. That last visit, we spent 10 minutes in total at the clinic. Not bad. So, in my opinion, social security works--particularly if you have an appointment and arrive on time.

Normally however, we use our private doctor. But honestly, we do not need an insurance policy apart from hospital visits. Every appointment I've had with either our obstretician or the pediatrician costs $400 (roughly 40 USD), and is paid in cash. And the beauty with the obstretrician's visit is that it included an ultrasound (3D) at every appointment at no additional cost. When I heard that my friends pay roughly 100USD for an ultrasound, I swore up and down that the next child will also be born in Mexico.

I have asked my sister-in-law (who's blind and therefore has trouble finding steady employment) what happens to those citizens who are permanently disabled or have chronic illness and therefore can not work (and pay taxes) because of their disability. After all, these people are the ones who have the most need for health care and no way of paying for it. She assured me that the government does indeed have a program to help the permanently disabled. No doubt there are quite a few who are not covered by such a program, but her assurances made me believe that they government is trying. I hope that is the case.

But for the average, tax-paying citizen, health care in Mexico seems to be on the right track. It is also one of the things that makes me grateful to live here.