John was furiously rummaging around the room and throwing things into our suitcases. I was propped up in the bed with the phone, trying to get a taxi lined up. Somehow, this is not how we imagined spending day 2 of our vacation in Mexico! The early morning darkness seemed to protect us from the reality of what was happening. Was this really just a dream? Before we knew it, we were in the hospital ER in Cancun, talking with the emergency room doctor (praise God he spoke english!) and trying to decide if I was in labor at 26 weeks.
A little while later, we met with the gynecologist. If you have ever seen a Mexican soap opera on TV as you flipped through channels, you probably caught a glimpse of this doctor. His hair was combed back and shiny so that you could see every perfect row that the comb's teeth left behind. John describes him as a Mexican George Clooney. He did not speak english so he brought a translator with him. It is a very humbling feeling to know that your treatment and the care of your unborn child is in the hands of someone you can't understand.
After 5 1/2 hours in the ER with people we couldn't understand and who didn't understand us, an ultrasound, an IV, a contraction monitor, blood tests, prescriptions written in spanish, my first ever suppository (yikes), and a charge to the credit card for $700, we were cleared. We took a taxi straight to the airport, starving and exhausted. And there we sat, on the cold tile floor, trying to catch a flight to American soil. We told the airline that it was a medical emergency, but the flights were completely full so the best they could do was put us on the top of the standby list. After five flights departed without a standby call, we spoke with my awesome Dr. at home and decided we would just stay put for the remainder of our vacation, drinking plenty of bottled water and relaxing.
Back at the hotel, we ordered room service, watched movies and floated in the pool that was right outside our room. That was more like the vacation we had planned. The rest still seems like a bad dream.
A little while later, we met with the gynecologist. If you have ever seen a Mexican soap opera on TV as you flipped through channels, you probably caught a glimpse of this doctor. His hair was combed back and shiny so that you could see every perfect row that the comb's teeth left behind. John describes him as a Mexican George Clooney. He did not speak english so he brought a translator with him. It is a very humbling feeling to know that your treatment and the care of your unborn child is in the hands of someone you can't understand.
After 5 1/2 hours in the ER with people we couldn't understand and who didn't understand us, an ultrasound, an IV, a contraction monitor, blood tests, prescriptions written in spanish, my first ever suppository (yikes), and a charge to the credit card for $700, we were cleared. We took a taxi straight to the airport, starving and exhausted. And there we sat, on the cold tile floor, trying to catch a flight to American soil. We told the airline that it was a medical emergency, but the flights were completely full so the best they could do was put us on the top of the standby list. After five flights departed without a standby call, we spoke with my awesome Dr. at home and decided we would just stay put for the remainder of our vacation, drinking plenty of bottled water and relaxing.
Back at the hotel, we ordered room service, watched movies and floated in the pool that was right outside our room. That was more like the vacation we had planned. The rest still seems like a bad dream.
