by Roger Bruner
Nikki aimed the camera at Alazne and me.
So Señora Valdes had been right about my baby being a girl? I was glad. As much confidence as I had placed in her prediction, I hadn’t thought about a boy’s name. Not once. One thing was certain. I wouldn’t have named a baby boy after his father. No amount of pressure on Tomás’s part would have made me do it.
Alazne looked so much healthier clean—so much prettier—that I felt a renewed sense of peace. Seeing my nose, eyes, and chin on Alazne’s little face made the pain of delivery less important in retrospect. Not even the fact that she had Tomás’s hair could spoil my mood; after all, his hair was one of his finest features.
Although Chalina had asked whether I had delivered a baby before, she knew Alazne was my first. Women who have already had a baby don’t act the way I did throughout labor and delivery.
“What time did your contractions begin?” she asked. “First babies rarely come this rapidly. Only now will I admit how fearful I was that the baby might already be dead.”
Nikki had been at my side the whole time, but rarely did the midwife bother to translate for her. When she did, however, I could tell her English was superior to Tomás’s. At least it sounded more natural. Less hesitant.
Nikki aimed the camera in my direction once more. She smiled, perhaps hoping I would smile in return. When I did, I heard a very soft click. Later, she showed me the series of before-and-after photographs.
I felt like destroying the before-pictures. They reminded me too much of something I wanted to forget. Something I would never willingly endure again. Not because of anything Tomás did, anyhow.
Chalina explained to me what a doctor was and said she was not one. She wasn’t a trained nurse, either, but she had done a lot of reading over the years and had delivered hundreds of babies. So she understood why some babies survived while others did not. “What medical attention did you receive during pregnancy, Rosa? What steps did you take to keep yourself and your baby healthy?”
I scrunched my eyes while trying to understand her question. “Medical attention? None.”
Her face twisted in horror as I told her my story. Not only had I not known for several months that I was pregnant, I had spent most of my pregnancy sleeping on the cold, hard ground in a small cave and eating whatever my keeper chose to give me.
She spent a long time explaining what a “balanced diet” is.
“No.” I sighed. “I didn’t eat that way. Not even before I got pregnant.”
My eating habits had just begun to improve—less than a week ago on my arrival in San Diego. Changes so late in my pregnancy wouldn’t have affected Alazne’s development appreciably. And I had never met a doctor, much less had one examine me.
Tomás might have allowed Nikki to take me to one if I had known to ask. Especially if I had come to San Diego earlier in my pregnancy.
Chalina cautioned me that the health of a baby is dependent on many things, not just proper diet.
“Diet, as you now understand, was beyond my control,” I said. Even so, I felt guilty for not having eaten better.
From what Chalina told me, Alazne’s good health was a miracle. Despite the fact that I had done everything wrong during my pregnancy, she appeared to be healthy.
“At least my shortcomings during pregnancy arose from ignorance and not having the opportunity to do the right things.” I wanted her to understand that I would be a good mother. “I may have lacked other things I needed, but I have always had the best of intentions.”
Chalina nodded. She talked next about folic acid. She went into detail about how the lack of it can affect an unborn baby. Her description of a condition known as spina bifida was so frightening I longed to thank some unknown spirit for allowing Alazne to develop normally in spite of improper prenatal care.
“You and Alazne have been fortunate indeed, but the next time you become pregnant, you must have proper medical attention throughout your pregnancy. After all, now that you live in the United States, every kind of medical help is readily available.”
She looked straight into my eyes. “Surely your husband will insist on it next time. I will make sure Tomás understands how important it is.”
Now wasn’t the best time to explain to Chalina that Tomás and I were married in name only. I wouldn’t end up pregnant again. Even if I had known that a minor procedure could guarantee that, I wouldn’t have had it done. I didn’t need that kind of protection. Tomás and I would never be intimate again.
I was certain of that. I simply would not permit it.
But how could I have known at nearly seventeen that such things aren’t always within a woman’s control?
12
“Rosa, you and your baby must both be examined by a doctor,” Chalina said. “Just to be sure.”
At her recommendation and Nikki’s insistence, I agreed. The sooner, the better, they said. Alazne might have congenital problems Chalina couldn’t detect, and she wanted to confirm that my health was as good as I thought it was.
More than once during our three-way, dual-language discussion, Nikki expressed amazement that my teeth were so sparkling-white and perfect after years of eating improperly. I explained that I had made a habit of massaging my teeth and gums with a soft stick several times daily. In San Diego I had gladly switched to a toothbrush—an electric one—and toothpaste.
Although Chalina’s official role as midwife ended after the delivery, she came to the apartment daily and stayed for hours at a time. Not for pay, but because she cared. She became a close and faithful friend.
Her ability to speak both Spanish and English enabled Nikki and me to communicate at last. And she served as our advocate in persuading Tomás that Alazne and I urgently needed medical examinations.
We had almost convinced Tomás he would lose face among his peers if he failed to do what other men did for their wives. But my private, not-so-subtle reminder—the villagers’ reactions if something happened to the baby or me—finished swaying him.
No longer afraid they might hurt or kill him, he was terrified they might stop doing business with him. He was blind to the fact the villagers didn’t have any way to replace him.
So Tomás soon gave Nikki and me carte blanche to buy whatever we wanted or needed—as if Nikki wasn’t already doing that—and he gave her permission to drive me wherever we wanted.
“Wherever” with a catch. We must remain within the Latino community except for shopping. He wasn’t simply insistent about that, but stubborn and unyielding.
Regardless of Chalina’s lack of formal medical training, she had a number of contacts in the San Diego healthcare community, many of them with Latino backgrounds. She didn’t waste any time making appointments for Alazne and me. She expedited the scheduling by emphasizing my background and lack of prenatal care.
The first two physicians she approached came from Mexican village backgrounds and understood the urgency of seeing my baby and me as soon as possible. Before I knew it, I had an appointment to see a doctor a few days later. Alazne’s appointment was on the following Monday.
I was terrified at the prospect of having a doctor examine me. My anxiety was quite different from my fear of childbirth, however.
Chalina and Nikki tried to assure me that the exam would be mildly unpleasant at worst and not actually painful. Although they had intended to calm my fears by telling me what to expect, their detailed description of an OB-GYN examination made me even more squeamish. I couldn’t imagine anyone examining me that way, especially a man doctor.
Didn’t San Diego have any Latina women doctors? How could a male doctor understand any woman’s feelings, much less those of an adolescent like me who had never been to a doctor before?
And especially the feelings of an almost-seventeen-year-old who had never been touched there except by an unscrupulous, uncaring man who took advantage of her innocence. His touches hadn’t been tender or compassionate. Why should I expect a man doctor to be different?
“Rosa,” Chalina translated what Nikki was saying, “both men and women doctors spend years in medical school learning to conduct examinations without causing undue stress. They learn to be sensitive about a patient’s excessive nervousness and help her get over it.”
“Has this doctor examined you before? Personally, I mean.” I might be more trustful if either of my friends had first-hand experience with him.
“Not this doctor,” Nikki responded, “but the same kind of doctor. I’ve heard good things about Dr. Morales. Women talk with one another about their physicians. Which ones they like and which ones they don’t and why. If this one weren’t good, I would have heard it. When it comes to doctors’ reputations, San Diego isn’t nearly as large as it might seem.”
“Dr. Morales has examined me before.” Chalina spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “He is excellent. Very kind. But quite thorough.”
They pointed out that the medical examination would be entirely different in nature and purpose from my experience with Tomás. The doctor wanted to help me, not satisfy his lust.
That information made sense and calmed me down. But only for a while.
I barely slept the night before my physical. Horrendous nightmares attacked every time I drifted off. Because Alazne had awakened only once that night and gone right back to sleep after her feeding, I couldn’t blame my lack of sleep on her.
Chalina arrived at the apartment before I got up. If Tomás was around, I didn’t see or hear him. “Wake up, my daughter,” she coaxed me in my own language.
What? What did you say? I was almost fearful I was dreaming. How wonderful to hear a close friend address me in such a loving way.
“My child, it’s time to rise and shine,” she said more insistently. “Your appointment is at 11:00, and it’s slightly after 8:00 now. You must shower and dress so we can leave by 10:00. There is plenty of time, but we don’t want to rush. Nikki is fixing breakfast for all of us—all but Tomás…”
She whispered those last few words as if keeping a secret. “I’ll watch Alazne while you start getting ready.”
I threw off the covers before stretching and yawning several times. Quite loudly. If the decision had been mine to make, I would have gone back to sleep and forgotten about going to see the doctor.
But as a maturing woman and a responsible mother, I knew further sleep wasn’t an option. I couldn’t rebuff Chalina’s concern and kindness by missing my appointment.
Alazne was still asleep, although I could tell she might awaken any time. I kissed her gently on the forehead and stepped into the bathroom, dropping my bedclothes along the way as I peeled them off.
I had never been messy or careless. As a child and a younger teenager, I had taken excellent care of anything that came into my possession. Clothes didn’t last forever at best, and I couldn’t afford to shorten their lifetime through carelessness.
But this was different. Leaving a trail of clothes gave me a sense of freedom. I smiled each time I followed the various items back to my bedroom, gathering them up along the way.
Chalina stayed in my room with Alazne.
My jitteriness about today’s physical moved to the back of my brain, for I was busy replaying the way Chalina had addressed me moments before as “My daughter…my child.” How wonderful those words had sounded.
The voice of the wind had thrilled me with similar words. But no human being had ever addressed me that way before.
I thought about my own birth mother, whoever she was, and wondered if she had expressed her love to me that way before she…ceased to be part of my life and dropped out of existence.
What had happened to her? Had she died in childbirth? She wouldn’t have had medical attention while pregnant with me—or afterwards, either. Perhaps I should have died at birth.
I sighed. I would never be able to put the puzzle together in San Diego.
I knew almost nothing about Chalina. Did she have a husband? Was she a widow? Divorced?
She said very little about her private life, and I had been too self-absorbed to ask. As much as I loved her as a friend, I loved her even more for treating Nikki, Alazne, and me as family.
Focusing on Nikki as my best and closest friend and Chalina as my best and only substitute mother, my nervousness dissipated even more by the time I sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast.
“The doctor’s office is far from our neighborhood,” Chalina said. “You may nap in the car if you want.”
I felt more at peace now. Had the wind of Santa María somehow reached me indoors at San Diego?
~*~
Before I knew it, the physical examination was over.
Nikki and Chalina had described it accurately, although they hadn’t prepared me for the long list of questions Dr. Morales asked. He wanted to know everything about how and where I grew up. And whether I used alcohol, tobacco, or drugs.
I had to ask what he meant by drugs, and his answer helped me understand Tomás’s business more fully.
But when he asked what my husband did for a living, my evasiveness undoubtedly raised suspicions. “He hasn’t told me exactly what he does, but he spends days at a time away from home. He is in business for himself.”
“Aren’t they all?” he said, apparently addressing no one in particular and expecting no response from me.
Although I hadn’t said anything specific about Tomás’s business and Dr. Morales hadn’t been specific in responding, I got the feeling he understood or at least suspected what Tomás was involved in. He seemed to sense the details of my background without asking additional questions.
Instead, he engaged me in some friendly conversation that put me more at ease than his previous questions.
“I am from…” Dr. Morales gave the name of the little Mexican village he’d come from.
I wasn’t familiar with the name, and I didn’t know anything about geography—Mexican or American. Neither did I have any concept of how many hundreds—possibly thousands—of such villages existed in my native land.
“I am from Santa María,” I told him.
“Señora del Mundo, I am not familiar with that place. What state is it in?”
“State? I do not know what state is, but I can tell you it takes most of the morning to drive from Santa María to San Diego.”
“I see.” He pulled his glasses off and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“The ride is quite bumpy for a pregnant woman. Alazne didn’t enjoy it, either. A very long dirt path connects Santa María with one or more pathetic secondary roads before coming to the fast-moving highway that leads to San Diego.”
“Ah. Santa María must be as remote as my village. I don’t know about you, but I can’t go back—not even to visit. The villagers resented my moving away, and they wouldn’t welcome me. That’s a shame. I would like to use my medical knowledge to help them.”
Your villagers are foolish. “They didn’t want me in Santa María. I was an orphan. They encouraged me to come to San Diego with Tomás and they made it almost impossible for me to refuse. They would not welcome me back, either.”
Dr. Morales’s eyes opened wide. He appeared to be mouthing, Tomás. Tomás del Mundo.
“Yes, Tomás is my husband.”
But he already knew that. Why had I felt the urge to tell him again? Hadn’t I stated Tomás’s name clearly enough when we first started talking?
“And Tomás del Mundo—your husband the small businessman—he knows the way back to Santa María…?” He looked into my eyes as if reading there everything I hadn’t told him.
“Yes, I am certain he does…” I’d almost slipped and said, How could he smuggle Santa María’s marijuana unless he did? To change the subject, I said, “But he would never take me back there, and I would never go.”
He looked at me, removed his glasses again, and dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve.
Dr. Morales had drawn blood to run tests on. The pricks were over so quickly I barely minded them. He had also taken X-rays t
o help evaluate my overall health. “Just in case.” He had insisted he didn’t expect them to reveal anything bad. “X-rays aren’t used as freely now as they used to be, but—since you’ve never been X-rayed before—doing it this once won’t be dangerous.”
I had to assure him many times first that I wasn’t already pregnant again.
“Señora del Mundo, too frequently young girls think they cannot conceive again so soon after giving birth. That’s why so many of them have second babies barely nine months after their first ones.”
I leaned forward. “Now that I understand how conception takes place, I cannot possibly be pregnant again.”
Dr. Morales nodded with apparent satisfaction. “You have been forthright in answering my questions. I see no need to give you a pregnancy test.”
By the time we finished chatting about our villages, the nurse came back to the examining room with the results of the X-rays and blood tests. How strange the X-rays looked. A photograph of a person’s insides was more than I could fathom, especially since I knew nothing about human anatomy.
Glancing at the X-ray in Dr. Morales’s hand, I marveled at the simple life I had known in Santa María. I was looking at one of the many reasons my daughter and I were better off in San Diego. A complete list would have been substantial.
Probably endless.
The doctor held each X-ray up to the light and examined it in detail. He occasionally grunted. Or mumbled, “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Because I didn’t know what kind of bad things he might find, I wasn’t overly concerned. I would find out on the ride home that Nikki and Chalina had been worried enough for the three of us—and that they were elated to learn I was exceptionally well. More so than my upbringing and my pregnancy justified.
Just when I started to feel satisfied that all was well, Dr. Morales began asking a series of questions that began with, “Do you know what folic acid is, Rosa?”
Having the doctor call me by my first name felt good. Reassuring. I didn’t like being addressed as Señora del Mundo. I smiled at him while clearing my throat to respond. He smiled back.
