Sorry for the dramatic title: nothing too serious to report. I was up at San Javier Hospital in Guadalajara to give blood, specifically platelets, for my friend undergoing chemo. Mexico is one of those places where if you need blood, you literally need to bring it with you by enlisting friends and family to come and give blood for you. Everyone knows how the system works, so everyone pitches in to help.
The rules for blood donation are as arbitrary in Mexico as anywhere. Back in the States, I and my entire family were prohibited from giving blood since we were stationed with the Army in Germany back in the 80’s: our beef supply back then came from the UK, which had a Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE, or Mad Cow disease, as you know it) outbreak. There is no test for BSE, so while there is next-to-no chance we have it, we were disqualified. Move to Mexico and voila, no problema. But they have rules for age (18-60), weight (>50 kilos), no meds, no alcohol (48 hours), fasting at least 5 but not more than 8 hours, last meal with no dairy or fat. Think about meeting those requirements during an emergency need for blood!
I passed all the preliminary screens, but then my blood needed a serum test, which delayed me for another 5 hours, so I got an extended stay in the hospital waiting area, which in turn led to this observation.
The Mexican people have a very different approach to the societal need to gather when one of the family gets sick. The waiting room was a veritable fiesta of several families. They each staked out a section, setting up a specific place for the family to gather, talk and visit while they queued up for trips up to visit their loved ones. There wasn’t any crying or even a long face: it was more like several impromptu family reunions had suddenly taken place like some hospital waiting room flash mob.
The families weren’t loud, but there were many hugs and kisses and murmurs of recognition. Some showed up with food, which they passed along to the rest of the family. Several members had visitor’s badges hanging around their necks, and they went up to visit the admitted relative, then returned to the waiting area and passed the badge along to another set of relatives. Sometimes the patient arrived in the waiting room via the elevator, and the family rushed to greet them.
Now remember, this wasn’t a maternity waiting room: this was a waiting area attached to an emergency room for a hospital specializing in cancer treatment. Some of the patients I saw looked quite sick. But the mood in that waiting room was positive. There seemed to be an emphasis on family and togetherness: gathering in the face of bad news, but not becoming disconsolate with grief even if the bad news turns worse.
I found there was much to learn from this unique approach to gathering when illness strikes the family. It reminded me, in a way, of the Irish wake: a real party in the face of tragedy. Of course, the Irish wait until the worst has happened, and party almost in the face of that end. The Mexicans may have improved on that idea!
When I was a teenager I went to my deceased Portuguese uncle’s viewing. The church nave was pretty much empty. Occasionally a friend or neighbor would come in, quietly pay their respects, and quickly depart. The family was located in a small to the side of the altar. That small room was full of Portagees, part Portagees, and noise. It was very festive. Everyone was sharing memories, having fun, and cracking jokes. They all were behaving like my uncle! Although I did have to find a quiet place for a few minutes of reflection, I soon returned to the family festivities. It was all so appropriate.