Birth Day

Joaquin is here!!! He was born on Thursday, February 11th at 11:26 a.m.
I would tell you how long he is and how much he weighs, but that would involve a mathematical conversion from the SI metric system, so unfortunately that’s totally not happening.

On the day of his arrival, I accompanied my papís and abuelos to the Hospital Metripoliana. Originally, my papí asked if I want to watch the cesarean and because of what a rare opportunity that presented, of course, I said yes. Then he hesitantly questioned whether I was afraid of blood. I told him that I grew up on a farm, so sangre wasn’t a problem. When we arrived at the hospital, the air was overflowing with nerves. Mamí was immediately taken back for preparations and I stayed with papí as he filled out a mountain of additional paperwork. Then we all reunited in a tiny exam room to wait. Amidst the nervous chatter Mamí cradled her stomach and said, “Oh little Joaquin, what will you be like?” Papí wrapped his hand over hers and uttered, “Please don’t be as white as Bequí loca,” and the room erupted with icebreaking laughter. Bequí’s complexion is finer than mine and everyone wonders where she came from, so that seems to be the running joke in my family.

When the Doctor came in for the final exam before the surgery, the room was stuffily cramped. We got the feeling our presence was superfluous, but since both my parents work shifts at the Hospital Metripoliana, we must have been receiving special treatment, begrudgingly that is. During the exam, the doctor didn’t say much; the wishy-wash of Joaquin’s heartbeat overpowered the atmosphere. All eyes were focused on the monitor and it was painstakingly obvious that both my papís knew the meaning behind the figures, dashes, and flickers. The Doctor stated something I didn’t quite grasp and then rhetorically questioned, “estás lista,” before a nurse released the brakes on the hospital bed. Papí leaned over and gave mamí a sweet kiss on the forehead and whispered something in her ear. Mamí teared up which I don’t know why I found that so surprising, such an emotion is completely expected in the situation, but I guess I have always seen her as such a strong, controlled woman who in moments of intimacy vulnerably loves.

As mamí was wheeled out, Abuela Lolita, who was already decked out in scrubs and a lab coat from being on duty; handed me and Papí scrubs, caps, and masks. Papí pushed his away and shaking his head muttered, “No puedo (I can’t).” His mother gave him a very uncompassionate ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ glance and lashed, “Vamos Raquel.” I gave my scrubs back too and said I was going to stay with papí. He squeezed my hand and half smiled saying, “I’ve never been on this side before.” I wasn’t sure if he was worried he might interfere with the doctor’s work or if he was afraid he couldn’t keep it together.

I reassured him that everything was going to be okay and we reunited with mamí’s parents, sister-in-law, Cris, and papís’ sister, Lodi in the waiting room. Mamí Favi and I said a quick prayer that she sealed with a cross in the name of the Father, Son, and Espiritu Santa and then continued knitting a little yellow chompa or jacket for Joaquin. My tías and I conversed, papayó read El Comercio, and papí paced the hall outside.

At 11:27 Abuela Lolita emerged without a smile. There was a sudden interaction between her and papí in the hall and then he fled. She gave us an update that began, “Joaquin es muy L-I-N-D-O (very pretty) pero hay complicaciones con Doris…” and then she proceeded to throw out a ton of words I didn’t recognize. Apparently there was a loss of blood and trouble re-stitching the incision. Mamí was another hour in surgery, but in the meantime the PEDS pulled the curtain to reveal a tiny, flailing lobster ball with slick black hair. We all emotionally gazed as they stamped his baby footprints and sighed “pobrecito” as his vocal cords exploded when they pinched a diaper on him for the first time. We lingered with Joaquin as long as they would let us and waited to hear news of mamí’s condition. When we knew everything was repaired and she had been taken to recovery upstairs, the relief was reinvigorating. Abuela Lolita relayed that mamí would be in extreme pain and would be staying in the hospital until Sunday.

Mamí Favi, papayó, Cris and I went to lunch at a little almuerzo café. At Ecuadorian joints such as this you simply order the special and it’s always authentically delicious and usually is a three course meal for under 2 dollars. Over chicken tortilla soup, papayó asked me how I felt. At first I thought to myself why are you asking me, your emotions should be more valid than mine, but, I responded, “Estoy muy contenta.” Then he questioned, “y porque?” I wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to know or just loves providing opportunities for me to practice Spanish. “Porque este día he mirado uno de los milagros de Dios y mi hermanito, Joaquin, es perfecto y precioso.¨ The truth is every day is a day overflowing with miracles.

I’m convinced my little brother is an angel. He’s ridiculously adorable. Bequí and I are surely sisters because we fight over whose turn it is to hold our baby brother. My parents are very trusting of me with the baby. They pass him off like he’s just a little taco and like I actually know what I’m doing. I could hold him for hours upon hours watching the cute faces he makes and pretty much have. When he cries my papís exclaim, “Oh no, el gato,” which means the cat because he has a meowing little cry. He is an excellent baby and anytime he does in fact cry Bequi and I come running and she exclaims, ¨Todo esta bien Joaquin, sin lloras. Sus hermañas estan aqui ahorita¨ which pretty much translates to ¨Everything is fine, Joaquin, don´t you cry, your sisters are here now¨ like we are the world panecea to all life´s problems. Bequi and I are infatuated with baby brother, Joaquin, and apparently both of us have bragged at school and to the whole world about him.

Thanks for all your prayers and most of all Thanks be to GOD for the beautiful gift of new life and new creation and the fufilled promise of a present, eternal life that is certainly worth the living.

Little Joaquin

Being a part of my Ecuadorian family is kinda like having front row seats to an episode of Grey´s Anatomy where you get to experience all the drama. My mami, papi, and grandpa are all gynecologists not to mention the fact that my abuela and tia are both nurses, so I have pretty much set foot in every clinic and hospital in Quito and Cumbaya.

It’s not unusual for women to whip out an ultrasound for a quick consultation at a restaurant, at the hairdressers, at my cousin’s soccer games and its even more exciting when we are stopped and get to see the most recent picture of a baby one of my parents delivered. Aside from the professionalism and having attained a specialized degree in medicine (which in South America means you have studied for at least a decade); my parents are extremely dedicated and passionate about their callings.

Papi usually works long hours, so the Tuesdays when I have Bible Study we eat a late night dinner together. When we peaked in the master bedroom this past tuesday, both mami and Bequi where tangled up in the covers with Elmo squished in between. Papi laughed and said se murieron, which means they died or are out, figuratively speaking, of course.

Over cilantro and yucca soup, he apologetically confessed that he didn´t maintain such ridiculous hours for the money. From his rhetoric, I could tell he laments the time he misses out on at home. He told me how hard it was to say no to his patients saying, ¨Even though, to me, it may be the hundredth baby I have delivered this week; to the mother, it’s the child she has prayed over, hoped for, and waited on for so long or maybe it’s the mistake she wishes she could take back and now she’s terrified, alone, and desperately needs someone to hold her hand. ¨ The conversation continued to get deeper as he talked about how he went to high school with the mother of one of his patients (who is about to be a grandmother) and how shocking that was since he is 36 and his oldest is two. Then he asked about what age I hoped to get married and have kids by and I just laughed. I did tell him that in 16 years when I was his age and Bequi was 18, she could come live with me in the U.S. as an exchange student and find out. His retort was, ¨I’ll send her over to babysit.¨ I looked at him puzzled, so he clarified, ¨How do you know you won’t still be right here in Ecuador with us.¨Definitely something to think about…

After that he pulled Joaquin’s ultrasound out of his pocket and showed me the scans. Aside from the fact that Joaquin is overdue, his heart is racing way to fast. My entire family has been tiptoeing on glass this week, so papi decided to schedule his c-section for tomorrow February 11^th at 11:00 a.m. Please be in prayer for my mami, Doris, and that God would lay hands on little Joaquin´s corazon tomorrow.

It has been a wonderful experience being Doris´oldest daughter at baby showers packed full of Ecuadorian women who didn´t speak a word of English; helping papi assemble Joaquin´s crib and laughing at how many times it took us to get it right; and shopping with mami for all the last minute items she´ll need at the hospital. Bequi and I can´t wait to meet out new little brother!