For the Memorial Day weekend my husband surprised me with a trip to… clean out our attic! Yes, the attic, the ultimate stay-cation destination… NOT! Don’t get me wrong, I’m a neat freak at heart and totally get off on completing such important job as alphabetizing sock drawers and tossing out year-old tax documents, but on Memorial Weekend?! I JUST bought a new bathing suit for crying out loud!
This would be a learning process, I told myself. Mainly I learned to bite my tongue because my life could be a lot worse. Coming in at a close second was the realization that I AM old enough to own items that SMELL old. How is it that my box of college mementoes smells like moth balls? This is our attic, not my grandmother’s! Hopefully the strong scent of grilling emanating from the backyards of those actually ENJOYING their holiday masks my bedroom’s eau-de-pissed off.
As we each went through our own boxes of memories we found lots of incriminating photos taken in the 80’s (if you were my friend then, check Facebook now and plan to be embarrassed). Courtesy of my mother in law’s oh too convenient archiving skills, my husband got to enjoy reading through no less than 200 letters from his ex girlfriend: the pretty, rich one that got away- just my luck. That awkwardness aside, we enjoyed exchanging stories and basked in the feeling of nostalgia this housekeeping chore evoked.
All of this reminiscing (and viewing of photos that featured way hotter, tanner versions of ourselves and our exes), had me wondering if MY HUSBAND was wondering what I was wondering. What IF I ended up with one of my childhood pals from Venezuela (unlikely)…or if Tim hadn't let the "good one" get away? What would our lives be like then?
In the background, J.R. is chanting “the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries,” while Jack is SWIMMING in a box of you know who’s female fan mail. Before I can scream Calgon (and no that’s not the name of a former flame) take me away, I realize that I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.
As much as raising a child like J.R. makes me want to turn back time and run like hell, I know in my heart that he was not meant to be a Jaime Roberto. Life in our house is no Memorial Day picnic, but I just can’t imagine our lives without getting to observe the following:
J.R. singing the words to America’s Ventura Highway, including “doo, doo; doo, doo; doodo…”
J.R. and Jack having KNOCK DOWN, DRAG OUT fights like typical brothers would.
J.R. telling me “that’s not right,” after I screamed “for F***’s SAKE JACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
J.R. wanting to sing Happy Birthday to Jackson every day since May 17.
J.R. getting better and better every day.
To honor this weekend of remembrance, I plan to shelve the beta version of this blog. It’s way too angry and I don’t want to think of J.R.’s childhood in this way any more. But considering the writing is a true reflection of how I felt at the time (and because I think I’m so freaking hilarious and entertaining), I will republish select entries for my diehard fans…just as my husband and I are going to spend time scanning more quality photos tonight to put on Facebook. The moral of the story? Looking back CAN be fun, but not nearly as inspiring as looking forward.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Take Two Placebos and Call Me...
This just in: stem cell treatment WORKS (to drive a parent batty).
My husband I and had promised each other weeks before our trip that we wouldn’t allow the placebo effect to set in once J.R. had received the stem cell treatment. If I had any delusions I could actually walk around without electron microscope strength glasses observing J.R.’s every last move, they were quickly tossed aside after J.R. yelled out “mommy, my boobies are getting wet in the pool” the night of his last treatment. Had J.R. noticed his boobies before? Did I really just write that last sentence?
Because I knew there was no possible way I wasn’t about to NOT park myself, pad and pen straight up J.R.’s rear, I tried my best to control the less psychotic influences in his life. I was not about to inform his teacher and therapists that we were seeking stem cell treatment; they were bound to see something in J.R. that was not really there if J.R. performed a classroom miracle (i.e., taking more than one obligatory bite of his lunch). To distract these professionals from noticing their tiny prodigy would be absent for three weeks, I told them we would be taking a dream vacation and bringing J.R. with us. Ok let’s face it, I’d be dreaming if I thought I would actually get any vacation for the next ten years, so I hadn’t stretched the truth all that much.
Of course as any “Kristi” laid out plan would proceed, the scheme had a few flaws. Number one I think I emailed the blog address to his ABA therapist by mistake. Oh yeah, hi Ms. Carolina; keep up the good work. I also realized that J.R. would only be spending about another month with his B-E-L-O-V-E-D Pre-K teacher. No stem cell parents have reported changes in their child in less than two months, so why would I keep this amazing experience from Ms. W?
It’s all good, because on the homefront the placebo effect is well, to quote 80’s rap, in “full effect.” To add to the fun, my husband and I have developed a “look” that we exchange every time we observe J.R. doing something “out of the ordinary”. Okay who am I kidding, the kid farts and the looks fly, which translate into “STOP THINKING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE THINKING WHICH ONLY STARTS ME THINKING…WAS IT THE STEM CELLS…? PARKAY? I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER!”
We just can’t help ourselves. Put yourself in our shoes (Reef Sandals)…imagine purchasing a big ticket item on Ebay knowing that it may or may not turn out to be the Prada (oops I mean product) you were expecting. Oh yeah, and you sent the seller cash in the mail. Tell me you wouldn’t be all over your package delivery provider like white on rice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* Okay I’m pretty sure that analogy made zero sense, so be sure to read the disclaimer below.
Dr. Seuss warned us; we’ve found ourselves in the Waiting Place. Do I make myself clear now? If not I have a reading assignment for you.
My point is that the placebo effect is impossible to control. Can we attribute any of J.R.’s following behaviors to the stem cell treatment? Who the freak knows. What I do know is what I’ve thought all along- J.R. has been involved in so many interventions, so we may never figure out if there’s that one magic bullet (or if it will ever hit him). We know we are just infinitely lucky we have the opportunity to try such treatments.
Ok here it goes- the Top 10 Things J.R. Has Done to Prompt The “Look”
10. He uses the word “another,” as in “Jack, find another car to play with.” Then again, he’s named his favorite Lightning McQueen car ‘Nother Car.
9. He learned how to ride a Razor scooter in 3 minutes flat. He’s got 6 gashes to prove it and tolerated a Band Aid (which we thought would stop the hemorrhaging) for a full 12 seconds (a new record).
8. He uses all the nicknames for his little brother that we use, understanding that they all mean “Jack.” “Tons of Fun” is not one of them, so we think that J.R. may be developing his sensitivity chip.
7. He says “cheese” and smiles for the camera. Need I remind you I recently paid a small fortune for a professional photographer to capture one of FIVE photos I own of J.R. making genuine eye contact (see blog pic). I can hear him half way down the block, on his Razor, calling out “cheese.” I hope he will soon figure out he has to remain in FRONT of the camera for the photo op to become an op.
6. He asks where his brother has gone, to mean "mom, get your head out of your ass and start parenting." Inevitably my two year old will wander off into the neighbor’s landscaping the minute I turn away; J.R. answers himself with a stock “into Bob’s bush,” but hey at least the kid finally acknowledges his brother’s existence!
5. He climbed to the VERY TOP of the Burger King playground habitrail. He has never done this. Jack followed him right up, instantly loaded his pants, and clogged the line causing me to have to weave MY sweaty self all the way to the top and rescue J.R. from certain death by noxious fumes. You should have heard the parents applaud.
4. He calms himself. We’ve longed for J.R. to develop coping mechanisms- his anxiety can be through the roof. Now he says things like “it’s okay, it’s all better, it’s gone, etc.”
3. As we speak J.R. is battling a temperature, and today he told us that he wanted to feel better. WOW!
2. He exceeded a professional’s expectations. Last week his ABA therapy supervisor observed him actually reading (vs. recalling from his freakish rote memory) 4th and 5th grade level words. My husband watched her jaw drop via closed circuit TV. Priceless. Actually, pricey but who's counting?
1. He told us what he did at school. Last Friday J.R. came home (in his $40 shirt) covered with silver paint. We are trying not to speak for J.R. or prompt his answers, so instead of saying “did you paint today?” my husband said “what did you do today?” J.R. quickly responded with “I painted an octopus at school today daddy.” Imagine my surprise when on Monday he came home with a silver octopus (which I am getting silver plated).
*this scenario in no way, shape, or form resembles my experience trolling for Michael Kors bags or Highwayman paintings on a certain popular auction website.
My husband I and had promised each other weeks before our trip that we wouldn’t allow the placebo effect to set in once J.R. had received the stem cell treatment. If I had any delusions I could actually walk around without electron microscope strength glasses observing J.R.’s every last move, they were quickly tossed aside after J.R. yelled out “mommy, my boobies are getting wet in the pool” the night of his last treatment. Had J.R. noticed his boobies before? Did I really just write that last sentence?
Because I knew there was no possible way I wasn’t about to NOT park myself, pad and pen straight up J.R.’s rear, I tried my best to control the less psychotic influences in his life. I was not about to inform his teacher and therapists that we were seeking stem cell treatment; they were bound to see something in J.R. that was not really there if J.R. performed a classroom miracle (i.e., taking more than one obligatory bite of his lunch). To distract these professionals from noticing their tiny prodigy would be absent for three weeks, I told them we would be taking a dream vacation and bringing J.R. with us. Ok let’s face it, I’d be dreaming if I thought I would actually get any vacation for the next ten years, so I hadn’t stretched the truth all that much.
Of course as any “Kristi” laid out plan would proceed, the scheme had a few flaws. Number one I think I emailed the blog address to his ABA therapist by mistake. Oh yeah, hi Ms. Carolina; keep up the good work. I also realized that J.R. would only be spending about another month with his B-E-L-O-V-E-D Pre-K teacher. No stem cell parents have reported changes in their child in less than two months, so why would I keep this amazing experience from Ms. W?
It’s all good, because on the homefront the placebo effect is well, to quote 80’s rap, in “full effect.” To add to the fun, my husband and I have developed a “look” that we exchange every time we observe J.R. doing something “out of the ordinary”. Okay who am I kidding, the kid farts and the looks fly, which translate into “STOP THINKING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE THINKING WHICH ONLY STARTS ME THINKING…WAS IT THE STEM CELLS…? PARKAY? I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER!”
We just can’t help ourselves. Put yourself in our shoes (Reef Sandals)…imagine purchasing a big ticket item on Ebay knowing that it may or may not turn out to be the Prada (oops I mean product) you were expecting. Oh yeah, and you sent the seller cash in the mail. Tell me you wouldn’t be all over your package delivery provider like white on rice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* Okay I’m pretty sure that analogy made zero sense, so be sure to read the disclaimer below.
Dr. Seuss warned us; we’ve found ourselves in the Waiting Place. Do I make myself clear now? If not I have a reading assignment for you.
My point is that the placebo effect is impossible to control. Can we attribute any of J.R.’s following behaviors to the stem cell treatment? Who the freak knows. What I do know is what I’ve thought all along- J.R. has been involved in so many interventions, so we may never figure out if there’s that one magic bullet (or if it will ever hit him). We know we are just infinitely lucky we have the opportunity to try such treatments.
Ok here it goes- the Top 10 Things J.R. Has Done to Prompt The “Look”
10. He uses the word “another,” as in “Jack, find another car to play with.” Then again, he’s named his favorite Lightning McQueen car ‘Nother Car.
9. He learned how to ride a Razor scooter in 3 minutes flat. He’s got 6 gashes to prove it and tolerated a Band Aid (which we thought would stop the hemorrhaging) for a full 12 seconds (a new record).
8. He uses all the nicknames for his little brother that we use, understanding that they all mean “Jack.” “Tons of Fun” is not one of them, so we think that J.R. may be developing his sensitivity chip.
7. He says “cheese” and smiles for the camera. Need I remind you I recently paid a small fortune for a professional photographer to capture one of FIVE photos I own of J.R. making genuine eye contact (see blog pic). I can hear him half way down the block, on his Razor, calling out “cheese.” I hope he will soon figure out he has to remain in FRONT of the camera for the photo op to become an op.
6. He asks where his brother has gone, to mean "mom, get your head out of your ass and start parenting." Inevitably my two year old will wander off into the neighbor’s landscaping the minute I turn away; J.R. answers himself with a stock “into Bob’s bush,” but hey at least the kid finally acknowledges his brother’s existence!
5. He climbed to the VERY TOP of the Burger King playground habitrail. He has never done this. Jack followed him right up, instantly loaded his pants, and clogged the line causing me to have to weave MY sweaty self all the way to the top and rescue J.R. from certain death by noxious fumes. You should have heard the parents applaud.
4. He calms himself. We’ve longed for J.R. to develop coping mechanisms- his anxiety can be through the roof. Now he says things like “it’s okay, it’s all better, it’s gone, etc.”
3. As we speak J.R. is battling a temperature, and today he told us that he wanted to feel better. WOW!
2. He exceeded a professional’s expectations. Last week his ABA therapy supervisor observed him actually reading (vs. recalling from his freakish rote memory) 4th and 5th grade level words. My husband watched her jaw drop via closed circuit TV. Priceless. Actually, pricey but who's counting?
1. He told us what he did at school. Last Friday J.R. came home (in his $40 shirt) covered with silver paint. We are trying not to speak for J.R. or prompt his answers, so instead of saying “did you paint today?” my husband said “what did you do today?” J.R. quickly responded with “I painted an octopus at school today daddy.” Imagine my surprise when on Monday he came home with a silver octopus (which I am getting silver plated).
--------------------------------------------------
*this scenario in no way, shape, or form resembles my experience trolling for Michael Kors bags or Highwayman paintings on a certain popular auction website.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Oh The Places We've Been
Last night, Dr. Lara called our room and gave Tim an offer we just could not refuse. He was going to be administering Steve-O's PETRIFIED little girl a double dose of stem cells on Thursday so she would not have to return Friday. Were we interested in the same deal? I could barely make out the conversation and still I was signing an emphatic HELL YEAH!!!!!! from bed.
Not wanting to jump the gun, Tim asked if he and I could discuss the proposal first and give ICM an answer in the morning. Dr. L agreed that would be okay. Right away I informed Tim that my opinion did not count because my mind was clouded by the idea that if we finished the treatment on Thursday morning we could enter the pool a whole 24 hours earlier.
Doubling up on the regular stem cell dosage has already been done with some patients, and since J.R. had no adverse reaction to the first two injections, Dr. Lara thought it would be perfectly fine to combine days 3 & 4's doses. Tim and I feel the entire process is a complete leap of faith anyway, so we said "what the heck, let's do it." We were over the moon.
Besides J.R. having a bit of difficulty sitting DOUBLE the amount of time, the treatment went well. To be honest even though the injections couldn't possibly be causing J.R. any pain, I was done seeing him become upset. And after all was said and done J.R. high-fived the nurse, Steve-O, Steve-O's mom, and confidently walked right outside into the van telling everyone in his path that "it did not hurt"! The rest of the day's events involved tons of sunscreen, chlorine, and cokes.
J.R.'s favorite book (this month) is Dr. Seuss' Oh The Places You'll Go. Most of the time he reads at night with his dad, so I had really only mindlessly read him a few pages here and there. Ironically last night J.R. asked mommy to read. I had to hold back tears at its poignancy, encountered especially in these lines:
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggle roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants,
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
Parents who seek stem cell treatment say the hardest part is the waiting. Waiting for something to click. We hear it can be downright maddening, yet J.R.'s affection for this book has brought us some peace.
J.R. is always saying "NO! That's not for you," and now we know why. We thought he was just reminding himself out loud to not touch or do certain things. He's actually reciting the words that come next in the rhyme. They are:
NO!
That's not for you!
Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing...
We can only pray that waiting will NOT be for him, and that he will be one of the lucky ones who will, according to Dr. Seuss, "succeed...98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed."
Tim and I have tried a lot of different types of interventions with J.R. as any parents would. Some will say that people like Dr. Lara and his staff have no more business practicing what they do than Dr. Seuss. Our solace lies in these lines (which just so happen to be J.R.'s favorite):
...be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!
Not wanting to jump the gun, Tim asked if he and I could discuss the proposal first and give ICM an answer in the morning. Dr. L agreed that would be okay. Right away I informed Tim that my opinion did not count because my mind was clouded by the idea that if we finished the treatment on Thursday morning we could enter the pool a whole 24 hours earlier.
Doubling up on the regular stem cell dosage has already been done with some patients, and since J.R. had no adverse reaction to the first two injections, Dr. Lara thought it would be perfectly fine to combine days 3 & 4's doses. Tim and I feel the entire process is a complete leap of faith anyway, so we said "what the heck, let's do it." We were over the moon.
Besides J.R. having a bit of difficulty sitting DOUBLE the amount of time, the treatment went well. To be honest even though the injections couldn't possibly be causing J.R. any pain, I was done seeing him become upset. And after all was said and done J.R. high-fived the nurse, Steve-O, Steve-O's mom, and confidently walked right outside into the van telling everyone in his path that "it did not hurt"! The rest of the day's events involved tons of sunscreen, chlorine, and cokes.
J.R.'s favorite book (this month) is Dr. Seuss' Oh The Places You'll Go. Most of the time he reads at night with his dad, so I had really only mindlessly read him a few pages here and there. Ironically last night J.R. asked mommy to read. I had to hold back tears at its poignancy, encountered especially in these lines:
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggle roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants,
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
Parents who seek stem cell treatment say the hardest part is the waiting. Waiting for something to click. We hear it can be downright maddening, yet J.R.'s affection for this book has brought us some peace.
J.R. is always saying "NO! That's not for you," and now we know why. We thought he was just reminding himself out loud to not touch or do certain things. He's actually reciting the words that come next in the rhyme. They are:
NO!
That's not for you!
Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing...
We can only pray that waiting will NOT be for him, and that he will be one of the lucky ones who will, according to Dr. Seuss, "succeed...98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed."
Tim and I have tried a lot of different types of interventions with J.R. as any parents would. Some will say that people like Dr. Lara and his staff have no more business practicing what they do than Dr. Seuss. Our solace lies in these lines (which just so happen to be J.R.'s favorite):
...be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Turtles & Squirrels & Iguanas...Oh My!
Today's treatment was at 10:30 a.m. and J.R. wasn't at ALL thrilled about it, but the best part is that it takes a total of five minutes.
Too busy blogging about our hotel (P.S. the toxic smell came from the complete renovation of our floor that was completed in a matter of 8 hours...they needed to impress the President of El Salvador), I went into little detail about J.R.'s actual treatment.
J.R.'s injections go as follows...
First he is given a a shot of saline to be sure the catheter is in its proper place. Next he is given two vials, back to back, of the stem cells. The amount seems small. Then one quick shot of heparin (a blood thinner) before a final push of saline to be sure those suckers don't clog in the line. The whole process takes five short (try describing them to J.R. as short) minutes.
The funniest part is that at the first treatment I had no idea how many injections he'd receive nor how long it would take to administer them, yet to distract J.R. I'd say "okay let's count" at the start of each.
"Oooooooooooone, twooooooooooo, thrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee..." I counted slowly.
"Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten" J.R. counted OVER me and was on 10 before I hit 2. I just love that little boy.
After today's treatment we were off to our planned excursion to the Zoo which included a traditional Costa Rican lunch and a stop at a souvineer sweatshop (oops I meant factory). J.R.'s version of a traditional CR lunch was picked up on the way at El Burger King. To give you an idea of traffic, we could throw a rock at BK from the clinic, but after having to "serpentine" (which prompted lots of "look kids, Big Ben, Parliament jokes") it took 20 minutes before we had J.R.'s "cajita" (kidsmeal) in hand.
Our driver's name was Esteban, and Tim prompty calls him Steve then tells "Steve" that I speak Spanish. Great! I did NOT want this trip to be work! Interestingly enough I am encountering LOTS of people just like Esteban here in Costa Rica whose English is about it good as my Spanish. We end up having the greatest conversations! I can't tell you what great exchanges I've had, talking about what it's like to learn a foreign language and how difficult it is to retain without practice. Every person I spoke with is (happily) studying very hard, which is respectable I have to say.
Don't ever take a tour with us, because inevitably every tour guide we've used takes a pre-destination side trip to his home town and points out about 200 points of disinterest adding 50 minutes to the ride. Point in case: we left Kauai, Hawaii not knowing it was once a massive pineapple plantation but got to see where Lana kept her goats during the rainy season.
I really like Costa Rica. I can't stress enough how genuinely nice everyone is, and I honestly didn't mind seeing Esteban's elementary school, te prometo.
The traditional lunch was at a neat shack made to look authentic for tourists. The food looked and was, according to Tim y Esteban, very tasty. I simply ordered a batido de fresa because I had nervously downed J.R.'s BK fries on the trip over.
Too busy blogging about our hotel (P.S. the toxic smell came from the complete renovation of our floor that was completed in a matter of 8 hours...they needed to impress the President of El Salvador), I went into little detail about J.R.'s actual treatment.
J.R.'s injections go as follows...
First he is given a a shot of saline to be sure the catheter is in its proper place. Next he is given two vials, back to back, of the stem cells. The amount seems small. Then one quick shot of heparin (a blood thinner) before a final push of saline to be sure those suckers don't clog in the line. The whole process takes five short (try describing them to J.R. as short) minutes.
The funniest part is that at the first treatment I had no idea how many injections he'd receive nor how long it would take to administer them, yet to distract J.R. I'd say "okay let's count" at the start of each.
"Oooooooooooone, twooooooooooo, thrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee..." I counted slowly.
"Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten" J.R. counted OVER me and was on 10 before I hit 2. I just love that little boy.
After today's treatment we were off to our planned excursion to the Zoo which included a traditional Costa Rican lunch and a stop at a souvineer sweatshop (oops I meant factory). J.R.'s version of a traditional CR lunch was picked up on the way at El Burger King. To give you an idea of traffic, we could throw a rock at BK from the clinic, but after having to "serpentine" (which prompted lots of "look kids, Big Ben, Parliament jokes") it took 20 minutes before we had J.R.'s "cajita" (kidsmeal) in hand.
Our driver's name was Esteban, and Tim prompty calls him Steve then tells "Steve" that I speak Spanish. Great! I did NOT want this trip to be work! Interestingly enough I am encountering LOTS of people just like Esteban here in Costa Rica whose English is about it good as my Spanish. We end up having the greatest conversations! I can't tell you what great exchanges I've had, talking about what it's like to learn a foreign language and how difficult it is to retain without practice. Every person I spoke with is (happily) studying very hard, which is respectable I have to say.
Don't ever take a tour with us, because inevitably every tour guide we've used takes a pre-destination side trip to his home town and points out about 200 points of disinterest adding 50 minutes to the ride. Point in case: we left Kauai, Hawaii not knowing it was once a massive pineapple plantation but got to see where Lana kept her goats during the rainy season.
I really like Costa Rica. I can't stress enough how genuinely nice everyone is, and I honestly didn't mind seeing Esteban's elementary school, te prometo.
The traditional lunch was at a neat shack made to look authentic for tourists. The food looked and was, according to Tim y Esteban, very tasty. I simply ordered a batido de fresa because I had nervously downed J.R.'s BK fries on the trip over.
As for the Zoo...it was very lush and just J.R.'s pace. For my hometown friends, let's just say it's the Costa Rican version of Flamingo Gardens...just riddled with conservationist slogan-filled signs (oh yeah and cardboard cutouts of animals that may be asleep). I think Tim actually attempted to pet a two dimensional tapir.
The highlights included Tim and I nearly getting clipped by a Toucan (darker in color than Toucan Sam from what I saw), and J.R. coming an inch from getting his ass torn off by a peacock. As if this were not entertaining enough, an exit sign warned that it was not very eco-friendly to harvest turtle eggs for Viagra production. !Que divertido! (...o horror)
The Zoo is famous for its birds, but I swear more effort was put into providing a habitat for its turtles, squirrels (no I am not kidding) and (two) iguanas. I wanted to ask if I could help build the population by letting the zookeepers visit my BACK YARD! LOL!
I'm off to fight the VP of Chile for the last piece of sushi at the concierge spread. The bomb squad thinks J.R. is cute so I may have an in!
Peace!
K
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Crazy from the Heat (or the formaldehyde)
Before I give you a play by play of today's adventures (like it or not), I will come right out and say that today J.R. received his first stem cell treatment! Hooray!
Tim and I are convinced our hotel (room) is situated directly on the equator. Tim is so sunburn that he can barely wear clothing, and I wore long sleeves today to protect my arms (and my ego- I didn't want the ICM doctors to say "I told you so!") Believe it or not, the clinic rep told us that Costa Rica is experiencing a phenomena that is causing the sun's rays to beam down perpendicularly (we believe over the Hotel Intercontinental). Our beet-red appearance (along with Tim's incessant butchering of the Spanish language) screams turistas even louder than ever.
Thank the Lord we were easily able to fill up the day with fun activities to keep J.R. busy. We could have easily done a day trip to the beach or rain forest, but with our luck we'd hit a snag and miss our 2:30 p.m. appointment altogether. Instead we hit the mall, played in the hotel fountain, and exposed ourselves to toxic chemicals.
This afternoon we returned to our room to freshen up for J.R.'s appointment. A smell that I can only describe as a combination of glue (the kind you are DEFINITELY not supposed to sniff), formaldehyde, turpentine, and gasoline poured from the elevator. I was lightheaded by the time we hit the 5th floor. As we stepped out of the elevator and into our room, I thought "who is burning carcinogen flavored incense?" We were absolutely overwhelmed by the smell (and fear we'd pass out and die after ICM had cashed our check but before having administered any treatment!). Loooong long story short, I packed our bags in 7 minutes flat and we were off to another room. I won't tell you that I reminded the concierge we were in this country to make our son well, not worse. Pura vida!
Okay so the TREATMENT...(you know, the whole reason why we are here!) went fairly well. Dr. Lara cut off J.R.'s bandages that kept his catheter clean and dry, which we knew would prove anticlimactic because we KNEW J.R. would love this part only to learn he'd be rewrapped after the injection. Tim had to hold J.R. down (as we fully expected) and our little buddy was pretty unhappy about about the whole thing. Then again, he wont even tolerate a doctor looking in his ears. All in all we are THRILLED we chose to utilize the catheter. Five minutes later J.R. was back to his same ol self, laughing and wanting his Leapster game (and the 100 other things we promised him over the 5 minutes it took to receive the cells). One injection down, three to go.
Tomorrow we're taking a trip to the zoo after a 10:30 a.m. treatment. Can't wait. Gotta go pack my sunscreen :).
P.S. To see some pictures of our trip so far, click on the Flickr links on the left hand side of this page.
Peace!
Tim and I are convinced our hotel (room) is situated directly on the equator. Tim is so sunburn that he can barely wear clothing, and I wore long sleeves today to protect my arms (and my ego- I didn't want the ICM doctors to say "I told you so!") Believe it or not, the clinic rep told us that Costa Rica is experiencing a phenomena that is causing the sun's rays to beam down perpendicularly (we believe over the Hotel Intercontinental). Our beet-red appearance (along with Tim's incessant butchering of the Spanish language) screams turistas even louder than ever.
Thank the Lord we were easily able to fill up the day with fun activities to keep J.R. busy. We could have easily done a day trip to the beach or rain forest, but with our luck we'd hit a snag and miss our 2:30 p.m. appointment altogether. Instead we hit the mall, played in the hotel fountain, and exposed ourselves to toxic chemicals.
This afternoon we returned to our room to freshen up for J.R.'s appointment. A smell that I can only describe as a combination of glue (the kind you are DEFINITELY not supposed to sniff), formaldehyde, turpentine, and gasoline poured from the elevator. I was lightheaded by the time we hit the 5th floor. As we stepped out of the elevator and into our room, I thought "who is burning carcinogen flavored incense?" We were absolutely overwhelmed by the smell (and fear we'd pass out and die after ICM had cashed our check but before having administered any treatment!). Loooong long story short, I packed our bags in 7 minutes flat and we were off to another room. I won't tell you that I reminded the concierge we were in this country to make our son well, not worse. Pura vida!
Okay so the TREATMENT...(you know, the whole reason why we are here!) went fairly well. Dr. Lara cut off J.R.'s bandages that kept his catheter clean and dry, which we knew would prove anticlimactic because we KNEW J.R. would love this part only to learn he'd be rewrapped after the injection. Tim had to hold J.R. down (as we fully expected) and our little buddy was pretty unhappy about about the whole thing. Then again, he wont even tolerate a doctor looking in his ears. All in all we are THRILLED we chose to utilize the catheter. Five minutes later J.R. was back to his same ol self, laughing and wanting his Leapster game (and the 100 other things we promised him over the 5 minutes it took to receive the cells). One injection down, three to go.
Tomorrow we're taking a trip to the zoo after a 10:30 a.m. treatment. Can't wait. Gotta go pack my sunscreen :).
P.S. To see some pictures of our trip so far, click on the Flickr links on the left hand side of this page.
Peace!
Monday, March 30, 2009
My Good Luck Charm
Today was our first full day here in Costa Rica, and I swear the sun came up at 6 a.m. J.R. woke up ready for the day. Did I mention how great he has been acting? Naturally we have his Leapster with us which he rarely puts down, but even still, the bean has been a dream. How lucky are we?
I don't like talking about luck, because it's inevitable that once one does (at least in my case) that's when it starts running out. So mum's the word. Before we took off on Sunday, my friend Brenda brought me a lucky silver token inscribed with the words "wish it; dream it; do it". Well at least I THINK that's what it said, as I have nearly rubbed the writing off from grasping the token so tightly. I won't say if the charm has worked as to not jinx myself.
Our ICM (Institute for Cellular Medicine / clinic where J.R. will get his IV's) appointment was at 8:30 this morning. Our driver picked us up (miracle) at 7 anticipating the Manhattanesque traffic one encounters here in San Jose. Naturally we made it in 20 minutes flat. Normally the protocol would be this: patient goes directly to CIMA Hospital on day one where he is sedated for the catheter and bloodwork. In J.R.'s case, the doctors had us go to ICM FIRST where he could be checked out. J.R. is getting over a sinus infection, and so we wouldn't have to cancel our trip for the THIRD time, the doctors said "just come and we will play the treatment schedule by ear." They are so wonderful. Dr. Tomas, who is a female which is ultra-confusing considering she has a male apellido (surname), looked J.R. over and said his one ear was red but it would not cause any problems. Hooray! We're actually doing this.
After lucking out with J.R.'s health, we participated in what we thought at the time was a useless presentation about what to pack for our trip (hello, we're here!) and the need for sunscreen while visiting. We rolled our eyes only to fry ourselves to a crisp at the kick-ass hotel pool an hour later. We are such losers. The couple we met at the hotel traveled to ICM with us, and we met a new couple at the presentation. I know this is a horrible thought, but the more affected children we run into, the luckier we feel to have J.R. Believe me, living with the bean is no picnic, but this one 3 year old little girl at the clinic...all I can say is pobrecita. If she was awake, she was screaming bloody murder. The irony of the situation is that her (very young) father is a doctor. I had to distract myself by turning to Tim and telling him I thought the dad looked like Steve-O from MTV's Jackass (oh yeah, now Dancing with the Stars). Ironically he asked 4,000 questions at the presentation and Dr. Lara (a guy) took the time to answer each and every one of them. In Spanish.
I remembered why I DON'T speak Spanish at home- it's because the little I do speak, I do so sin accento. Entonces (for that reason) people think I am fluent, and think that's carte blanche to go all old school on me and start speaking 1,000 mph losing me at "hola." Well estupida Kristi asks Dr. Lara to answer Steve-O's questions in English. But I ask in Spanish! Therefore midstream everyone forgoes the need to speak English, and by the time all is said and done this is all I could gather:
Human cells have surface "markers" that tell the body which type of cell it is- be it skin cell, neuron, you get the picture. Stem cells are undifferentiated. Therefore once they are introduced into a patient's system, the body does not know to reject them...or at least the rejection rate happens with a statistically insignificant percentage of cells. In fact just recently the clinic STOPPED the procedure of incubating the patient's blood with several different stem cell samples to determine which sample produced the least amount of rejection. After over 200 procedures, the clinic found that the amount of rejected stem cells consistently fell between 5 and 7%. So it's possible that 95% of the 9 million cells (I think that's the amount that's injected) are "accepted" (if that's the medical term for the opposite of rejected).
Are you still awake? My point is...I had to translate most of this! Hooray for growing up in Bonaventure with Angel Gomez, Advanced Placement Spanish, Universidad (go FIU!), and memorizing Gypsy Kings lyrics for shits and giggles (NO easy task I tell you!). I rock!
J.R's last hurrah with water had to take place before our 12:30 p.m. hospital appointment for the catheter placement. So after being shuttled back to our DOPE hotel, we let the sunbathing/burning begin. At least we had the sense to douse J.R. with sunscreen. As we speak I am typing with one hand and applying aloe to Tim's torso with the other. Again, losers with a capital L.
CIMA Hospital is a stone's throw from our hotel. Cool. After being assured that all we had to do once we got there was whisper ICM and they would trip over themselves to help us, the staff looked at us like (and I quote Tim) "we asked them if we could board the space shuttle". Once again someone dropped the ball, but I've said it once and I'll say it again...that pura vida attitude is catchy. Even though I yelled out something reminiscent from Sally Field's performance in Not Without My Daughter, I knew everything would be fine. They eventually did figure out who we were. The BEST part came when Tim calls me over to translate- he figures out that halfway through giving our information to an admissions clerk that the dude didn't speak English. No big deal; I'm fluent (in my own mind) and I can handle this. As a nurse enters to room to take J.R. to prep for the procedure, the clerk leans over and says to his coworker in Spanish, "oh, it's the kid who's the patient, not the dad?" Thank the Lord I had the sense to tell Tim this story AFTER we leave the hospital. He would have been madder than Mothra.
J.R. was a real trouper and so was his dad. I laughed myself to tears when Tim put on the size XL scrubs and they were SO tight he looked like a (burnt) stuffed sausage. The REAL, sad tears came not when they took J.R. away, but as I had to hear the 3 year old girl we met at the clinic scream herself to sleep next door. My heart just broke for her. The COMPLETE irony? She still has no diagnosis. Pobre Dr. Steve-O. And I am one lucky, lucky mommy.
We were told that J.R. would be "angry" as he came out of the anesthesia. All I could think was GRRRRRRRRRRREAT, J.R. has 45 minute crying spells after waking up from naps, so I could only imagine how this would go. As luck would have it, he did great! And the little man who can not tolerate a band-aid (no I am not kidding) has maybe asked 3 times in 6 hours if he can take the bandage off.
The real test comes tomorrow. Our appointment at ICM for J.R.'s very first stem cell injection isn't until 2:30 p.m, so we have a looooong day's work ahead of us keeping his mind off of the pool. We didn't want to do any excursions this day (rainforest, beach, zoo, etc.) because God forbid we get stuck somewhere and can't make it back for the appointment. Soooooo the saga continues tomorrow. At this very moment J.R. fell asleep with his Leapster in hand, and Tim is watching some Chris Rock movie that I think was only released in Costa Rica. As for this lucky girl, I'm off to bed after a second dousing of aloe-vera. Peace out!
I don't like talking about luck, because it's inevitable that once one does (at least in my case) that's when it starts running out. So mum's the word. Before we took off on Sunday, my friend Brenda brought me a lucky silver token inscribed with the words "wish it; dream it; do it". Well at least I THINK that's what it said, as I have nearly rubbed the writing off from grasping the token so tightly. I won't say if the charm has worked as to not jinx myself.
Our ICM (Institute for Cellular Medicine / clinic where J.R. will get his IV's) appointment was at 8:30 this morning. Our driver picked us up (miracle) at 7 anticipating the Manhattanesque traffic one encounters here in San Jose. Naturally we made it in 20 minutes flat. Normally the protocol would be this: patient goes directly to CIMA Hospital on day one where he is sedated for the catheter and bloodwork. In J.R.'s case, the doctors had us go to ICM FIRST where he could be checked out. J.R. is getting over a sinus infection, and so we wouldn't have to cancel our trip for the THIRD time, the doctors said "just come and we will play the treatment schedule by ear." They are so wonderful. Dr. Tomas, who is a female which is ultra-confusing considering she has a male apellido (surname), looked J.R. over and said his one ear was red but it would not cause any problems. Hooray! We're actually doing this.
After lucking out with J.R.'s health, we participated in what we thought at the time was a useless presentation about what to pack for our trip (hello, we're here!) and the need for sunscreen while visiting. We rolled our eyes only to fry ourselves to a crisp at the kick-ass hotel pool an hour later. We are such losers. The couple we met at the hotel traveled to ICM with us, and we met a new couple at the presentation. I know this is a horrible thought, but the more affected children we run into, the luckier we feel to have J.R. Believe me, living with the bean is no picnic, but this one 3 year old little girl at the clinic...all I can say is pobrecita. If she was awake, she was screaming bloody murder. The irony of the situation is that her (very young) father is a doctor. I had to distract myself by turning to Tim and telling him I thought the dad looked like Steve-O from MTV's Jackass (oh yeah, now Dancing with the Stars). Ironically he asked 4,000 questions at the presentation and Dr. Lara (a guy) took the time to answer each and every one of them. In Spanish.
I remembered why I DON'T speak Spanish at home- it's because the little I do speak, I do so sin accento. Entonces (for that reason) people think I am fluent, and think that's carte blanche to go all old school on me and start speaking 1,000 mph losing me at "hola." Well estupida Kristi asks Dr. Lara to answer Steve-O's questions in English. But I ask in Spanish! Therefore midstream everyone forgoes the need to speak English, and by the time all is said and done this is all I could gather:
Human cells have surface "markers" that tell the body which type of cell it is- be it skin cell, neuron, you get the picture. Stem cells are undifferentiated. Therefore once they are introduced into a patient's system, the body does not know to reject them...or at least the rejection rate happens with a statistically insignificant percentage of cells. In fact just recently the clinic STOPPED the procedure of incubating the patient's blood with several different stem cell samples to determine which sample produced the least amount of rejection. After over 200 procedures, the clinic found that the amount of rejected stem cells consistently fell between 5 and 7%. So it's possible that 95% of the 9 million cells (I think that's the amount that's injected) are "accepted" (if that's the medical term for the opposite of rejected).
Are you still awake? My point is...I had to translate most of this! Hooray for growing up in Bonaventure with Angel Gomez, Advanced Placement Spanish, Universidad (go FIU!), and memorizing Gypsy Kings lyrics for shits and giggles (NO easy task I tell you!). I rock!
J.R's last hurrah with water had to take place before our 12:30 p.m. hospital appointment for the catheter placement. So after being shuttled back to our DOPE hotel, we let the sunbathing/burning begin. At least we had the sense to douse J.R. with sunscreen. As we speak I am typing with one hand and applying aloe to Tim's torso with the other. Again, losers with a capital L.
CIMA Hospital is a stone's throw from our hotel. Cool. After being assured that all we had to do once we got there was whisper ICM and they would trip over themselves to help us, the staff looked at us like (and I quote Tim) "we asked them if we could board the space shuttle". Once again someone dropped the ball, but I've said it once and I'll say it again...that pura vida attitude is catchy. Even though I yelled out something reminiscent from Sally Field's performance in Not Without My Daughter, I knew everything would be fine. They eventually did figure out who we were. The BEST part came when Tim calls me over to translate- he figures out that halfway through giving our information to an admissions clerk that the dude didn't speak English. No big deal; I'm fluent (in my own mind) and I can handle this. As a nurse enters to room to take J.R. to prep for the procedure, the clerk leans over and says to his coworker in Spanish, "oh, it's the kid who's the patient, not the dad?" Thank the Lord I had the sense to tell Tim this story AFTER we leave the hospital. He would have been madder than Mothra.
J.R. was a real trouper and so was his dad. I laughed myself to tears when Tim put on the size XL scrubs and they were SO tight he looked like a (burnt) stuffed sausage. The REAL, sad tears came not when they took J.R. away, but as I had to hear the 3 year old girl we met at the clinic scream herself to sleep next door. My heart just broke for her. The COMPLETE irony? She still has no diagnosis. Pobre Dr. Steve-O. And I am one lucky, lucky mommy.
We were told that J.R. would be "angry" as he came out of the anesthesia. All I could think was GRRRRRRRRRRREAT, J.R. has 45 minute crying spells after waking up from naps, so I could only imagine how this would go. As luck would have it, he did great! And the little man who can not tolerate a band-aid (no I am not kidding) has maybe asked 3 times in 6 hours if he can take the bandage off.
The real test comes tomorrow. Our appointment at ICM for J.R.'s very first stem cell injection isn't until 2:30 p.m, so we have a looooong day's work ahead of us keeping his mind off of the pool. We didn't want to do any excursions this day (rainforest, beach, zoo, etc.) because God forbid we get stuck somewhere and can't make it back for the appointment. Soooooo the saga continues tomorrow. At this very moment J.R. fell asleep with his Leapster in hand, and Tim is watching some Chris Rock movie that I think was only released in Costa Rica. As for this lucky girl, I'm off to bed after a second dousing of aloe-vera. Peace out!
Madagascar 3- Escape to Costa Rica
Wow where do I start? Flight was great...and guess what movie was playing? You guessed it, Madagascar 2, the movie we've watched at least 50 times in the past month. How funny! Ultimately, it saved us because J.R. was absolutely glued. Does anyone know the part in the movie when the animals are on the plane and the movie playing in first class ("...this is first class...it's nothing personal...we're just better than you") is a montage of all the failed flight attempts of the early 20th century? Well American Airlines / Dreamworks cut out all of those crash scenes and inserted Shrek! Too bad our actual landing was MUCH like the one Madagascar 2. Of course Tim yells out "touch down like you're kissing your sister" as I grab J.R. for dear life. And no lie, the second we come to a screeching halt J.R. says "mommy, how in the HELL-o are they gonna fix that plane?" Ha ha!
Just when we thought the craziness was over we get to the airport, go through immigration, wait a bit for our luggage at the carousel, and there is an announcement that the Vice President of the United States had just landed and all airport operations were to halt. After taking a second to remember who the VP of EEUU was, I start to realize what the Costa Rican people mean by the term "Pura Vida." If we were at MIA, I'm sure people would be up in arms, cursing up a storm. Here? Not even a shrug of the shoulders. Everyone just popped a squat and chatted. We had to laugh, epecially since all the 3 of us had to left to eat was a king sized bag of Raisinets (which we fought over). After a 30 minute wait- no worries, pura vida!, we clear customs and walk outside to meet our driver. No driver. No fancy Mercedes. 20 minutes go by, and still no driver. In the interim, these 2 creeps are all over us asking us where we need to go. Long long story short, it turns out the creeps were officials of the turismo bureau and THEY ended up driving us to the hotel. Oh P.S., our driver WAS there but LEFT US!!! Guess he said screw the Joe Biden mess. As we pulled out of the airport I swear the ENTIRE COUNTRY was leaned up against the airport border fences hoping to get a glance of big JB. I tell Tim: if he is staying at our hotel, we're royally screwed. Well guess what...?!
Our hotel is bbeeeeaauuutiffffullll. Beyond beautiful. The tower/concierge/club/whatever you call it level is only 6 months old. Pristene is a good word for it. Do I have to come home?! Luckily we arrive right as the concierge spread is open for business. Beautiful foods, but then again our last meal consisted of Raisinets so anything at this point would appeal to us. We decide after eating (it's 6:30 pm, 8:30 pm FL time), that J.R. would have to swim. We had the entire place to ourselves and J.R. TORE THE PLACE UP! Fun. Before passing out in bed, we turn on the TV to find the movie Cars is playing en espanol. Can a girl go a week without encountering a Pixar film?! We just had to laugh, again. Pura vida baby!
After the debacle at the airport we weren't sure ANYone would get us from the hotel and take us to the clinic. But Rafa appeared. Very nice guy. We met another couple from New York who has 12 year old son with J.R.'s very same diagnosis. Lots to chat about with them. Come to find out they are staying in the next room. We later learn that we're probably the only two families at the Intercontinental because of the Vice Presidential summit going on! Tim KNEW there was a reason why we were asked to keep our curtians shut during our stay. How do you say SNIPER in Spanish? P.S. The VP of Honduras is way shorter in person.
Okay this blog entry is wayyy long. Take a bathroom break and I'll post more in a few...
-K :)
Just when we thought the craziness was over we get to the airport, go through immigration, wait a bit for our luggage at the carousel, and there is an announcement that the Vice President of the United States had just landed and all airport operations were to halt. After taking a second to remember who the VP of EEUU was, I start to realize what the Costa Rican people mean by the term "Pura Vida." If we were at MIA, I'm sure people would be up in arms, cursing up a storm. Here? Not even a shrug of the shoulders. Everyone just popped a squat and chatted. We had to laugh, epecially since all the 3 of us had to left to eat was a king sized bag of Raisinets (which we fought over). After a 30 minute wait- no worries, pura vida!, we clear customs and walk outside to meet our driver. No driver. No fancy Mercedes. 20 minutes go by, and still no driver. In the interim, these 2 creeps are all over us asking us where we need to go. Long long story short, it turns out the creeps were officials of the turismo bureau and THEY ended up driving us to the hotel. Oh P.S., our driver WAS there but LEFT US!!! Guess he said screw the Joe Biden mess. As we pulled out of the airport I swear the ENTIRE COUNTRY was leaned up against the airport border fences hoping to get a glance of big JB. I tell Tim: if he is staying at our hotel, we're royally screwed. Well guess what...?!
Our hotel is bbeeeeaauuutiffffullll. Beyond beautiful. The tower/concierge/club/whatever you call it level is only 6 months old. Pristene is a good word for it. Do I have to come home?! Luckily we arrive right as the concierge spread is open for business. Beautiful foods, but then again our last meal consisted of Raisinets so anything at this point would appeal to us. We decide after eating (it's 6:30 pm, 8:30 pm FL time), that J.R. would have to swim. We had the entire place to ourselves and J.R. TORE THE PLACE UP! Fun. Before passing out in bed, we turn on the TV to find the movie Cars is playing en espanol. Can a girl go a week without encountering a Pixar film?! We just had to laugh, again. Pura vida baby!
After the debacle at the airport we weren't sure ANYone would get us from the hotel and take us to the clinic. But Rafa appeared. Very nice guy. We met another couple from New York who has 12 year old son with J.R.'s very same diagnosis. Lots to chat about with them. Come to find out they are staying in the next room. We later learn that we're probably the only two families at the Intercontinental because of the Vice Presidential summit going on! Tim KNEW there was a reason why we were asked to keep our curtians shut during our stay. How do you say SNIPER in Spanish? P.S. The VP of Honduras is way shorter in person.
Okay this blog entry is wayyy long. Take a bathroom break and I'll post more in a few...
-K :)
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Let's Try This Again
Since our last post, we've canceled Costa Rica TWICE! J.R has had 3 infections in 6 weeks. Ready or not (he's on his 3rd day of antibiotics) we are taking off Sunday afternoon.
The doctors at the Institute for Cellular Medicine have been amazing. They assure us that they will not administer treatment to J.R. (or take our cash) if he still has an infection Tuesday. In fact, they're changing our schedule around a bit to make extra sure he is well before any injections.
I'm leaving so much out regarding ICM's protocol. If you are interested in knowing more, just respond to our posts.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Costa Rica, Here We Come!
This post is just a test of my posting skills. Oh yeah, we will be packing our bags for Costa Rica very soon!
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