LIFE
How I Stayed in America (Part 13)
Nothing foreshadowed my love towards America. My first experience, definitely a bad one, took me to Kansas City, while I was an exchange student. I accompanied a group of children 10-11 years old from my secondary school #56, which is located on Kutuzovsky Prospect, house #22. We traveled to Kansas for about 24 hours. Flights to America had two mandatory stops: in Shannon (Ireland) and in Newfoundland (apparently Canada). Landing at JFK from a height of about 1000 meters, one could see the Statue of Liberty and the “twin” towers. After landing, we switched airports and flew to Kansas City.
We were settled in families. My first acquaintances in the world, the Americans, turned out to be an ordinary family with two children.
Moreover, it was a very religious family. They had a snake, and we fed it with a mouse twice during my stay. It was the most fascinating part of my trip, apart from the hellish shopping for leather jackets, Timberlands, and Lee’s jeans. We arrived at some semi-storage, where we could find bomb jeans. In fact, it’s been 27 years, but I still dress the same way: jeans, leather jacket, and sneakers.
The hostess of the house — the mother of the girl who was supposed to come visit me in Moscow — did not let her go, in fact. Either because I smoked, or because the elder Bush unleashed the Gulf War. Anyway, another girl came to visit me, Amanda.
The family in which I lived, apparently, was well-off, although they did not have any frills. Furthermore, their refrigerator was always empty. Mom started the day with the same phrase: “If you are hungry, there is food in the fridge” — there was one apple and chips on the shelf. The Apple-Chips diet worked — I really wanted to go back home. I was 17 years old. I called my mother in Moscow (my family gave me two minutes for an international call), screamed into the phone like a madman that I really want to go back, and that “I will never, never go to America again”!
Ten years later, in anticipation of my first child, I go to Dan’s supermarket to buy groceries. I have a huge belly. Every pregnant woman thinks she has a huge belly. However, I didn’t think I had a huge one. This is how I love myself. Looking at the photo many years later, I see my belly was actually huge. Giant! Back then, it seemed to me I was petite and very sexy. Throughout my pregnancy, I thought that men were looking at me with lust, and, to be honest, women too.
Nevertheless, most likely, they looked and thought: “Lord, what a huge belly! She must have triplets.” Nobody dared to ask though. However, after giving birth, when I came to buy some clothes for the baby, the saleswoman, unknowingly, put me in my place. She asked how much time I had left before the birth. I honestly answered that I had already given one. “Wow!” — she replied (probably while realizing that she messed up) — “I wonder what your tummy was like then?” What do you mean, tummy???
My doctor, Macy, a local celebrity in Utah, saw me once every month. Back in the fall, we decided that we would give birth on February 21st. According to a very serious American tradition, a man/husband must be present at childbirth. Not that he should be checking the disclosure, but at least he should be nearby. Since my husband was constantly on the move, the team management asked the gynecologists to plan the birth so that the guys would not rush out of some Memphis in the middle of the night. Therefore, in the team, almost all players’ wives were injected with Pitocin. Indeed, on the right day (at the appointed time, plus/minus one day), women are given a dropper, and then they give birth. As Macy said: “You will come on the 20th, we will put you on the dropper on the 21st, and you will give birth by the time your husband arrives. At 5-6 o’clock in the afternoon. Because right after, at 7 pm I have a pair figure skating class. I already bought tickets.” (At this point, the Olympic Games were in Salt Lake City).
I checked into my room at the hospital as planned on February 20th. Most importantly, I took a tape recorder with me. There were no iPhones back then, but instead tape recorders. I said that I would give birth with some music on. Despite the fact that I had to give birth on the 21st, on the day of my husband’s arrival from Houston, I gave birth on the 22nd. Misfire of Dr. Macy (as this text could have been titled).
You should never forget that doctors can only assume the due date; you know who is actually in charge though)))
Автор, фото Маша Лопатова