La Familia

           I'm in a strange room, I'm 25-years-old and I have to find my husband and children. I have to. See, I'm in this strange place in Equador where everyone speaks English, which doesn't make sense. Now, I can understand English, but I prefer to speak en Espaniol. One lady understands what I'm saying. I try to get out, but one of nurses says, “No l'peurto” so I try going to the other door and the same nurse says, “No cachina” and I look at him. Why doesn't he understand my babies are waiting outside for me waiting for their mama? They need to be fed and changed and I need them too. Then, the nurse says, “Esta bien” and “sientesa” so I sit down after releasing a sigh. Then, I get up again and again I hear “No 'peurto, no cachina, esta bien, sientesa”. 

           Then, the crazy lady (who's also in a nurse's suit) tells me in Spanish that I'm having a memora and says (en espanial) my children are grown up, I'm 78 years old, and I'm in the EEUU. These people are lyers. I'm not in the EEUU, I'm in Ecuador. I tell this woman this and say my husband works down the street selling fresh produce. He sells apples, oranges, and corn. So, I tell her I'm going to go help my husband sell the produce. She says, again, I'm having a memora. She says my husband is in Heaven and my ninos are grown up. She says I'm having a memora. Then, she tells me she has to pick someone up and she leaves. She tells me it's time to take my pills and gives me my pills and I feel relaxed. In fact, I'm so relaxed, I wind up taking a siesta.

*

           When I wake up, a few things go through my head. The first thing is I have to go to el bano. So, I tell the man working, “Yo necissita el bano”. But, he says strange things back to me. He says, “No l'peurto”. I try talking to him: “No, no l'peurta. El bano”. Then, he says, “No cachina”. What's this idiot talking about? So, I ask, “El bano en la cachina?  No, no, no, el bano”. Then, the lady who left comes back and she hears me say, “El bano” and she tells this idiot, “Let her go. El bano means the bathroom. She needs to go to the bathroom.” and the dumb nurse lets me leave and this old lady shows me where el bano is. 

*

           A few hours later, I say, “Es hora de el bano” and the idiot in the blue scrubs says, “ok” so I take my shirt off so I can get in the bathtub. Then, two other nurses come over to me and ask me what's going on and again I say, “Es hora de el bano” and the one lady says, “No, no it isn't. That's not 'til later” and then they put my shirt back on me an staple the buttons on my shirt together so I can't get them off. I try, but it won't work. 

           I'm given more pills and I give everyone hugs because I feel so good with the pills. It feels like my children are nearby, even though I can't see them. 

           Then, one of them turns their back for a few seconds and I'm able to get out the front door, but I hear a bell like windchimes. I see sidewalk under my feet and there's a parking lot with cars and I see one lady getting out of her car so I speak to her en Espanial and tell her she has to take me to my ninos and my husband since they're worried sick over me. Where are my ninos/ninas? She has to drive until we find them. I tell her they're worried about me and I try to get in her car but the people from where I was at apologize to her and force me back into the building where I was by lifting me off the ground. I tell them “No, I need to find my ninos” but they don't listen. 

           My children are two, five, and seven. They're probably worried sick trying to find me. What if the little one wet himself and needs me to change them. They need me to hug them, love them, nurse them. Meanwhile, these idiots are forcing me to stay here and saying “No l'peurto, no cachina, esta bien, sientisa.” Then, though, the one who speaks Spanish says she's going to call my ninos to talk some sense into me. She says I'm acting loco with my memoras. Then, she talks on the phone and there's someone who speaks fluently en espaniol.

           But, what she's saying is weird. She says she's Maria, which is my oldest daughter, who's seven and I ask her how old she is and she says she's 45 years old and I laugh. Maria asks why I'm laughing and I tell her if she was Maria, she'd know she was only seven. There's a pause on the phone followed by a sigh. Maria tells me she's grown up. She married a man named Bob and she has three ninos herself and she told me I have old person's disease called Alzheimer's. So, I know this woman is trying to scam me out of money and hurting me so I ask her where she was born and she says, “Equador, Mama” and she describes the town I raised her in in detail. I tell her I'm being trapped by men and women in blue suits, but Maria says, “No, Mama, those are nurses and volunteers trying to keep you safe. See, we tried keeping you in the house by yourself while we were at work and my ninos were en eschula, but you tried cooking something on the stove and el policio and the fireman came because you almost burned the house down and the judge ordered us to have you under 24 hour supervision, but I couldn't 'cause I have to work to pay for food, diapers, and everything else, Mama. So, I'm paying for you to stay there so you won't try to burn the house down mama, 'cause I love you. You understand, Mama?” I didn't but I said I did, because I love mi nina and I didn't want to make her upset.  I asked her when I'd see her again and she said, “At 4:30 pm, after work, like every other day, Mama” and she said osta liago and I said it back and I stopped trying to escape through the doorway and the kitchen and mi nina came at 4:30 like she promised and I gave her el embraso and I told her te quiro mucho mucho and she said she knew that and we went home. 

           I sat down at the table when we got home while el nina prepared dinner. I told her I could do that, but she told me I couldn't. I played with el ninos and ninas in their play pens and we all ate dinner. I tried taking my shirt off for the little one to nurse, but mi nina stopped me. “Mama, I'm the one who's breastfeeding the baby. Not you. You're 78 years old. You're the grandma. Now, part of me believes me nina and part of me doesn't.