MORE WE AND LESS ME

Bob Barker and I have one thing in common. That is, no one is into our games. Well all I can say is that it's a good thing nobody played and won because the winner was going to get a FREE all expenses paid trip to sunny southern Spain. Not really, but it was worth a shot at making you feel guilty for not posting a guess. And since I know you're all curious as to what was missing off that hospital tray from my last post, I'll tell you.

Yes, here in the public hospital apparently giving patients a beverage with their meal is considered 'excessive'. It shocked the hell outta' me surprised me too. When I was admitted for a week earlier during this pregnancy I learned the BYOB rule the hard way. Now wiser, I had Joe bring me half a dozen 2 liter bottles of the bubbly to keep me hydrated.

Basically, the differences between my experiences in American hospitals versus those here in Spain are really more cosmetic than anything else. Granted, water is kind of a big deal in terms of nutrition but I think I can explain it.

You see here, the culture is such that if you have a loved one admitted at least one family member will stay bedside and keep vigil. If you're a gypsy, then you can multiply that by about 5 or 6 family members. No matter what though, your family will be here. There is no denying it and you have no choice in the matter because you are the 'not well' one. In having that family member bedside, you now have an automatic nurse's aid. It's your family member who will help you to the bathroom, help you to shower, help you get up and out of bed, help you change your clothes, and yes, get you that bottle of water when you need it. The nurses here are more focused on administering meds, updating their charts, and seeing that floor rules are being followed. They are not your mother, not your sister, and definitely not your waitress so don't even think about asking.

Additional examples of how the fat is trimmed here include the following:
-PAY-AS-YOU-GO TV CARDS
10 euros buys you 10 hours of tv programming
-SHARED ROOMS
Birthing suite?  Uhm, what's that? When it's time you'll be wheeled
down to the delivery room.  See No Delivery Service below.
-NO OPEN SNACK BAR/BEVERAGE STATIONS
-LIMITED TRANSPORTATION
this floor has 2 or 3 wheelchairs which means you may have to wait an extra 5- 10 minutes to go down for that ultrasound, to see your baby or to go pump
-NO DELIVERY SERVICE
If you want a service, you have to go to its location because they don't come to you.   For example, there's a lactation room with 6 Medela
breast pumps available daily from 8am-midnight. Wanna pump? Fine,
come on down.   But they won't be bringing one to your bedside.

For those who want more pampering there is private insurance which will net you a more country club experience but should complications arise be prepared to be shipped off to the public hospital because that's where all the specialists are. Is it third world? Hardly. But it is different. Once you figure out the game rules, it's really astonishing at how easily it all flows with what some might say is so little. And the best part is that it's available to everyone at the same bargain price: free. There are no copays. There are no more calls to Blue Cross Blue Shield to fight over prescription coverage or to explain why an extra ultrasound is needed. Here the doctor calls the shots not the claims agent.

This isn't to say that Spaniards don't pay for their medical care though. We do considerably more in taxes of which a hefty sum goes to healthcare. So yeah, there is a cost make no mistake. And sadly, I used to be one of those who said no way to the notion of my tax dollars going to pay for somebody else's healthcare. Why should I have to pay to get YOUR (insert health issue) treated? Sorry, not my problem. This coming from the girl who had a sweet insurance package from work but also one that cost me time I'll never get back with my three little ones because with my husband being self employed there was no other choice but to work. Had I not worked we would have never been able to afford coverage for our family being that two of the kids have a preexisting condition. No way. Never. So now, just a year into our new life in Spain I'm singing a different song. Way different. And I like it.

I'm not getting my million dollar birthing center experience like I had with the other three and that's okay. I now see how much pomp and circumstance was rolled into my Stateside hospital stays and to some degree it embarrasses me. Do we really need free soda machines in our maternity wards? A fountain in every atrium?  Is it the best use of the nurse's time to be babysitting a bunch of breast pumps? More importantly, would socialized medicine at this level work in the States? I don't know but I tend to lean towards hell no as opposed to just no or maybe. Why? American medicine, and this is just my opinion so don't get your panties in a bunch, is just too big a beast to tame. Insurance companies and hospital administrators and to some extent, the public have turned it into a profit seeking monster. The next time you flip on your local television station and see an ad for your city's leading medical center you might want to ask yourself this: 
Why do they need to advertise? 

That right there says it all.  Doesn't it?

COME OOOOOOOOOOOOON DOWN...

Oh and don't forget, please help control the pet population.
Have your pets (and husbands) spayed or neutered.

Okay, kids. Today we're going to play a little game. It's called, VAYA, QUE CRISIS! Now let's say it together in our best Castillian accents, /buy-ya-kay-crease-ease/.  Very good.

The rules are simple, there are none. Just look at the picture carefully and try to figure out what's missing. I'm not hiding anything, what you see is what I got so put your thinking caps on. Post your answers in the comments section and I'll follow up in a couple of days with the answer and explanation provided to me.

Ready?  Here we go...

Lunch:  baked fish (cod?), sauteed green beans & mushrooms, bread, sal morejo &
for dessert (drumroll) sliced apples.  Red & white packet is salt.

CIRCUS FREAKS UNITE

I'm not sure what is more torturous; being confined to a hospital bed indefinitely or being forced to watch Japanese anime cartoon reruns in Spanish.  I'm thinking the latter.

My little, round, Ecuadorian roommate delivered last night.  She had been having contractions throughout the afternoon and by merienda they whisked her away.  Her baby, a girl, was born by cesarian and from what I've picked up from the nurses, is now resting and growing in the NICU. 

I miss my Ecuadorian mamacita.  She was nice.  I wonder if they put us together based on our immigration status?  Probably not, but it seems that way sometimes.  It's tough to be the Americana on the ward.  I'm like the freak show at the circus; patients, visitors, even nurses & orderlies walk slowly by my room and stare in at me.  I should resurrect a turnstile and charge just for rubbernecking.  It's like they've all got money on the foreign girl to break down and start rubbing fecal matter into her hair or do something equally revolting.  I'm different and I get that.  Still, it's no fun to be the odd man out, especially when you're stuck trying to translate the game rules mid-play.

My new roommate moved in with her mom late last night.  She's a twenty-something with rotten ovaries.  They abandoned their room down the hall in hopes of finding peace and sanitation with me, The Circus Freak.  Apparently, her lottery draw was not so fortunate as she got stuck in a room with a family of heavy smokers.  Not all that big of a deal since smoking is prohibited in and around hospital grounds...until they decided that getting their fix was best done in the shared hospital room bathroom.  Me?  I would've pulled out my numb chucks and gone all Bruce Lee on their asses but the Spanish are much more couth, more European, more Coco Channel.  She asked for a transfer of room, was granted it and is now buddied up with me until her discharge which will inevitably be before mine. 

My feet are up and my diaper moist but snug.  Alas, another day to grow a baby and some rhoids.  I think I'll kill a few hours and contemplate that fecal mask afterall.  But only after the brushing up on my kanji.  There is afterall, a buttload of zitless teen anime warriors to keep track of.

THE FISH

Now afloat in the land of socialized medicine, this bump in the road is just one more notch in a belt that no longer fits.  But since I tend to get questions as to how it works, here's the 411 on how it's all gone down.

First off, the hospital parking lot is like the long term one at the Des Moines International Airport - a hike even in the best of weather except here in Cordoba there's no shuttle service, at least none that I've ever seen.   So, ever my knight in shining armor, Joe opted to run up over the curb and 'park' on the sidewalk that runs adjacent to the Emergency Maternity entrance. Upon waddling in I was immediately escorted to an exam room where two doctors were on-call and waiting.   Although there were patients waiting to be seen, I was bumped ahead of them and given a free pass in.  Once in the exam room, I pantomimed gave the docs the low down on my current situation  while they looked up my history on the computer and entered the data that I was butchering relaying. Meanwhile, Joe was 20 feet away presenting my health card. There was no registration paperwork to complete and more importantly no insurance headaches to deal with. I was in.

Next stop: pelvic exam & ultrasound. I'll spare you the gory details but let you know that baby was perfectly fine, swimming around in what measured to be normal amounts of amniotic fluid. No distress, strong heart rate, cervix (mine, not hers) closed, mucus plug still in, and cuello/neck (I had no idea I had a neck in my vagina but oh well, bonus I guess) long. Oops on the gory details, shoulda' just stuck with everything looked great minus the Mighty Mississippi that was trailing behind me in the wheelchair.  

Upon confirmation that indeed my amniotic sac had ruptured, it was off to get a stress test over the river and through the woods down in the fetal monitoring room.  The hospital here was built back in the Roman times 60's and 70's and like some older American hospitals, it seems to have been designed by Hellen Keller with tons of dead end hallways and inefficient uses of space but whatever, I was in a wheelchair just along for the ride.  In the stress test room,  they hooked me up for about 30 minutes to track baby's heartrate and see if I was having any contractions . Joe was made to wait outside with the other fathers-to-be. Somewhat 1950's in approach but I didn't mind since the room was small and he would've been bored anyway. And more good news, no contractions.

It was after the fetal monitoring that things took a turn for the worse.  I was shackled to the wheelchair and taken away to my cell for what is to be the duration of my sentence.  A green and white wrist band would be my only identity and unfortunately one that no one here can figure out how to pronounce so why bother?  Lesson learned, I shoulda' just stuck with PicklePits but being the newest fish in the pond, mispronunciation and total confusion would have to suffice.   The shakedown from pueblo to cellblock took about two hours and that includes the travel time, not bad for socialized medicine.  I'm on permanent lock down with strict instructions to stay in bed except for the occasional trip to the toilet.  My cellmate is in for the same charges: premature rupture at 29 weeks. 

So what's our gig while in the joint?  Well, the protocol here for a premature rupture of waters is complete bedrest accompanied by an alternating two day regimen:  fetal monitoring and labs.  Since posting however, they've had me down daily for monitoring.  I've been told repeatedly that the amniotic fluid is the least of their concerns.   They're monitoring for contractions and infection, any of which can necessitate immediate delivery.   I'll also be given periodic ultrasounds to monitor the goings on in my deflating swimming pool. The doctor told me that new amniotic fluid is regenerated throughout a 24 hour cycle so hopefully, with strict bedrest I can squeak out these next three weeks. That's the plan anyway. 

Stay tuned for the Grande Tour. It makes Folsom look like the Ritz Carlton. 
Trust me, you'll love it.
[rolling eyeballs]