Life flows on in steamy Weslaco. Time is hard to palpate here as the humidity is so thick that you seem to float through the space of a day. As I was attending a birth around 8:30am the other day (was it yesterday?) I found myself musing aloud, is it AM or PM? The combination of heat, the isolation of the Holy Family compound where I live and work, and the nature of the work: crawling out of bed in the middle of the night to walk over to the birth suite, staying up until the wee hours and then sleeping until I wake, make the concept of time and diurnal routine seem very mysterious.
The two births I’ve attended have been wonderful. The women here are warriors. They arrive nearly ready to drop the baby from their pelvis, they walk around a bit, and then push their babies into the world with little complaint (drug free) in a matter of contractions.
I am further impressed by the care I am able to give at the center. I feel like I can fully give myself to caring for the women and not feel burdened by negativity and the pressure to judge the patients. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about working in a hospital that sets people up for being judgmental and resentful of patients. It’s as if you don’t judge your patients (commenting on their lifestyle or individual choices, be it for healthcare or clothes or whatever), you risk being judged by your peers as being one of them for not noticing all their downfalls. Maybe it’s that nursing is a bit isolating, since you care for your patients on your own for the most part, so maybe talking about patients is a way to bond with co-workers. But people are at their most vulnerable when they are in the hospital, and nurses and doctors often forget this and become disconnected from what a significant life experience it is to be hospitalized. It makes me sick, and it’s one of many reasons I hated working in the hospital system.
Here, I feel relieved to be able to put all of that aside and put my energy toward loving and caring for the patient. It’s very freeing. I had forgotten what it was like to give myself completely to a something or someone. I am reminded of how much grace there is in letting go and letting yourself be an instrument for something beyond you (whether you call that God, or the universe, or something else).
Yesterday I attended a Quinceanera, which is a sort of “coming out” party for a girl when she turns 15. Many Latin American cultures have this custom on different levels, but it’s a big deal for many Mexican families. The Quinceanera queen is dressed in a fancy white dress (think poufy wedding dress), and she is attended by her Quinceanera court of friends and family (think wedding party). There are floral arrangements, a DJ, food, professional pictures, gifts, dance presentations, and of course the presentation of the young lady. I had fun dancing to county-western, reggaton, cubia, and a strange assortment of 80s and techno.
Yesterday too, I started my garden, or rather I took over the garden of the girl who is leaving next week. I nibbled on some mint leaves while carefully placing lettuce seeds into the earth and watering the existing crop of carrots and beans. There are papaya and fig trees on the grounds, whose abundance I look forward to tasting soon. Food is so much more appreciated (and so much yummier) when you watch its growth, anticipating it, and finally receiving the immediate gratification upon picking and tasting it right out of the dirt. Que rica es la vida!
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