Costa Rica Living – Where Notes of Liquid Utter.

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Take off…

Liquids & gels soften the edges of life, filling in the pits and crevasses from the wear and tear of existence. A pile of lotions, hairs gels, sunscreen, contact solution, bug repellent (all natural), cough medicines, decongestants, toothpastes and lots of other small bottles with potions to cure, restore, and revitalize health lay around the mound of suitcases I was taking back to Costa Rica after a long trip to the United States.

I flew to the U.S. in hopes of seeing my father before he died from a long battle with advanced prostate cancer. Even though my son had a cold and green and/or yellow mucus dripped from his nose and eyes, the first leg of the trip to Houston went smoothly. On the second trip, we boarded an “Express Jet.”

The plane jostled us around like little particles in a snow globe. The air was stale and my skin was moist. The baby sat on my lap; my daughter watched a video, and I sucked on ginger to keep motion sickness at bay.

“My stomach hurts,” my daughter said.

“You probably drank too much root beer,” I told her. When I looked at her again, she was a pale/white hue. She’s going to throw up, I thought.

“Are you going to throw up?” I asked her. She shook her head yes. I rifled through all my things for a bag, any bag. I whipped out a plastic shopping bag just in the nick of time. My daughter heaved most of her lunch into the bag, spewing orange spots of vomit on the back of the seat in front of her. I was amazed at the amount of food/liquids that had fit into her stomach.

I knotted the plastic. The contents were warm, and it wobbled like a water balloon. I placed the liquid ball beneath the seat and pressed the HELP button. The one flight attendant aboard threw a couple of vomit bags and moist towelettes at me. I missed Costa Rica already.

In Costa Rica, everyone wants to hold babies, even men, gardeners, and construction workers. I get help in bathrooms, restaurants, and in parking lots. People hold my baby, and I have no fear that someone is going to steal my child while I’m loading groceries or using the restroom.

People take the time to “coo” at children and help a stranger when she’s in distress. The attendant spritzed the isles with air freshener. I didn’t see her again until she brought the snack and drinks. I looked at my watch; it was about 2:18 p.m.

Landing

My father died as we took off from Houston, about 2:18 p.m. The funeral would be in a week so that my brother, who needed permission from the military for leave, could arrive from Germany with his children.

My son’s illness wasn’t getting any better and now my daughter and I had a fever. I faced a four hour drive to get to the funeral. Since we don’t need prescriptions for most medicines in Costa Rica, I’d purchased and brought with me an antibiotic that my friend’s son had been taking. After a long distance call to my doctor in Costa Rica, she gave the green light to administer the medicine to my son.

I drugged up my daughter and myself with over the counter medicines. We drove through 100° heat to arrive at the church just in time to discuss funeral arrangements with the priest. With the weekend looming, fevers running high (for four days now), and a funeral to survive, I ran to the clinic in the small town. We got in just before closing time.

“Do you smoke?” the doctor asked me.

“No,” I said.

“Your lungs sound like you’ve been smoking for 30 years,” he said. He asked me to breathe in again. I took a breath and coughed. “The infection has not gone too deeply into your lungs, and, that’s good. I’m going to give you both antibiotics. However, they’ll take 36 hours to start working.”

I gave the receptionist at the small town clinic $156.00 for our 20 minute visit with the doctor. At my pediatrician in the Costa Rica, I pay $40.00 for a visit, which is usually an hour long. The antibiotics topped off our bill at over $250.00.

The funeral was a blur I viewed through drugs, exhaustion, and sadness. A small group of people gathered some relatives and friends I hadn’t seen in years, decades. My brother, in a full dress army uniform, sang a song he had written. Then, the American Flag was carefully folded; the casket closed.

I watched as the face I had known all my life, this force I had to reckon with, come to terms with, appreciate, and understand disappeared into the darkness of a pillowed coffin.

My daughter and I collapsed on the air mattress in my father’s empty apartment. Another day would pass until fevers broke – about 36 hours after we began taking the medicines.

My daughter spent hours playing with her cousins. And even though I cracked a rib from coughing and lifting my son (who’s heavier than most babies because the Down Syndrome softens the muscles and he’s kind of floppy rather than tight and bouncy) I managed to spend many hours with family members, and shopping.

Departure

About two weeks into the trip, the airports went on “high security alert.” My brother and I sifted through the rumors and reports to figure out what we could bring home. We could bring our laptops, but no liquids. We could bring check-on luggage, but no gels.

With the weight limit for each suitcase at 50 pounds, I struggled to make everything fit into four suitcases and two carry-ons. I’d over packed; I’d bought too much stuff. I stuffed one small bottle of saline solution in my pocket because my son often had trouble breathing. I threw away hair gels, a big bottle of saline solution, shirts, a hat and drank a couple of bottles of energy drink that I’d planned on taking with me.

We drank as much water as we could before boarding, but a few hours into the flight; all three of us were parched.

“Two waters, no ice,” I said to the flight attendant. I set the water on the tiny lap tray and in a flash, the baby grabbed the glass. The liquid spilled everywhere – into every crevasse of my lap and down onto the seat.

“Could I get another glass of water?” I asked attendant who hadn’t yet left with the big silver cart. She poured another glass. I drank every last drop. My son played with the empty glass and fell asleep a few minutes before we touched down.

Written by Susan Carmichael, who is a freelance writer living in Costa Rica. She has developed several education curriculums for children and adults. She has also taught journalism. Susan’s website is Mother Jungle, she has produced and hosted radio programs and documentaries in Costa Rica including a short story program called “In the Moment” and an hour long interview program focused on the issues of women called “A Womans Voice”.

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Andrew Makarik is the main editor of WeLoveCostaRica, a fan of this sunny country. He is also a loving husband and a has a lovely daughter. By being a devoted family man and the biggest Costa Rica fan, he wants to make more people feel at home there. WeLoveCostaRica unites people and helps them find new home or a new travel destination. This website is a friendly community where everyone can find not only information, but also new friends and travel pals. Andrew is also passionate about IT and programming, so he himself maintains a friendly atmosphere in this cozy environment of WeLoveCostaRica.com.