The Cold

Posted on May 24, 2012 | 6 Comments

For the past week or so, I’ve been fighting off a cold. It’s great because pregnant women can’t take anything for their colds, so I’ve been suffering through it with my neti pot, tea, and mint-scented tissues. Also one of my ears is plugged and keeps popping at random intervals. I tried to demonstrate when I get the sensation, but apparently I looked quite humorous stretching my mouth out like I was roaring while simultaneously rolling my eyes back in my head.

The worst part is that I know exactly when I got sick. I was stepping on the metro as a very droopy man was stepping off. He took one step forward and hacked his plague germs into my face and walked off, lighter because he coughed out his cold out on me. My husband asked me later why I didn’t say anything to him. How can I curse out taxi drivers, yell at women who cut me off in line, and not say anything to an imbecile who doesn’t have the decency to cover his mouth when he expels his grossness all over my face? What was I supposed to say? Please, dear sir, consider covering your mouth before you cough, if you would be so kind. I doubt that would have made our one second exchange any more pleasant.

On second thought, maybe it wasn’t that man and his disgustingness. It could have been the railing I touched on the metro that a million other people ran their slimy, snotty hands across. It could be my new coworkers who are dropping like flies with various lung and throat afflictions. Maybe it was the basket I used when I went shopping that was crawling with microbes. This is why I just love winter. Yes, that comment was dripping with sarcasm. Sorry, WordPress doesn’t have a sarcastic font.

I guess in spite of being cold sick, I should be happy I haven’t been as sick with the Yuck as I was. My mom keeps asking me how much weight I’ve gained and I have to keep telling her that it’s more a question of gaining back what I lost when I kept throwing everything up. My inlaws gave me strict instructions to eat more – like I ever needed to be told to eat.

Please excuse me while I go eat something and work on popping my ear on command.

 

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The name of the game

Posted on May 22, 2012 | 16 Comments

Almost Done
Photo by http://bit.ly/KJBkpL

Did you ever ask your parents why they named you what they did? Maybe you love your name. Maybe you sort of don’t. Maybe your name makes you cringe, so you go by your middle name or a nickname. Do you think your parents just settled on a name because they were so irritated that everyone and their grandma kept asking them at every opportunity what they were going to name you, so finally they were all JIM BOB!? VOILA! Then they you were stuck with it? And all this time you thought they had it out for mini zygote you!

We haven’t picked a name, yet. Actually we aren’t even close, but well-meaning friends and family want to ask and suggest names at every turn. No, sorry, since we last talked 24 hours ago I have not decided what I want to call my child for the rest. Of. MY ITS. Life. But thanks for suggesting Bertha or Hirum. We’ll just file that away under the…oh yeh…NEVER category.

Maybe I’m the weird one, but I haven’t sensed a great urgency. I’m at 14 weeks. I’m not really showing yet and as far as I can tell, I still have around five plus months to figure one out. Plus, my husband has vetoed most of the names I liked. Granted I had about 100 girls’ names and one boys’ name. Why don’t men don’t understand that a name like Chloe is cute, unique, and quirky? Sigh.

Both sides of the family are making requests for something they can pronounce. My big stipulation is that if we choose a name in Spanish it can’t have any R’s that need rolling. I can only imagine myself running after a fugitive toddler screaming, “You get back here, Wodwigo!”

My brother suggested we tell everyone we are naming the baby Dark Ninja 34. Immediately, I responded, “Dark Ninja 34! What a great name. It’s even kind of unisex. It’s perfect!” And to think when my mom told me I was going to have a baby brother, the first words out of my tiny four-year-old mouth were: “Take him back…” Come to think, it may have been that comment that made my mom think I would never have my own children.

Now, since creating this post in my head yesterday, we may or may not have settled on a name…if it’s a girl. However, as things are constantly in flux around here, I don’t want to make any definitive announcements.

Until then, feel free to tweet me or leave a comment with name suggestions. I promise won’t lash out in hormonal rage. I think.

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A regular 9 to 5

Posted on May 17, 2012 | 9 Comments

I haven’t been on the interwebs in almost a week. I hope you haven’t missed me. I missed you. Well, the nice ones…

This week I made my way back to the working world. I’ll pause for you to take that in. Ready? Moving on…I know I wrote months ago that I had accepted a job and would soon be starting. Well, that didn’t happen. In the end, I decided that it seemed like a very interesting place to work, it just wasn’t the right fit for me. I felt bad, but I ended up declining it.

I figured the job offers would just come rolling in after that. After all, I was a recent MBA grad who spoke English. How naive I was! My expectations were met with crickets and my accounts on the popular job searching sites grew cobwebs.

Then two weeks ago I saw a listing for a job in an expat group I belong to and responded. I had an interview the same week. I was nervous because I had to cancel it when I ended up in the ER; however, they rescheduled. And it all worked out!

This was my first week of work.

And I felt rusty. The few social graces I had, have atrophied over the last three months of the Yuck. I laugh awkwardly at my own jokes, dominate conversations because I’m starved for a two-sided give and take, assume I know the answer to every question, and generally annoy those sitting closest to me.

Fortunately, the hours are flexible and I can still maintain my schedule that is chock full of sleeping in and avoiding the crush on the metro. Speaking of the metro, I hadn’t taken it to commute in ages. And people are really, really weird in the morning. Some may say the weirdos come out at night, I attest that they come out in the morning in their business-casual finest. I watch them taking their last laborious puffs on their cigarettes before heading down the escalator to board the train. Then, I watch as they run, or full-out sprint, to an approaching car, and push other people out of their trajectory. I observe as the frantic commuters shove each other as they get on and off the cars. The whole time I watch I smugly think that I’m so lucky I have flexible hours and am smart enough to leave my apartment with PLENTY OF TIME – a concept that has yet to take root in Chile.

On a side note, I work in a neighborhood that has a plethora of ethnic food options. Want authentic falafel or real Korean food in Santiago? Send me an email. I am now a mini expert. This is a good thing since I still don’t feel like cooking for myself and there is only so much salted, spiceless food one can take. (Sorry, Chile, I like many things about you, but your menu could use a makeover).

It’s been good to get back to being busy every day. My mood has improved….times 100. And now we have a long weekend. It’s Navy Day on Monday. How’s that? First week of work and the second week is a short week. Awesomeness.

How are you readers?

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My first energy session

Posted on May 12, 2012 | 6 Comments

I’ve wanted to do a session with acupuncture, reiki, or something similar for months. I think it’s part of what draws me to yoga – the idea that I can change myself from the inside by working with the energy in my body.

At the beginning of the week, I saw a message in one of the expat groups I belong to. It offered a free introductory energy session which it described as a visit to change the negative energy patterns in your body and life. I was sold. Really, I’m down for just about anything that is free. I described it beforehand to friends as an “energy massage”, but, in actuality, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

The session took place in an old house that had been converted into a Psychic Nutrition center that the pamphlets in the lobby boasted could help you overcome a variety of physical diseases of both the mind and body.

Aura (image from wikipedia).

I’m all for a good occult message, but I’m not a fan of unsubstantiated claims made to boost business, so I was skeptical. Although, to be fair, how many substantiated psychic claims exist?

It was a husband and wife pair. The woman started by telling me that she was going to feel my energy shield (aura) and tell me the symbols that came to her mind. Then she would extract the negative energy, transform it into something positive, and put it back – lest I leave unbalanced. Second, the man would do something similar, but tell me at what age the negative energy patterns began, possible reasons why, and suggest a psychic form of treatment. He explained that at a molecular level all disease is energy in nature. Therefore, it can be cured or treated by changing the body’s energy.

What did I have to lose? It was free, after all.

The woman started by telling me that I was very closed off. She said she could see that I have guns pointing out from my back and stomach to protect myself from attacks and keep people from getting too close. When she told me she was going to transform them, the sensation almost took my breath away. I wasn’t expecting to feel it, nor was I expecting the sadness that washed over me like I was mourning the loss of my armory.

Later, the man told me that he noticed some patterns in my life and gave me five different ages. He already knew, but asked me to confirm what had happened at each age that set me off on a pattern of anger and distrust. He said it made sense that my brain tumor was on the right side, or the side of our brain that controls our emotions, but told me that my head was clear now and not to worry about it coming back.

Their overwhelming message for me was that I was powerful. I could manifest anything I wanted in my own life, just by thinking positively and changing the negative thought patterns. It sounded nuts to me, like the babble that talk show psychologists tell an audience that is just generic enough to appear helpful to everyone. However, after the session, I left feeling lighter, happier. If there had been a psychic weight on my shoulders, I definitely didn’t have it anymore.

They told me that the changes from the session are sometimes slow to transpire and that if I choose to continue, they usually recommend waiting two weeks between sessions. It felt better to hear that they weren’t eager to see me as soon as the ink dried on my mastercard statement.

I slept great last night for the first time in months. I didn’t have nausea, muscle spasms, headaches…I didn’t even use earplugs and the noise of the street hardly bothered me. Maybe there is something to this.

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How I got my visa stamped and felt really good about it

Posted on May 9, 2012 | 13 Comments

I’ve had a tiny attitude problem lately. Okay. Okay. So I’m normally stubborn, hot-headed, obstinate, whatever, but it’s been worse lately. I blame hormones and my erratic blood sugar. Hell hath no fury like a hungry pregnant woman. The end.

I’ve been lashing out at taxi drivers, receptionists at the clinic I visit, and the woman who had the lady balls to cut in front of me in line as I tried to pay for a sandwich at the bakery yesterday. Rest assured that she is probably now thoroughly confused as to why the seemingly innocuous blonde girl suddenly grew fangs and attacked…in two languages!

But something good did happen to me. I finally got my visa stamped in my passport and applied for my Chilean ID card which will be ready next week. Three words: 1. About 2. Freaking 3. Time. It’s hardly difficult to apply for a visa in Chile. Sometimes it can be hard to find information, but in my experience they usually let a few mistakes slide, like how on my last visa it was approved as a student visa, but was actually a work visa. No biggie. I still got it. (Note to self: Add to list of ‘Things that would so not fly in the US’.)

In any case, this time I applied using the fact that I had Chilean roots and waited the several months for them to send me a letter saying my visa was being processed. We celebrated, obviously. Last week, I got the letter that my visa was ready to be stamped in my passport. Yay! Only, it was dated a month prior to me having received it. The mail here can sometimes be a black hole of mystery, so it probably just chilled in the mailman’s bag for 30 days while he got into the mood to deliver it. But, once again, no biggie!

The only problem is that the entire process of getting the visa, registering it, and applying for the ID card requires a visit to three offices around Santiago, and you have to start early. Government offices are usually only open from 8:30-2:00 everyday and everyone and their Peruvian maids are trying to get their visas at the same time. I didn’t know if I’d be up to it seeing as my last post detailed my trip to the ER for the Yuck that won’t quit. But, I was. I entertained myself with bad jokes like Q: Why can bureaucrats in Chile only work from 8:30-2:00? A: Because the rest of the day they are hanging upside down from a cave! Hilarious, right? People? People?

I got to the first office at 8:15 and was the third in line. It was a miracle. The guard announced that they were already helping a group of special visa-seekers who were inside and had been waiting since 4 AM. We waited for them to leave and then I was up. It was so smooth. I had heard rumors that the government was trying to facilitate certain errands, and this time was much easier than last time. The only part that dragged on was the final stop at the Civil Registry, which is sort of like your standard DMV or Courthouse. I got there and thought the line was five people long, only to realize that everyone sitting down (a good 25 people) were also in line. I didn’t let it break my stride. In the end, I got a receipt for my ID card.  I didn’t have to raise my voice at anyone. It was all very civil. I knew you’d be proud.

Do you know how hard it is to find one of these with the personal information blacked out? It will look something like this. (Image from Wikipedia.)

Next time, the receptionist at my clinic tells me I can’t use my fancy new insurance because it’s SO irresponsible of me not to have an ID card  and have to pay out-of-pocket for my visit, I will brandish my new card. (They think that Immigration just hands these things out like candy when foreigners enter the country. Want a cédula? Take TEN! They’re delicious!) I may even tatoo it to my forehead. We’ll see…

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Wherein I get IV fluids like all the other trendsetters

Posted on May 7, 2012 | 14 Comments

I haven’t written in several days. At first it was because I was feeling so much better, was doing lots of cool things, and I was so convinced of my own awesomeness that I let my prescription for the pink magic pills that help me not to throw up so much go without refilling it. But Nature is a bitch. You know, can’t give her an inch, she takes a mile… Yes, that’s Nature. And Nature hates me.

Yesterday, started out as one of the worst days so far. It didn’t disappoint from the beginning. I didn’t keep anything down all day, not food, not water. I puked in the car on the way to the grocery store, almost in the grocery store, but ended up doing it in front of a family with small children in a garbage can outside. It was really a special moment. We bonded.

In the afternoon, my husband had to leave for a short business trip. As soon as he left, it intensified. I tried to relax. I tried to sleep. I tried distractions, but nothing helped. At about 11:30 at night I noticed something strange. I won’t detail it here, but I was convinced I had just thrown up blood. That’s why at 11:30 at night I hailed a taxi to take me to the ER.

At first, the driver seemed decent. He looked clean-cut. He had a shiny, new, expensive model taxi with a dock for his iPhone. Note: You know it’s a problem when your taxi driver has an iPhone in Chile…long story. I explained where I was headed. My voice was gruff and gravelly from the day’s exertion. He made me repeat myself three times. I did so obligingly. Then he asked me if it was on street A, B, or C. I stopped. I knew what was happening and I was so not in the mood for it.

“Look, if you don’t know where it is, let me off. I’ll get another taxi.”

“Sorry, it’s just that you are a foreigner and you have a thick accent, so I can’t understand you.”

“Let me off, you stupid moron. Let me off. I’m speaking your damn language.” Miraculously, he understood that, although I’m sure it was hard to cut through the thickness of my foreignness, poor thing. I got out and slammed the door of his shiny cab with all the force I could muster and he drove off.

Normally, even though I despise taxi drivers, I make it a point to not insult them while still inside the car. But last night was different. I was not in the mood for the “I’m going to take the gringa around the WHOLE CITY before taking her the to hospital” bit. I may have an accent, but I’m not an idiot. Plus, not to toot my own horn, but usually people compliment me on my Spanish. Sorry, tangent.

At the hospital, they triaged me immediately with a pelvic exam and an ultrasound. There were three male doctors in the room all looking at my lady business, telling me to just relax, like that was going to happen. Thanks, because this is exactly how I “relax” at home. Why, I even have my own stirrups for special relaxation purposes! The good news is that everything was normal. The ultrasound showed a tiny looking baby. It actually looked like a baby with a little head and curled-up body. The last one where you could still see remnants of its vestigial tail, and even though I didn’t say it, I panicked and convinced myself I was having a lizard.

Then, I got the life juice for the next four hours. First, they gave me a baggy of fluids with medication to calm my overactive stomach. The next was to hydrate me. I left feeling on top of the world, despite the lingering cotton mouth, and the fact that I had to once again find a taxi – but this time in not the best neighborhood. Fortunately, everything was fine. I even caught a taxi right in front of a police officer in a bus only zone.

I hope your Sunday was better. You’d have to be supremely unlucky if it wasn’t, am I right? Peace out.

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Bob Dylan: A Slice of Americana in Santiago

Posted on May 3, 2012 | 11 Comments

I’m not good at remembering bands, or songs even. A typical song conversation with me goes “I like that one, you know the one, the boo boo bee boop boo BOOP one? Yeh. You should listen to that one.” Meanwhile, the listener has just put me under the list of People not to ask to DJ your next party.

So, yes, I’m from the US. I even went to high school in a small Minnesotan town (much like mi amigo Mr. Dylan), but I had never heard a Bob Dylan song until two years ago, and my family even listens to folk! But ask me to list the greatest hits of the Spice Girls, and I’m all “alphabetically or chronologically?” Essentially, I’ve failed as an ambassador of my culture and make a sucky Minnesotan. *Dramatic sigh*

Several months ago, my husband surprised me with tickets to Bob Dylan’s concert in Santiago. Of course, at that time we didn’t know that come May 2nd, I would be three months pregnant and still dealing with morning sickness. As the concert neared, he kept asking me, “You can still go, right?” And it was touch and go for a while, but I had a good day yesterday: a doctor’s appointment in the morning, a meeting in the afternoon, a sandwich larger than my head for lunch (the doctor says I need my iron, okay?). Yes, it was good.

At 7:30 yesterday evening, we set out for the Movistar Arena by car. If anyone wants to know how long it takes to traverse the city at the peak of rush hour, relax in the knowledge that it only takes exactly 90 minutes. We arrived, breathless, during the first set.

I don’t have a lot of experience with big name concerts. I have Tori Amos, Aventura, Morrissey, and now Bob Dylan. Tori Amos seemed like someone I’d want to sing me through a breakup and help me key the bastard’s car. I thought Morrissey was a foul-tempered diva. Aventura tried too hard. Bob Dylan was pretty good in comparison. I mean, he’s BOB DYLAN. If the sound that came out of his throat sounded like two cats having sex, people would still go see him. And, truth be told, we agreed that his voice sounded like he’s smoked a lot of menthols over the years, but when was he ever a “good” singer? Plus, he changed the rhythm of many of his most popular songs, so that they were almost unrecognizable to us. However, he seemed like he enjoyed performing and like he was happy to be playing in Santiago.

I joked to my husband that I understood about 60% of what he said. At certain points, I thought he was just making word-like sounds. It could have been gibberish, because who would know? Really? Who would know?

Towards the end, I was getting tired and a little queasy. As soon as the lights dimmed after the final number, the crowd started cheering for an encore. As a rule, I hate encores. How many times have you heard an encore and it’s been something that you actually wanted to hear or one of their popular songs? Almost never. Normally, it’s some garbage song they dig out from the bottom of their playlist. Not so with Bob Dylan. For his final number, he played Blowing in the Wind, although it sounded nothing like the Blowing in the Wind from the CD.

And I did fine, too. I held my cookies until we got into the car and the jostling of the streets made me spew them. Luckily we keep baggies, tissues, and wet wipes everywhere now (such fun!). Isn’t that how all good concerts should end? Puking in the car on your way home? But, usually not from morning sickness.

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Root Beer and Beige Foods

Posted on April 30, 2012 | 12 Comments

Yay. For once a post that’s not all about puking. You’re welcome. I’ve felt great – okay, great is a stretch – since I had that one bad day/night. Part of the transformation I equate to this: 

Root beer is not impossible to find in Chile, but it is difficult. They usually only sell it in the bigger supermarkets and even then only occasionally, mostly because Chileans hate it. In fact, my in-laws reactions when they tried it ranged from full body shakes, choking, to “It’s okay, but there is a medicinal aftertaste.” Yes, but it’s an AMAZING medicinal aftertaste.

I mentioned two months ago that I wanted to make a root beer float. Since then we’ve scoured super markets in various cities, but to no avail. Then a few days ago my husband went to the store with a list of my usual beige foods in hand and called me, “You are not going to believe what I just found!” If someone had knocked on the door from the Chilean version of The Publishers’ Clearinghouse, I could not have been more ecstatic. I was literally, inexplicably, starving for this soda.

Nothing ever tasted so delicious. Thank God vanilla ice-cream is a beige food. Root beer floats, anyone?? If this trend continues, I may go back to yoga next week. But, just in case, I got some new knitting needles and yarn. I fully plan to…er…relearn and make a square of something.

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The good with the bad

Posted on April 26, 2012 | 12 Comments

It’s weird because after my last post I was really feeling the love from my fellow “been there, done that” internet sisters, and maybe some of that rubbed off because I had a couple of good days in a row. In fact, yesterday was so good that I ate an almost normal diet, didn’t throw up once, went for a walk, got complimented by hollered at by a group of depraved construction workers, and even stopped by to see some of our friends who had a baby.

As we walked in with our little present and card, my mind was full of really grown-up questions, such as “Did it hurt?” and “Like, how much did it hurt?” Then, we opened the door, saw the baby, the tired looks on the new mom and dad’s face and the words died on my tongue. So my husband did it for me.

The answer was that it hurt a ton until the epidural kicked in, then she couldn’t even feel if she was pushing. Yes, that’s what I want my birthing plan to look like: “I want ALL the drugs!” Except, I have to figure out how that works since I could go into anaphylaxis from an epidural due to the mastocytosis. If that is the case, I need someone to knock me over the head Flintstone-style with a blunt object and wake me when it’s over. Now, where to find an OB/GYN who thinks that is medically advisable?

Yes, yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I felt almost normal for a change, not like a frumpy, puffy, nauseated, constipated, hormonal mess than goes from hysterical laughter to hysterical crying at the drop of a pin.

Then, I went to sleep and woke up at 4:30 this morning puking in projectile squirts that sleepy me only half cleaned up. It was fun. Next time I’ll take pictures so we can all share the action.  Joke. That was a joke. Needless to say, today has been much slower as I struggle to avoid the nausea. I’m waiting now for the internet guys to come install our internet once and for all, as well as inject some channels in the kickass new TV we bought to accompany me on the crappy days. Seeing how our saga has previously progressed with this company, I’m surprisingly optimistic (or hallucinating from the lack of food). Although they did say they would be here sometime this hour and the hour is quickly waning along with my malnourished patience.

Tomorrow at this time, granted this crappy pattern continues, I could be watching something on the TV instead of writing inane blog posts about nothing (if they show up…PRAY they show up).

All day morning sickness, because it’s morning somewhere!

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Seven things that people need to stop saying about morning sickness

Posted on April 23, 2012 | 14 Comments

Actually, readers, I’ve been feeling a lot better lately, thank you very much. I had a couple of days last week that were plain rotten, but the trend seems to be going in the right direction. However, in my misery, I’ve compiled a list that I wish people would never say ever again about morning sickness. People love nothing more than to insert their helpful, feel good comments when they are at lack of what to say. It’s like the list I made about what people should never ever say when you are recovering from brain surgery (“Hey, it could be worse” tops that list). I don’t remember if I ever published it.

1. It’s not just the morning. Whoever invented that particular phrasing in English must not have been a woman. In fact, I move that we start calling it the All Day Yuck.

2. “It will be over at week 13, 14, 16…etc.” My mom, my mother in law, as well as some friends I’ve spoken with recently, all had morning sickness throughout their entire pregnancies, so it doesn’t always end. People exempt from rule #2: women with personal experience.

3. “Pregnancy is beautiful. I never felt better.” Really? I mean, really? When I’m not puking up a boot, I’m bemoaning the fact that I’m not showing yet, but I’ve developed sort of a puffy, constipated look that is oh so becoming. Where do the books address this??

4. Imply that you have to gladly suffer through it because it is a woman’s lot in life. What crap. I mean, seriously, crap. I don’t gladly suffer through anything. If a man had to do this for three days, let alone three to nine months, they would know how to put a plug in it. Literally.

5. That I am in any way exaggerating the symptoms. Next time you get food and motion induced involuntary bulimia we’ll talk about who’s exaggerating, okay?

6. “You shouldn’t be taking that medication to control it.” Let’s see, now, shall we? My doctor and I weighed the disadvantages of me not eating and becoming dehydrated versus taking a pill twice a day that still only sometimes manages to quell the yuck. We decided that it’s worth it to eat and keep down fluids.

7. “With your second it will be easier.” At this point, there won’t be a second. Plus, I’ve always envisioned myself with just one child.

Can we just agree to quit saying these things? It would make my life a lot easier. I’ll be in a better mood tomorrow. I think.

Peace out.

Maybe you heard one you’d like to add to the list? Feel free!

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