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Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on a line, break your mother’s spine. Is that how it goes? It should be: “ride a crazy horse who bucks you off for no reason, fall and fracture two vertebrae.” Okay, perhaps not as catchy.

Anyway, I flew through the air and landed with quite an oof after being jettisoned off Nochero, upon whom I was riding yesterday. After the fall, I sat up and immediately thought that I broke several ribs near my spine, because it hurt so horribly and I couldn’t really breathe.

An ambulance came, strapped me onto a backboard, inflated some shit around my head and neck, and away we went to the Sanatorio de la Trinidad. Leah (the girls’ riding instructor) came with me in the ambulance to handle speaking in Spanish (I was in so much pain I didn’t really want to talk to anyone) and Tom, the Zs and Natalia (our instructor) followed in Nati’s car.

I received multiple CT scans for head, neck, spine and pelvis. I was on a backboard for hours (my ass was numb). I was diagnosed with cracks in two vertebrae (about the same level on my spine as my scapula). They said it’s going to hurt like hell for awhile and sent me home with instructions to ice and take prescription anti-inflammatory drugs.

Returning to the apartment was farcical. Getting into a cab was easily one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. I managed to fold myself into the second taxi (the first was too small for me to get in), but only after lots of disturbed groaning and tears, which, understandably, freaked out the driver. We explained to the taxista that I broke my back and the sweet sweet man drove uber slowly with his flashers on (not an easy thing to accomplish in this crazy-driving nation), brainstorming the least bumpy routes with Tom.

So here I am, laid up for several weeks with a broken back. Can’t put on my own pants or socks. Breathing deeply requires concentration. I would rather pull out a thumbnail than cough. I can stand up, sit down and walk gingerly (moving feels wonderful). Every waking moment I am appreciative because it could have been so much worse.

A special thank you to Leah and Natalia for all of their help.

Fracture Recovery Posts: | Day 1 | Day 5 | Day 14 | Month 3 |

The American Dream seems to have escalated into a race to amass as much square footage of housing as possible. It has been interesting for us to reverse that trend lately in the years when our peers are typically moving to larger homes as their families grow.

Our house in Portland was not spectacularly large. It was built in 1929 and was about 1,600 SF above grade with a 700 SF basement that we turned into an industrial-looking art/TV/office space. We also had a small one-car garage that was filled with gardening crap. When we sold the house in the summer of 2007, we had a humongous moving sale.

The rule: if it couldn’t be stored in our 1,800 SF rental condo then we couldn’t keep it. We did a lot of paring down.

When we moved out of the 1,800 SF unit in Portland, prior to our departure for Argentina, we secured a storage space in the US and tried to keep only those things that we couldn’t live without. (It shall be interesting to see how we feel about said stuff upon our return.)

In Argentina, we moved through several larger living spaces until we finally downsized to a 1,000 SF apartment, where we are living now, in a location we love. Observations:

• In general, since we have less space, we can’t accumulate and store as many things. On a positive note, we’ve learned to make due with fewer possessions — minimal kitchen implements, a lot fewer clothes, not as many shoes, a paltry assortment of toys and games…
• As a family, we can clean this apartment (I don’t mean straighten, I’m talking mopping, bathtub scrubbing, sheet changing, etc.) in about two hours. Couldn’t say that about the house.
• No yard work, which is both a blessing and a curse.
• Noise can be a bit of an issue. The kids have really had to work on acknowledging that they need to be quiet and respectful if someone is napping or on the telephone.
• There aren’t a lot of places to escape if people (as in other family members) are driving you crazy.
• The girls share a room and get along most of the time. Zoe still lobbies to have her own space when we get back to the States though. In general, I think the older child wants autonomy, but the younger sibling is happy to share.
• I would rather have space taken from bedrooms and bathrooms and put into the living/dining/kitchen. A well designed bathroom layout, even if small, beats an empty cavernous bathroom that seems the norm in the US now. Truly, it has been enormously pleasing to spend time in spaces that are thoughtfully laid out to function, even in very tight confines. A huge contrast to a lot of condos I’ve seen in the US.

We now feel that we could live quite happily with a lot less square footage when we return to the States. It will be interesting to look at housing through our downsized lens!

(Pictured above is the dining room from what now seems a behemoth of a house that we sold in 2007.)

…also known as our Thursday hospital adventure.

During Zoe’s second night post-fracture, her arm and hand became dramatically swollen and she literally could not sleep last evening. By this morning, she looked as if she had purple Michelin Man fingers coming out of her plaster arm. Yes, that meant it was time to suit up for another medical outing.

We set off for a private hospital called El Sanatorio de la Trinidad, which is located in two different buildings on the same block. Building #1 main floor sent us to the basement of said building, which sent us to building #2 first floor, where I was informed that there was someone who could see us in 24 hours. I did a bit of a mommy freak out and explained as patiently as I could; “SHE CAN’T FEEL HER FINGERS, HER CAST NEEDS TO BE LOOSENED NOW.”

That got us up to the 3rd floor of building # 2 and a very nice doctor, who could see us immediately. She concurred that Zoe’s purple digits were not natural and sent us back to the basement of building #1 for an x-ray. The good news is that the fracture has not shifted at all and is still in a great position.

Zoe had her cast sawed open around her hand and a big strip cut down the side of the cast (pictured above), which was then pried apart to make room for her expanding flesh. I don’t know about Zoe, but I was mightily relieved!

Total Cost: $56 US. Keep in mind when you think about how much we paid, El Sanatorio is is one of the nicest private hospitals in Buenos Aires with very modern equipment. Compare that to what it would cost in the US to walk into the emergency room. Here in Buenos Aires, we were pretty much seen right away and only paid $40 US for the doctor and $16 US for the x-ray. Now this is health care, baby!

No, this didn’t happen horseback riding. It occurred playing around on a tree outside of a restaurant. (Zoe wasn’t very high up, but her foot got caught and she fell back, breaking her wrist with a creepy looking fracture.)

After the accident, the restaurant called an ambulance, the police came (not sure why), and Zoe was her usual calm self.

It was a bit of a zoo getting to the hospital because policy allowed only one person to ride along with Zoe, but after we kept asking for information on where the hospital was and where Zoe and I would be, our could-have-been-born-in-New-Jersey driver finally heaved a sigh and said to Tom “just get in the God damned ambulance.” (I think the final straw was Tom pulling out the Guia T and asking them to point it out on the map — pure genius.)

Lest you worry about Zelda, she went on a playdate with Liam’s family, whom we were visiting with at the restaurant. (Thank you Lori for all of your help.)

Upon arrival at the Hospital de Niños, we were taken through the back door of the emergency room that was packed to the gills. They sent us for an x-ray pronto, called a specialist who took a 1/2 hour to materialize, we discussed options for setting the fracture, proceeded with local anesthesia, and received another x-ray in nearly the same amount of time it took me to write this post.

Okay, it wasn’t quite that quick, but it was monumentally faster than it would have been in the States. Having said that, I do believe that we received the benefit of special treatment for clueless foreigners because the public hospital’s waiting room was filled to bursting with a more ethnic concentration of people than you usually see in Buenos Aires, which happens to be a very white city.

Zoe also managed to dazzle the hospital staff, who marveled at her bravery (what we call “Offermann stoicism”) and her interest in what was happening throughout the procedure. She did say that the setting hurt like hell, even with the local anesthesia, which they didn’t favor because they didn’t believe she could keep it together through the pain.

At the end of the day, I can sincerely say that we are incredibly thankful for the prompt, kind, and efficient treatment that we received from everyone during such a stressful event in our family.

General impressions: There was a vendor selling panchos (hot dogs) in the waiting area…Zoe’s cast is old school plaster (good for signing)…dealing with a complex fracture and debating about anesthesia for fracture setting is pressing the limits of my Spanish…the bathrooms were not clean and had no toilet paper, soap, or paper towels…no one ever mentioned payment at any time…we never once filled out a single piece of paperwork outside of telling staff Zoe’s name and her age.

A funny thing happened while I was at Armed Forces Day…I realized that I don’t know a single American military hymn.

As a follow up to our all-day asado on Saturday, we rounded out the weekend with friends at the polo field in Buenos Aires attending a martial celebration on what was a clear and crisp fall day.

The lovely weather made it easy for the majority of troopers attempting parachute landings, with the exception of one poor gentleman who I thought was a goner when some nasty wind gusted up just prior to his landing. He took a shot when the ground came up to meet him, but he was a professional and was able to run off the field with his compatriots.

Onto the mock battles. I am happy to report that the Argentinians defeated the paltry Spanish forces in the battle for independence. Also, the modern military gents took out the enemy’s communication command center in a slick operation using grenade launchers and motorcycles. And lastly, I was relieved that only one horse fell on the muddy field during the cavalry charge (the rider appeared to be okay).

The kids were delighted to look at the tanks, rocket launchers, and helicopters. And perhaps the biggest delight for the little ones was the fact that they got to hold and aim various automatic weapons. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a female, 7-year-old, blond moppet aiming a deadly military gun. (Okay, maybe not.)

Pictured above is one of three guys who came down via parachute with a flag attached to their heel for the Malvinas portion of the ceremony. The remaining pictures below are from the reenactment of the revolutionary war and the defeat of the Spanish, culminating with the charge shown in the last image.

(A big thank you to our friend Gil Pereira for giving us copies of the pix he took!)

News from the equestrian front.

This week, Zelda fell off of her horse…in slow motion, twice. She’s quite good at it. She and Zoe were working on their trotting and then moved on to a little shumping. Zelda looked awesome, holding the right form, getting her horse to trot right over. When the fence was moved up just a bit, her pony would make a pretty exaggerated jump for the height, and would really slow down post jump, which caused Zelda to slide onto the horse’s neck.

Her fall would involve sliding up the neck, clinging with both arms and legs, and then slowly rotating so that she was upside down, still hanging on with her limbs. The first time it happened, Zelda managed to time it so that she dropped into her teachers arms. Later, she and Zoe worked on “how to fall off of a horse.”

Keep in mind, Zelda is riding a largish pony, so it’s not that far to the ground!

Meanwhile, Tom and I were working on what our instructor called galloping, but what the girls were quick to point out was actually cantering. We worked on it in a tight circle with the horse on a long lead with our teacher in the center. While it was nice not having to negotiate the ring and following/leading while cantering, it was quite challenging to hold our balance while traveling quickly in a tight circle

We’re just glad we didn’t fall off! Good times.

When you rent a temporary apartment in Buenos Aires, the apartment often comes with once-a-week housekeeping service. The mucama arrives, changes the ropa blanca (linens), cleans, and eyeballs the apartment for the owner to ensure that you aren’t going all rock star on the dwelling.

Before I launch into our current housekeeping debacle, let me say that Tom and I are always rather sheepish about having cleaning help, and when we do have it, we are methodical about preparing the apartment for said person (Ian always laughs at us for cleaning before the arrival of the maid). We figure that we just want assistance with cleaning the major stuff (mopping floor/cleaning bathrooms), so we make sure that everything is picked up, the dishes are done, etc.

When we moved into our new casa in Las Cañitas, it was clear that Liliana, the housekeeper, really had no interest in the work. When she did show up (and often she would pull a no-call, no-show), she never actually cleaned anything. And whatever she did do, we usually had to spend time undoing. For instance, she once “mopped” the wood floor by spraying furniture polish on it, leaving a thick greasy residue we had to remove. Or, she would dump dirty bucket water from bathroom cleaning directly into the kitchen sink, and then leave it like that…*sigh*.

After a month-and-a-half of this, we arranged with the owners to obtain a refund in exchange for handling the maid services ourselves.

Our first thought was to hire someone, but then, we realized that the little towheads that live with us are practically a built-in labor source, besides, it would be character building, right?

So yesterday, the girls and I went to the grocery store and bought nothing but cleaning supplies (pictured above). The clerk commented that we appeared to have a fun Saturday planned! The girls were mortified that we were carrying around mop handles on the walk home. (Yet Zoe and Zelda didn’t find anything embarrassing about building a paper airplane out of a label they found in the grocery cart and flying it around the crowded cleaning aisle while I hissed at them…)

Funnily enough, Zelda was beside herself with excitement at the prospect of learning how to clean a bathroom, so we’ve been giving her a hard time about that all weekend (poor girl).

I’m happy to report that their first lesson was successful — they were digging on the shining porcelain after it was properly cleaned (further proof that the bathrooms were hardly touched by Liliana). The new plan: Zoe and Zelda are in charge of changing their sheets (we had a hospital corner lesson last week) and cleaning the bathrooms every Sunday. Tom and I are in charge of mopping, dusting, and other general cleaning and changing our own sheets.

The family that cleans together…gets exposed to noxious chemicals together?!?

Zoe, Zelda, Tom and I attended our first 3D film today (well, actually, Tom did see Jaws 3D when he was younger, so I guess he doesn’t count). We went to a screening of Monsters vs. Aliens.

We arrived at the empty theater in the afternoon, collected our 3D glasses, and bought massive amounts of junk food and a Coke, in the hopes of keeping Tom awake. The glasses were not what I expected, they were actually a darkened “Men in Black” style shade, which looked hilarious on the girls. The tinted anteojos also provided cover for Tom when he fell asleep during the movie, which he invariably does while attending children’s cinema, only this time, it was the snoring that gave him away!

I was impressed with the effects, the 3D experience was pretty neato. We all enjoyed eating too much candy and popcorn (note to self, when Zoe’s exhausted, don’t feed her sugar). The movie, well, it was okay.

A last note on dubbing/subtitles here in Buenos Aires: US releases are in English with Spanish subtitles, unless it’s a kids movie, where the reading thing can be a problem, which means the movies for little people are dubbed. I was gratified to learn that I could fully comprehend a film targeted to the younger set!

There are four types of stores around which our world revolves: the kiosko, the Chino, the supermercado, and the verdulería. In general, when moving to Buenos Aires, I would recommend living within one or two blocks of at least two of these four types of stores to make your life easier. Where we are now in Las Cañitas (my new favorite neighborhood), we are within two blocks of all of these essential retail concerns as well as a smattering of fabulous butchers, delis, spice stores, natural food stores…we adore it here!

The Kiosko. These are very small convenience stores that are important when you have a toilet paper emergency late at night (living with three females has made Tom very aware of this phenomenon) or if you want to re-up the minutes on your pay-as-you-go phone. We also use these establishments for emergency moneda acquisition, but you have to be canny and hard-as-nails to get actual coins out of these proprietors!

The Chino. There is a large contingent of small grocery store owners that are of Chinese descent, therefore the name for these types of stores has become, Chino. It is always amusing to freak out the owners of these markets with some Mandarin conversation at check-out, especially with two little blond-haired Chinese speakers in tow! We frequent the Chino for quick staple runs — milk, yogurt, water, rice, etc. There is generally a small produce section in the store as well, but it is usually of lower quality.

The Supermercado. The Carrefour, the Disco, and the Coto are the three most ubiquitous grocery store chains. The mega versions of these purveyors carry electronics and household items, the more modest locations are just grocery stores. If you like to feel and select your own produce, this is where you would buy it, although quality varies dramatically from store to store and day to day.

It has taken Tom awhile to master the Spanish vocabulary required for checkout at the supermercado. First he has to select between efectivo or tarjeta (cash or credit), then he has to decide if he wants home delivery. Next, they ask if he wants his purchase charged in one payment or multiple payments. Lastly, they request a documento, which is supposed to be a DNI card or a passport. Tom usually just gives them his U.S. driver’s license, which often results in a visit from a manager, who has approved its use in every case but one.

The Verdulería are produce markets that dot the city’s streets. In general, I have a hard time buying produce from these vendors because I’m not thrilled about buying food that has been sitting out in the street all day, getting covered in the chemical-laden black exhaust which spews from the buses, but it often can’t be avoided as supermarket produce is often horrible. I find that it’s also a good idea to try to get a sense of when your local Verdulería receives shipments because unless you catch it off the truck, items like lettuce sit outside and wilt in the heat within about 30 minutes of delivery.

It has been my experience (and yes, I know it is not everyone’s experience) that these operators will pass off crappy product if you appear to be a transient tourist, so don’t be shy. Ask to see all of the produce they are bagging and feel free to reject their selections. Because they pick and you don’t, relationship building with your local vegetable merchant is a good idea if you are going to be living in the city for any length of time.

Today we strode through the Recoleta Cemetery and visited the resting place of nearly everyone for whom our neighborhood streets are named: Dorrego, LM Campos, Gorostiaga…it was a photographers dream and a feral cat lovers paradise. (The feline population was a huge draw for the Zs and their pal Emilie, although the maze-like walkways wending through the tombs were popular as well.)

Tom was a bit piqued that we didn’t locate Evita’s burial site (what I like to call results-oriented tourism), but we managed to wander and enjoy regardless! (If you have time, click on the pix to see the beautiful details from the tombs.)