Woah! We're Halfway There

It's week 27 and a lot of things have happened since my last post.

For one, the number of impending babies has multiplied from one to two. Imagine our surprise when we are happily scanning our developing fetus with my POCUS and Uram points in the corner of the screen and asks "What's that second thing?"

No. No way. Must be an artifact. I'm not great at POCUS anyways.

1 week later we look again and I definitely see a second cardiac flicker. Cue panicked texts to my co-resident and coworkers. Can you review this ultrasound? I'm hallucinating right? That's just one big thing, not two little things, RIGHT? 

Finally, we had our second ultrasound with the midwife and I try to play it coy: "I think there might be twins. Call it a hunch". We see two distinct heads right when she slaps on the probe. Holy shit. It's one thing when you're looking at a grainy blob on your pocket ultrasound, but once confronted by the reality of the crystal clear image on the office ultrasound, we couldn't live in denial anymore. OK, change in plans, we're going to be a family of four.

Uram's first reaction when we found out we were going to have identical twin girls: "...three Abbys?"

Yeeeaaaah, boiiiii.

I don't have previous experience for comparison, but I have been told twin pregnancy is much worse than with a singleton. First trimester was no picnic in the park. 16 weeks of gagging and food aversion. I couldn't smell beef without feeling violently ill. I couldn't even tolerate chopping garlic. The potpourri hanging in the bathroom had me retching on the toilet. Poor Uram thought I had developed a vendetta against the food of his people. We were convinced the baby was going to Mexican or Indian because I was only eating plain quesadillas or tikka masala, nothing in between. 

By week 17, things settled down a little bit. I could eat normal foods again (hallelujah!). I wasn't experiencing itchy hives on my hands or feet anymore. I wasn't quite showing yet. It was like I could forget I was pregnant. I would clutch my belly with every flutter wondering if it was the babies or gas (probably both). 

But here we are at week 27 and pregnancy is once again showing that it is NOT cute. I knew I was going to be big as a house, but hot damn, it's one thing to imagine it and one thing to live it. Lying flat has me wheezing as my occupied uterus does its best to encroach into my thoracic cavity. Lying on my side leaves me with severe carpal tunnel symptoms. I wake up in the middle of the night 2-3 times to pee, sometimes discovering that I did not in fact need to pee, but instead someone's head has so rudely decided to settle on my bladder. Not to mention, my hands are swollen all the time. Have you ever been unable to rip toilet paper because you can't close your fingers together in a pincer grip?  I have to spend the first minute of my morning flexing my fingers to restore my range of motion so that I can make a fist. I invested in a pack of compression stockings (and I learned the best way to convince patients to wear them is to show them that you're wearing them yourself!) 

Uram and I had to have a whole discussion about what we would have to do if one day I became so expansive that I was unable to reach my own butt to wipe. He is surprisingly down to lend a hand (boop!), I guess that's true love right there. This launched a whole other discovery that I have been wiping my butt wrong my entire life. My sister and I have been living a lie because we both grew up reaching between the legs from the front but our parents both reach from the back. WHO TAUGHT US?WHO DID THIS TO US? Anyways, I have since started reaching from the back and wow what a gamechanger. Y'all been living like this? 

OH AND THE HEMORRHOIDS. You know those mochi donuts? ...Yeah.

Me: "Waaaah! They're like grapes!"

Uram: "What kind of grapes?"

Me:" KYOHO."

Uram: "NO."

They say these are supposed to get better after pregnancy. THEY FUCKING BETTER. I can now feel my butthole touching the seat when I sit down and I could have gone my entire life without knowing this sensation.

We have one guest room that has just become dedicated baby storage. We are so grateful for the generosity of our friends and family. People have just arrived with bags of hand-me-downs and things that they found useful in pregnancy -- cribs, carriers, baby bouncers, strollers, clothes -- SO MUCH CLOTHES. I feel like we are at the point where we don't even know what we don't know, but we know that our village has our back. 

So here I am, incubating two cauliflowers today. My OB says she would be thrilled if I make it to 37 weeks and that twins can come "whenever." (Triggering an Uram panic attack) So maybe we're a little more than halfway there, but man it feels like a lifetime. 

I'm scared shitless but at the same time I feel like if I survived medical school and residency, there's not much that can faze me now. HUBRIS. 

One thing is for sure -- when I look at Uram, I know there's no one else I would rather be setting off on this adventure with. He has been incredibly supportive this entire time. He has wordlessly taken over the dishwashing duties . When I was feeling sick, he made sure there was always something for me to eat or snack on. One time, I was so hungry in the middle of the night that I felt viscerally ill. He got up, went downstairs, heated me a plate of dino nuggets, and even included the dollop of BBQ he knows I love. Even now, he puts up with my tossing and turning all night without complaint. When I wake up with a cramp, he helps me stretch my leg and massages my calf while half-asleep. They say that stressors can put a strain on a relationship, but I am so lucky that, time and time again, experience has shown me that this man is one that can weather the storm. I couldn't ask for a better husband and I know our daughters will have the most loving and doting dad. 

I figured I should update before the pregnancy brain fog fully kicks in; before the happy honeymoon period of the second trimester is fully over and I become a cranky inflated witch. 

Is it time for the epidural yet?

Tentative Joy

It's been a week since two little lines on a stick changed my life, and this time it isn't COVID.

I'm still in disbelief, even though it was something we've been actively working toward for the past 3 months. A part of me is thrilled, ready to start this next chapter in life with our growing family. The other part of me, the childish part that still thinks of daily responsibilities as "adulting", is freaking out. I am growing a ticking time bomb inside me. Our days of freedom where we can drop everything and make spontaneous trips on a dime are now limited. That glorious DINK disposable income now earmarked for childcare and college funds. 

But then I daydream about little baby Two-ram (this is what I've come to call the fetus mentally) that will have the same untamable cowlick as their father, his easygoing demeanor, or his propensity to chatter endlessly until his throat is sore and he needs a cough drop. At the same time, I dread that they will have my temper and stubbornness -- that my karma has finally come and it will become my turn to be called into the principal's office, this time as the shamefaced parent rather than the incalcitrant troublemaker. 

And sure, everyone thinks it's great to be a pregnant doctor, because you know what to expect when you're expecting. But no one thinks about how much more doctors stress because we know too much -- when you know the statistical probabilities of everything that could go wrong. We told our family early because we are pathologically unable to keep secrets. But I've forbidden them from telling anyone or getting too excited -- wait until the ultrasound I say, wait until the second trimester. It could be a molar pregnancy, there could be fetal abnormalities incompatible with life, genetic disorders, miscarriages, don't get too attached yet. The pessimistic physician part of me tells me to guard my heart, but I also don't want to rain on Uram or my family's parade. And so I would classify my current state as "tentative joy". 

Now when I see babies in the wild, I envision what our own little chubby-faced cherub will look like. 

When I was in residency, Uram said he always knew when I was on an OB rotation because I would come home, measure his head, and deep sigh. My beautiful husband who subjected his teeny tiny mother to a c-section because his head would simply not fit through her pelvis. I say prayers for my intact perineum, already imagining the ice-packed diapers I'll have to wear for weeks if I somehow successfully deliver his freakishly large-headed progeny vaginally. I have cold sweats and flashbacks to the time I witnessed a third-degree tear in the delivery room, the audible snapping sound as the baby's head rushed through, pushing through layers of muscle and skin. Nature is metal, man, but I am soft. I live perpetually in fluffy pajamas and I need to wear slippers or my feet will hurt.  I can only exist peacefully between 65-75 degrees Fahrenheit. I like my shrimp pre-peeled and my beverages hot but not too hot. I can't eat  sandwiches that are too hard or tortilla chips too quickly because they cut up the roof of my mouth. The list goes on. Definitely not the sterner stuff necessary to push a watermelon through a toilet paper roll.

I'm thankful for my amazing partner and our village. The other day, I told him I was going to vacuum and he said "don't work too hard." I thought to myself, "He has never said this to me in my life, pregnancy has changed him." I look forward to taking turns picking up heavy items in the future, seeing if his sciatica symptoms are worse than the damage wrought by the 30-lb pumpkin strapped to my front. 

The news could not have come at a better time, his parents are currently visiting for a month. I have never been better fed in my life. They force me make sure I have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. My mother-in-law gives me the yellow parts of the kimchi -- the sweetest and most tender bites. She resists my protests when she ladles large portions of protein and soup for me and scrapes the bottom of the pot for her own serving. She body checks me out of the way when I try to wash the dishes. My laundry basket magically empties while my closet fills when I am at work. 

My mom pesters me for the due date so she can plan ahead and make a baby blanket. She'll have to make two, she tells me. One to swaddle the newborn and a bigger one because the baby will quickly outgrow the first. She is already asking if I want to do my postpartum confinement in my childhood home so they can take care of me and the baby. "Dad will make you chicken soup!", and of course the stewed pig's feet for lactation.  

I already know that our baby will be showered with love. 

I can't wait to see Uram crying his eyes out while holding our child for the first time

I am excited but I am also waiting for the other shoe to drop because a part of me cannot accept that life can be this good. My mind turns over the macabre daily, runs through the contingency plans. But for now I'll keep counting my blessings.

Trapped His Ass

 Well, Ali Wong would be so proud of me because I finally did it, I trapped your ass! 

Even though we have been officially (secret) married since October of last year, it still felt momentous to exchange our vows in front of our closest friends and family. I still remember laughing at how "romantic" it was to repeat our vows before our starry-eyed county clerk, crammed in front of window 11 at what looked like the DMV. When it came time to say "I do", instead you said "Yeah!" and we laughed at that too. Also, let's talk about our official wedding date -- you tried as hard as you could to get married on the same day as my birthday so you could lump the celebrations together for the rest of our lives and I both love and hate that about you. 

Leading up to our big day, we fought more than usual. I was stressed about coordinating the final details of the wedding, you were stressed about making sure your parents had a good time. We fought over the little things like being late to meet my parents and blocking the path while taking tourist photos. But even when we argued, I could see the qualities about you that I first admired and fell in love with. I loved seeing how close you were with your family, even though you moved to the US from a young age and saw them sparingly over summer and winter vacations.  I could see how much it meant to you that they had a good time. We were late because you didn't want to rush your parents out of the house; you wanted them to relax on their first vacation to the US together in 30 years. You said your father was the happiest you had ever seen him when he was taking pictures at Oracle Park (his first baseball game in the US!) and I could see that joy reflected in your eyes -- the question of whether it was the right thing to splurge on those fancy tickets completely banished from your mind. And even though we were occasionally annoyed with one another, I always welcomed the tethering weight of your hand in mine at the end of the day. 

I always joked with you that if you didn't cry at our wedding, I was going to walk back up the aisle and go home. I can't say I wasn't disappointed when you turned around for our First Look and there was nary a tear in sight. Like, I endured two hours of hair and makeup, not to mention the very uncomplimentary groans of Amy and Jiejie as they struggled to strap me into my dress, for this? "Oh wow, nice!" But then as we tried to appear natural for the camera, you leaned forward to inform me that you were very anxious about the photobooth setup, one of two Very Important Jobs I had assigned to you that day. And again I felt that pang of unexpected affection for you and your dang inability to multitask. I can't wait to look at those First Look pictures with you so I can point out your Anxious Eyebrows and give you a hard time about your dry eyes and how ugly you must have thought I was. 

My disappointment dissipated quickly the moment I walked down the aisle and saw you bawling at the end waiting for me. All the worries I had about whether there would be shade for our guests, whether the ceremony site would be too plain without decorations, whether I started the ceremony too late waiting for our last minute guests -- all thoughts gone in a moment of sudden clarity as my vision tunneled down the aisle to you. You hate it when you cry, but from the very first time I saw you cry, after we visited your grandmother together for the first time and she asked for Jol for the first time in years, I loved you more for it. Your tears have never been a sign of weakness, but instead a manifestation of your love, whether it be for your family or for me.  And as my Dad gave you a hug and passed you his own handkerchief to wipe your tears, I thanked God for gifting me another perfectly sentimental and sensitive man in my life. 

The rest of the reception passed in a blur. When we finally got home that night, I was so tired from the emotional burnout of the preceding week and just ready to pass out. But instead, we sat with your family and decompressed with another round of beers. We shed some more tears as your parents shared their wisdom and their blessings.  As my vows to love your family as my own echoed in my head, I was struck by how similar our family values are. I remembered feeling so deeply grateful that I married into a family that blended so seamlessly and effortlessly with mine. 

Now here we are, not so secretly married anymore. The stress of planning a wedding and coordinating your parents' visit conquered, but the new stress of finding an apartment together and eventually buying a house looming. But I'm not worried, in fact, I've never been more confident in something in my whole life.  I've doubted myself, my performance, and my abilities, but in the past 3 years and change, I have never doubted us. Whatever lies ahead, I know we can tackle it head on together.  

Love you, Oppa. <3  

Doom and Gloom Loom

I can't believe it's the end of my second week of classes and I am halfway through my mini "vacation" from work.  As my teacher says, "el tiempo pasa rápido cuando te diviertes."

One thing that I've appreciated over the past two weeks is the difference I see in myself during this time away from the relentless demands of the hospital and clinic. I was supposed to check my work inbox while away, but due to technical difficulties, I haven't been able to remotely access it. Even as I struggle not to think of the trash fire that is inevitably developing, this complete disconnect from my work life has been doing me good. Each day, I adhere loosely to the same schedule. I spend my mornings at school, explore a different place for lunch every day, and study Spanish at a cafe or at home in the afternoons. If I'm tired, I siesta. If I'm bored, I hang out with my host brother and play checkers. There is no pressure from deadlines or grades, the only marker of my performance is the increasing degree of comprehension I attain at the dinner table. Life is so much more relaxing and the future bright when the most stressful decision you have to make each day is what you want to eat for lunch. 

Just two weeks ago, I would text Uram daily by 10AM, already complaining about my day in clinic. At the start of my third year of residency, one whole year into this crazy little thing called COVID, you can call me toast because I am burnt out. Now the memory of rushing from one room to another to stay on time, the spike of annoyance when I couldn't extract myself from a patient fast enough, the feeling of despair when there's 15 messages in my box at the end of a busy day are so distant that it almost feels like someone else's life. They say you can see someone's true nature when they're faced with adversity and it makes me despair -- is that who I really am? There are days I feel truly devoid of empathy and compassion, when I have a knee-jerk reaction of rage whenever a request is made of me, when I reflexively deploy cynicism as my first line of defense. There are days when it's difficult to be kind, when it feels taxing to do the bare minimum let alone go the extra mile. Let's just say I am no longer the idealistic college grad who applied to medical school because I wanted to help people and wrote essays about feeling called to primary care. Instead, there are times I ask myself why I should keep working so hard to help people when it feels like they couldn't be bothered to help themselves. 

It's funny, I can't pinpoint when exactly I stopped thinking like a patient and transitioned to thinking like a doctor.

Don't get me wrong, this is by no means an announcement that I am quitting my job and leaving residency. (Let's be real, momma needs money to buy a house if she wants to stay in the Bay Area.) But this opportunity to divorce myself from the myopic world of work and academia has been eye-opening. Some people in my shoes would say the experience is "freeing", but for me, it's been quite the opposite. As much as I am enjoying my time now,  I can't help but be aware of the ephemeral nature of it all. The knowledge that I must return to reality looms over me and has forced me to think critically about what it is exactly that I dread going back to.  I feel I may have lost my sense of self trudging through residency and now I have been granted the chance to take a step back and better examine my own motivations and aspirations. I always joked that I didn't have any dreams, no 10-year plan. The truth is that none of my dreams take place at work and that I have started to view work as a necessary evil to achieve my dreams -- - getting married to Uram, buying a house, and having kids. 

Maybe the timing is perfect. I have interviews lined up during the week after I return to the US. No better time than the present to figure out what I'm looking for in my future job environment...and how to make the necessary a little less evil.  And who knows, maybe tripling my salary will triple my tolerance for work shenanigans :P 

Kindness of Neighbors

I thought I wouldn't have much to do this weekend, but oh boy, things can definitely change in the blink of an eye. It's a three-day weekend here in Costa Rica due to Independence Day; it's the 200th anniversary of Costa Rican independence. My original plan was to spend a day exploring Heredia, a day wandering San Jose and maybe hitting up Chinatown, and another day lounging and studying at home. I mentioned these plans to my Mama Tica while our neighbor Don Jose was over, and Jose exclaimed, "Don't go to San Jose! It's ugly and dangerous." 

Don Jose lives down the street and he helped pick me up from the airport with Papa Tico. He also comes over almost every afternoon to teach classes remotely, probably because we have better wifi. We had bonded over our love for nature and he had painstakingly showed me every picture from his most recent trip to Tortuguero. Every. Picture. From blurry pictures of nothing, to close-up selfies of his unsmiling visage, sharing these pictures on his tiny, cracked phone screen reminded me that no family is complete without that funky uncle to always keeps you entertained. Don Jose offered to take me and my host sister Mia to see various vistas around Heredia and I asked if we could maybe visit the Catarata de la Paz, a nearby waterfall that is a hot spot for locals and visiting tourists. "Don't tell your school," says Papa Tico, "but going with Don Jose is probably going to be a lot cheaper than going with their tour." Oh hell yeah, traveling with friends and for cheaper, count me in!

So Sunday morning, Don Jose arrives in his old clunker to pick up Mia and me. "I'll give you the complete tour, don't worry!" He was 100% not joking. As we put-putted our way up the steep, windy mountain roads, Don Jose would slow down at every field, flower, or vista and exclaim "Mira, mira!", "Look, look!" As a stressmuffin, I could barely enjoy the view from my spot sunken deep in the back seat as the number of cars held captive behind us began to accumulate. At one point, a truck hauled ass to pass us. "Don't worry, " Don Jose reassured us, "we are tourists today." I didn't need to convert 15 km/hr into mph to understand the road rage that was brewing behind us. 

After a few scattered episodes of honking and re-enactments of fast and furious that occurred around us, as well as a brief breaking and entering into a coffee field so we could see coffee beans on the plant, we finally arrived at the waterfall. Usually, entry tickets to the waterfall are $48 per person, however, Don Jose took us to the local viewing site where we could enjoy the sight of the fall as it enters the creek below for free.

La Catara de la Paz

Just a short jaunt away from where we parked, we were able to walk behind the waterfall and enjoy the roar of rushing water up close. 

Mia, Don Jose, and me enjoying the view from behind the waterfall

After taking pictures of the waterfall from every angle, we couldn't resist a local vendor selling skewers at the base of the falls. 

Mia and our pork and elote skewers, about $1.50 each

On our way back home, Don Jose pulled over at what appeared to be a random restaurant by the side of the road. There was a little wooden gazebo built overlooking the valley and we were astounded by this amazing view.

Straight out of Jurassic Park

Of course pictures can never capture the magnitude of the real deal, but I will never forget the feeling of peering down into this verdant landscape while watching the wind whip the wisps of cloud around as easily as it did the errant strands of my hair. 

Once we arrived home, we asked Don Jose how much we owed him for this day of adventure. Homeboy whips out his uber app and calculates how much it would have cost to travel to the waterfall. So for a whole day of driving and adventuring, all he wanted was $40 and the price of a beer. (The cost for the school trip is closer to $95) Sign me up for the next trip with Don Jose!

There's no school today, so I'm spending the morning enjoying a Costa Rican latte at a local cafe. I'm living my best exchange student life as I work on my blog and enjoy my latte with a small slice of cake. Tonight, I plan to make picadillo for the family. (They made me Costa Rican picadillo on my first day so I wanted to share the Mexican version with them...also it's hard to find Asian ingredients here to make Chinese food.) Hopefully they like it, but I have no qualms about finishing the whole pot by myself in this rainy weather. 

Looking forward to another weak of learnage! 

One Week in Costa Rica

Well it's the end of the first week of classes and I am headed into my first weekend in Costa Rica. Oh the things I have learned! From how to turn on hot water in the shower to how to order casado, every moment of the day has presented an opportunity to experience something new. To think that I arrived on Sunday, never before having spoken a complete sentence in Spanish. Besides the occasional "Duele?" and "Como se siente?" I would shamelessly use to expedite my morning pre-rounds, I really had never had the occasion or confidence to speak Spanish at all. Here, the teachers are super good at speaking slower and in short, simple sentences so it makes me feel like I almost understand Spanish. Almost! 

Every day, I wake up at 7am and am greeted in the living room with a homemade breakfast. Sometimes it's eggs and toast. Other times it's a smoothie with yogurt and fresh fruit. Breakfast is always served with a cup of hot coffee and an enthusiastic "Buenos dias, Abby!" I eat breakfast with Mama Tica and Armando, my host brother. Every morning, Armando eats a giant crepe smothered in maple syrup and 1/4th of his meal is shared with the family dog, Mofy. After Armando rides off to work on his motorcycle, I start packing my backpack and leave for school at 8am. It only takes 5-7 minutes to walk to school, but sometimes I take little detours to catch Pokemon or spin stops. I'm probably gaining a reputation in the neighborhood as "that Asian girl in a yellow raincoat" who is always on her phone. Once I'm at school, I make sure to have my precious APT (papaya will do wonders for your digestion) before classes at 8:30. 

At the orientation on the first day, they told us that those of us who are in group classes alone, will have our classes truncated from three to two hours. I guess no one passed the memo on to my teacher because we are still having 3 hours of classes, followed by one additional hour of private Medical Spanish lessons. Well, I ain't going to be the one to tell him. 

After classes, I usually leave my backpack and valuables at school and wander the neighborhood in search of lunch. So far, I've eaten the majority of my lunches at the Central Market. They sell fresh fruits, meat, and baked goods there, but my favorite stores are the sodas. These are small, usually family-owned, diners where you can order casado, or a Costa Rican plate with meat, rice, beans, and salad. Once, I wasn't too hungry so I tried to order just a tortilla with cheese, but something must have gone wrong in translation because I ended up with a giant platter of food. I have yet to return to that stall due to mortification and shame. One day I will return for you, tortilla!!

The afternoon is my own, but I haven't had much opportunity to explore on account of the rain. When it rains, it pours in Costa Rica. It rained so hard my first day that my raincoat soaked through. (J.Crew is full of lies and deception.) Hopefully, I will have time this weekend to wander through Heredia and San Jose during the warm and dry mornings. It's a long weekend because of Independence Day, but according to my teacher, everything will still be open to promote commercialism during the pandemic. We shall see -- there's a waterfall park and several cafes/restaurants I have a hankering to see. So far, I've been taking the free classes offered at school to kill time in the afternoon. I took the dance class once but I don't think I'll do it again -- much too sexy for me. lol. We learned basic bachata but the moment they made me hold strangers' hands, I was further outside my comfort zone than I would have liked. I like several Jesuses between me and everyone else, thank you. During cooking class, we learned how to make pan de queso, which I would describe as a cheese cookie that is best enjoyed with a cup of coffee or tea. 

In cooking class, one student claimed that we didn't need to wear masks if all of us have received the COVID vaccine(s). Whatever Costa Rica is doing, they're doing right, because the cook Janette shut that down real quick. Before I could decide whether to say something, she said, "Even people who have both doses of vaccine can get the delta variant. My daughter-in-law is pregnant and I'm high risk so I'm not going to take any chances." 👏👏 Yaaaas girl, you tell him. You tell him to pull his mask over his stupid-ass nose. I haven't met a single Costa Rican yet who is against masking. In fact, they usually complain about the foreigners that refuse to wear their masks correctly. I've been asked, "Why are Americans like that?" and I have no good response to that. 

After afternoon class, I walk home in the pouring rain. If it's early, I'll try to study or blog a little before dinner. Otherwise, I'll ask if I can help out in the kitchen. Reynor will sometimes entertain me and let me stir something. Unlike in the US, where we have specialized tools for every purpose (spatulas, whisks, tongs, etc.), in Costa Rica, it seems like the only tool they use is the spoon. I want to cook a meal for my host family but thinking of cooking without a spatula and a wok is giving me a pre-headache. I've also noticed that my host family rarely eats together. I don't know if this is specific to my family, but they put all the food on the stove and people help themselves when they want to eat. It's a little strange to me when I'm eating something different from everyone else, as if they have to prepare different food for me because I am a guest. 

In the evenings, I like to watch Mexican dramas with Lilli. I only understand 30% of the Spanish but I understand 100% of the drama. Every night, Armando goes to the gym. Most of the time Fabian goes with him, but when he is too tired, he'll stay home. On these nights, he will challenge me to checkers, a game I have literally not played in over a decade, but am learning to play now out of sheer spite. Nothing humbles the spirit like losing repeatedly (and badly) to a 16 year-old. 

My favorite thing about this family is perhaps their penchant for going to bed early. Reynor goes to work at 6am, so he'll usually head to bed around 8pm and the rest of the family soon follows. I usually head to my room around 9pm to squeeze in a nightly chat with Uram before bed. 

Well that's a breakdown of my day to day! Yeah, I'm pretty boring but you know me, I love a routine. Hopefully I will have more exciting news to share after this weekend. 

Ciao! 

Hola Desde Costa Rica!

Miracles of miracles, I have made it to Costa Rica!

This was a trip I've been planning since May but there was no guarantee it would actually happen until literally the day before my flight. First, I had to gain approval from Stanford by convincing them it would benefit my clinical practice and that it was something I couldn't do in the United States. Second, I had to make sure they wouldn't suspend my salary since I wasn't doing anything clinical for a month. And, perhaps the biggest obstacle of all, I had to renew my passport...

Three weeks before my flight, tickets booked and everything, my sister came downstairs with my passport in hand and asked me: "Are you aware your passport expires in two days?"

Um, no? I haven't looked at my passport in almost two years thanks to this COVID nightmare. Shit.

Before COVID, you could get your passport renewed in 6 weeks and expedited in 2. Now in this pandemic-induced dystopia, the wait time looks more like 18 weeks and 12. Nuts. After much frenzied internet research, it turns out that you can call the passport agency (>1 hour hold time) 2 weeks before your set travel day and try to book an in-person appointment for within 72 hours of your flight departure time. After a cumulative 3 hours spent on the phone, I finally snagged an appointment day on the Friday morning before my flight out Saturday night. For two weeks, I agonized over whether I would be able to walk out with my passport on the same day or if there would be another unforeseen delay that would cancel my trip. But come Friday, praise Him, I walked in to the San Francisco passport agency with my hopes (and important documents) in hand, and walked out at 3:30pm with a freshly minted passport! 

I'm so grateful for the encouragement and support from Uram, family, and friends. If Amy hadn't realized that my passport was expired, I would not have even looked at my passport until the day of travel. Uram literally waited on hold with me for over an hour as I stressed over whether I would be able to reserve a coveted appointment. He also woke up at 6 AM to drive this bundle of stress to the passport agency. Multiple friends offered words of encouragement and reassurance that it wouldn't be no thang and I would get my passport, no problem. Thank you all again for keeping my neuroses in check. 

I wasn't aware I've been holding my figurative breath for months until I felt the wave of relief wash over me the moment I saw someone waiting at the airport terminal with my name on a giant sign. This is finally happening, I did it, I'm going to study Spanish for a month in Costa Rica! 

The experience is already better than I anticipated. I love my familia tica -- Papa Reynor is a forensic pathologist (I KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING), but also maybe a mortician? Mama Lili can't really cook but makes up for it with enthusiasm, lol. Their older son Armando will shyly correct our broken Spanish but unabashedly walk around the house shirtless. Their younger son Fabian is a genius and likely future Olympian, equally speedy at the Rubik's cube and on the track. The moment I brought chocolate into their home, I was a welcome guest. (I have never seen anyone destroy a bag of Ghiradelli so quickly.) From the very first day, they urged me to treat their home "como su casa". I am also blessed to have another American student in the house, Mia. An English teacher from Indiana, her Spanish is so, so much better than mine and it's a lifesaver when I'm trying to express more complex thoughts to my host family. It's also nice to have someone to decompress with at the end of the day and keep me accountable for studying Spanish in the evenings. 

I originally signed up for a group class with 1 hour of private lessons in Medical Spanish. The group classes are split up by Spanish level and I was fortunate enough to be placed in a class by myself. (The assessment of my Spanish level was "Basic...pero no es cero.") My teacher Samuel is from Peru and I LOVE HIM. Our conversations always somehow veer off course from vocabulary and conjugation to a range of modern day topics like new abortion laws in Texas or the broken American education system. He patiently waits as I try to Google translate new vocabulary and gently corrects my atrocious grammar/conjugation. If any of y'all looking for an awesome Spanish teacher, he teaches remotely on the DL! 

Anyways, can't wait to see what else Costa Rica has in store for me! I already have a map drawn up of all the places I want to eat...not sure if I'm going to succeed in losing weight here as I originally planned...