Well, Grandma J departed in the very early morning of January 1st, in a taxi bound for the San Pedro Sula airport fifty some odd miles away. That left my mother and father with plenty of time to kill on their own before they had to be back in the perpetual trash-burning, unpaved street having, unglorious Third World heckhole known as Cofradia (sorry to be so uncharitable, but let's face it, home is not always where the heart is). My heart could forever be in Tela. It's low key tropical sultriness, colorful mix of Black Garifuna, Brown Hondureno, and White Tourist, sparkling unpretentious beaches and keen aversion to luxury suited myself y los padres poderes. We spent the next five days basking in the jade-green sea, watching copious amounts of cable television in our air-conditioned hotel room, and searching, in vain, for the one thing my newly pregnant mother wanted the most-a genuine vegetable soup. It began to feel like the only food available in Tela either came from the sea or from a banana tree, with some rice and beans thrown in for customary measure. But the biggest highlight of the week was the visit to the ob-gyn that confirmed my existence in a sweeping swirly visual image. My parents had to wait a couple of days to visit the unremarkable looking clinic that stood a couple of streets away from Tela's main drag, right across from another ob-gyn office that looked equally unappealing. But, when we entered shortly after the office opened, without an appointment, we were met by a supremely nice secretary who told us to come back in an hour or so, when the doctor would be available. So, we wandered the streets like optimistic nomads for the next sixty minutes, then returned to see the baby doctor! In the waiting room was another couple, as white as my parents, on vacation in Tela from San Pedro. There was a much bigger bulge to that woman's belly than my mother's, indicating that she was much farther along in her pregnancy. We sparked a conversation along the lines of, "what the heck were these gringos doing here in Tela? After a few minutes, my mother got the call, and disappeared behind a paper-thin door, my father eagerly craning his head to try and hear what was going on. He could not help but announce the fact that his wife was pregant to our new friends from San P, who were wondering why we came to this out of the way doctor's office in a relatively untouristed beach town. About five minutes later, my father was told to come and meet the doctor, and check out the ultrasound image, quite vivid actually, of a miniscule "saco gestacional". I will never forget the look I could not see on both of my parent's faces as they witnessed this miracle of nature, made visually accessible thanks to modern technology. Even though they couldn't see it yet, my heart was beating fast because I was so excited that they could see me for the first time! The doctor himself was a lanky, squirrelly fellow with a gregarious face and almost no hair on his head. His name was Dr. Jorge A. Colindres. He was really excited, I think, to be dealing with a couple of gringos, and probably took it as an honor that he was the first person of medical qualification to have an appointment with us. My parents were elated, and I was developing in a healthy way. Doc J estimated that I was about 6 weeks old, and I was in the right place in the womb to continue to grow without incident. When we passed through the waiting room on the way out, we confirmed what that white couple already thought, and received a round of joyous applause! Dr. Jorge told my mother what vitamins to get, and said that these could be procured right across the street at a neighborhood farmacia.
For as long as I live, Tela shall hold a magical place in my body and spirit, the site of my first doctor's appointment and the place where I first lit up the silver screen of an ultrasound machine!
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