How I gave birth in Mexico without insurance: Russian woman shares her experience
'12.03.2018'
Source: deti.mail.ru
Five years ago, my life changed dramatically - a man with whom we were together for four years, suddenly offered a job in Mexico. Over the next six months, I managed to marry him, change my place of work, get a mortgage, buy an apartment, take apart tons of things that had accumulated in our little girlfriend, take them to storage in three different cities, and finally leave. And after a year and a half, I got pregnant.
I did not have insurance, so in the eighth week we went to a private doctor. I knew Spanish so-so; my husband couldn’t act as a translator, because I didn’t understand my gynecologic terms and in my native Russian. As a result, we chose the only Russian-speaking gynecologist practicing in Mexico City, in whom I was observed all nine months.
Judging by the stories of my girlfriends who gave birth in Russia, my pregnancy was simply “free.” Every month and a half we came to the doctor, we were weighed, we measured the pressure, we did ultrasound, I twice underwent additional tests.
Screening and 3-D ultrasound doctor recommended to do, but did not particularly insist. I was not sent to other specialists, so I only went to the dentist according to plan. In the fifth month I even flew to Russia for a month.
We always went to the doctor together: first, the husband had even more questions than I had, and secondly, together to observe how your common child turns from an incomprehensible point into quite a real little man with real hands and legs and for example, to wave to you (well, and to whom else) is priceless, and in my opinion, it’s just silly to miss it.
What is interesting, I have never seen a lonely pregnant woman in a queue with my doctor. For Mexicans, the family is the most important thing in the world (perhaps after a delicious meal and Coca-Cola), so everyone attends a pregnancy gynecologist with the fathers of future children, or at least with their parents, sisters or girlfriends. In the office for consultation with private doctors, the entire crowd comes in, some state specialists are not allowed to visit state clinics, but they are still waiting in the corridor.
The month of the seventh, we began to choose a hospital for childbirth. If you give birth in Mexico in a public hospital, then the system is more or less similar to the Russian one (that is, how lucky), except for the fact that most births take place not in maternity hospitals, but in special wards in hospitals. But in private clinics, everything is somewhat more complicated. Childbirth also takes place in a multidisciplinary hospital - on the same floor with you they can remove appendicitis from an adult or remove a cast from a child. But you, in fact, pay for two different packages - the doctors' fee is discussed separately (obstetrician-gynecologist, his assistant, pediatrician-neonatologist, anesthesiologist if necessary), who can come to different hospitals, but prefer to work well already established or at least familiar by the brigade. The second package is hospital services, equipment, materials and medicines. That is, the hospital acts as a hotel, and how many stars it will have is up to you. The doctor who led the pregnancy usually takes delivery.
We traveled around ten hospitals.
Interestingly, even in expensive clinics far from all was a joint stay with the child, but everywhere it was always emphasized what kind of excellent security they had and a superbly built security system. For Mexico, unfortunately, this is true.
I was sure that my son would not be in too much of a rush to come into the world, therefore, when the sights began on the eve of the PDR, I was very surprised. I called the doctor. “How often do you have them? Once in ten to fifteen minutes? Call every five minutes and regularly, ”she told me. Okay, I replied, turning my crab from one side to the other. I really wanted chocolate. The clock was eleven in the evening. “A pregnant woman, even if she is a hippopotamus, should not be denied little pleasures,” I thought. "Eleven in the evening!" - screamed her husband, who absolutely did not want to get up from a warm sofa. But I still had to get up: in ten minutes it became clear that I had to go to the doctor right now. By the way, I ate chocolate only in two months.
We took the money, a backpack with a long-collected items and went to the consultation, where our doctor, who lives nearby, approached. Half an hour later it was decided to go to the hospital to give birth. Rather, do a cesarean. “Do you give birth exactly?” Do you really hurt? ”, - her husband was worried, very slowly circling all the pits on the roads. “Exactly, exactly,” the doctor calmed down from the back seat, calling the rest of the brigade. While my husband was paying for the contract, I was taken to the antenatal room. There, in a break between contractions, all hung with sensors and droppers, I told the boy in a blue robe about his height and weight, allergies and relatives. I would have told more, but during the fights it was somehow easier to moo and moan. Then a man appeared in the room in a bathrobe and a mask. “Hey, who else is this?”, I was indignant. Well, that is not out loud - it turned out it was a husband.
I was taken to the operating room, where doctors and one observer from the hospital were already waiting.
The husband, who, in my opinion, worried more than me, for some time wandered down the corridor along with the same lost relatives of a woman from the next birth, then he was finally allowed to come to me - in a robe, shoe covers and a mask. Fluorography? Additional tests for accompanying? No, not heard.
A small and fragile anesthesiologist girl in a cheerful orange uniform, more like a student than a doctor, gave me a shot in the back. It was the most pleasant moment of childbirth, because the next day I didn’t feel pain at all.
Between me and my stomach put a screen. I was lying on my back and honestly trying not to look up — in some kind of metal thing (perhaps it was one of several lamps that was not turned on) the stomach was reflected, and there was nothing to admire, let's face it. Husband sat next and held my hand. Did we talk about something at that moment? We both do not remember.
This is a very quick operation, and literally in a few minutes I heard a scream and thought detachedly: “Oh, the child is somewhere. Stop, this is my baby, he was born! ”.
A neonatologist took our son to a nearby table, from where a minute later I heard a skirmish:
- Cut it! Take scissors and cut!
- No I do not want! You cut it yourself!
- It is necessary, all fathers do it!
Yes, in the end, he did it - cut the umbilical cord, albeit under pressure from the doctor.
Finally, our son, already wrapped up in diapers (without a cap, by the way), showed me, gave me a hug and a kiss. I spent the next four hours in the intensive care unit, the baby - in the incubator, and the happy father - in the corridor, filling out thousands of pieces of paper and calling relatives.
Early in the morning I was transported to the ward, a cradle with a child rolled in there, a husband came there, still not departed from shock and joy. A postpartum ward in private hospitals in Mexico City would have looked like a hotel room, if not for a dropper and not for a special bed. There was a sofa for her husband, where he spent the next night. Since the first day I could not get up, it was right to keep my son and to put on a diaper the nurses taught him, and my husband, I must say, perfectly coped. By evening, they brought me food - I swear I never ate anything tastier than this noodle soup with vegetables and chicken chop!
Then we were visited by friends who brought a car seat that we forgot in the confusion. They were let straight into the ward, without any gowns, boot covers and other ceremonies, however, recalling that visits were allowed only until nine in the evening.
They say that two visitors for all the time after childbirth - this is very modest, Mexican relatives visit a new family member with the whole crowd at once.
The next day I was allowed to get up, and we, having walked together (I was on the wall, the husband with his son in his arms was in the ward), realized that I really wanted to go home. After a couple of hours, the doctors examined our son and let us go, telling me to appear a week later. To the horror and surprise of my relatives and girlfriends who had given birth in Russia, I was at home a day and a half after the Caesarean. Usually after this operation in Mexico City they are discharged in two or three days, and after natural childbirth - in one or two.
- Do you regret having been in labor? - I asked my husband once.
“Well, it's hard and very scary,” he admitted, thinking. “But if I hadn’t been there, who would have held our son in his arms when he was first born?”
