The four witches are finally gone. I had a great time seeing them, and it was really nice to get to know my aunts better. Ours is a very separated family, so this was the first time I’d really spent any quality time with them. I am pleased to announce that they are pretty cool people.
Our last two days were spent in Antigua, where the witches could all see the cool ruins and ancient buildings, as well as partake of the great restaurants and scenic parks. But our first order of business was to stop by and see my old host family in San Luis las Carretas, just outside of town. Ever since I lived with Jovita and her great family over a year ago, it’s been a secret dream of mine that my dear host mom might one day meet my real mom. Jovita took such good care of me during the really rough times in training, and never asked for anything in return. Just like my real mom.
When I mentioned this plan to my mom, she thought it was a great idea. To avoid putting undue financial burden on Jovita’s family (feeding a half-dozen gringos!), Mom offered to take them all to lunch in Antigua. But when I approached Jovita about it a few weeks ago, she seemed concerned about the idea. After a long conversation, I was able to sortof figure out the problem: Jovita wanted her whole family to meet my mom, and she wanted to show hospitality to my family. Guatemalans are a vary hosipitable people, and will bend over backwards to make people feel at home. “But we don’t want you to go to a great expense, just on our account,” I said as I offered to help her split the cost of a meal.
Jovita frowned a little, not sure what to make of my statement. They are a proud people, and never accept money from me, even if just to make things fair. “What does she eat?” Jovita asked with a concerned look.
“She likes lots of things,” I replied, trying to think of a way to smooth the awkwardness. “Actually, I was sortof hoping that you could make a pepian,” I asked, invoking the national dish of Guatemala. Pepian is a spicy, stew-like dish with chicken over rice, and it takes all afternoon to make. It is the meal that mothers use to show off their skills, and is a great source of pride amongst Guatemalan cooks. And Jovita’s is excellent, and I have told her so several times before.
She beamed a big smile, assuring me that she would be proud to make pepian for my mother, and it would be no trouble at all. Thus, we found ourselves sitting around their family table, eating and talking and having a jolly old time. One of my biggest dreams for Guatemala was fulfilled.
When the afternoon wore away, we said our farewells and stepped onto our last adventure of the trip: the chicken bus. Now, I’ve not talked much about chicken busses lately, because I specifically have avoided them so as not to torture my dear aunties. But the bus ride from San Luis to Antigua is short (7km), not too crazy, and not terribly crowded during afternoon hours: chicken bus for newbies. I offered it as an option to my aunties, and they eagerly accepted. At the end of the trip, they all agreed that doing 10 hours of chicken bus to get to my village probably would have killed them.
Once back in Antigua, we spent the evening walking around, looking at the 16th-century architecture and enjoying the pleasant evening weather. Only one day left! How time flies. Emily had a line on a good restaurant, and the aunties were following her, strung out along the sidewalk next to the town square with its fountains and blossoming trees. I brought up the rear, with my mom just in front of me.
Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, my mom fell over, WHUMP! onto the sidewalk. A gentleman sitting on a bench leapt up to help her up, and I got there at the same time.
“Are you OK?” I asked, as we walked away.
“Yes. My wrist is a bit sore, but I’m fine,” she answered. “I haven’t done that in a while.” She explained that every few years she falls over for no apparent reason, but it is especially annoying when there are people there to see it. “And here, of all places! The one sidewalk in Antigua that isn’t cobblestones.”
We went on to dinner, then turned in for the night. My mom’s wrist was a little swollen, but didn’t hurt much. “It’s nothing,” my mom said.
“Even so, you’d better get that looked at tomorrow, or your dad will kill us all,” the aunties chided us.
So, the very next morning, Emily called the helpful Peace Corps nurse, who then directed us to the private hospital in Antigua. We were seen in short order, and a radiograph was taken.
“Looks fine to me,” I said, handing it to my mom as we waited to see the doctor.
She looked at it and nodded as the doctor opened his door and invited us in. He stuck the X-ray onto a light box, turned around, and announced that is was indeed broken.
WHAT? He pointed to the spot, and explained that it was a compression fracture. Once I knew what I was looking for, it was pretty easy to see. Oh man, my dad is going to kill me.
“When did this happen?” he asked. I explained that she fell the evening before, and his eyebrows shot up. “And she didn’t complain? Wow, she’s tough. I had a young man in here earlier today with the exact same fracture, and he cried like a baby.” He then went on to explain how he was going to treat her: since she was to get on the plane the next day, he couldn’t cast it, or the change in pressure might cause problems. She would instead be put in a removable brace with a shoulder sling, so she could get treatment in the US. He then said something I didn’t follow, and I asked him to repeat it. I still didn’t get it.
“He says he’s going to give me an anticoagulant shot,” my mom explained to me. I felt silly that she still has better Spanish than I do, even after not speaking it for half a century, then I realized that what threw me was the proper name of the drug- a word that was the same in English, one that I’d never heard before. And my mom once worked in a hospital.
Within an hour, she was all wrapped up and we were back on the street, getting ready for some shopping. And thus we filled out our final day of vacation: shopping for presents and knicknacks for the folks back home. Emily planned this for the last day, in part so that we wouldn’t have to carry all the purchases all over Guatemala, but also so we would be sure that the money for the trip that we NEEDED to spend wouldn’t get spent too early. Here’s a picture of Aunt Ellen haggling with a street vendor as Aunt Donna checks out her newly acquired treasures. Now all that’s left is for everyone to distrubute the gifts back home, including this awesome hat I got for my brother John. John, I bequeath this gift to you on the condition that you wear it to the next con you go to, the entire time, to drive your opponents nuts. Yah, mon.
UPDATE: My mom got home and the doctor told her that she needs surgery and plates, if she wants to retain her full range of motion. Dad just emailed me and says she just got out of the OR and is still groggy. Poor mom, what a bummer way to get your first-ever broken bone. Feel free to attach well-wishes to my mom here on the comments page, as she will probably read this post in the next day or two. Get well soon, ma!