With no health insurance, we often drove down to Tijuana, Mexico for our checkups and pharmaceutical needs. I recall feeling healthy and vibrant and was sad that we had to waste the day sitting in the car. My mom, Graciela, and I drove across the border to our dentist. I always thought that it was incredible how my mom knew where everything was and how to get around in Tijuana. It was so foreign and bustling with traffic that it looked like a great huge maze to my 9-year-old eyes.
We arrived at our dentist's office. It was blue and had bars on the windows. Our dentist was thin with brown hair. She wore black pumps and a professional suit/skirt combo. She took me in right away and sat me down on the over-sized, leather chair. I remember the ceilings were high and industrial as if it were a converted factory of some kind. The room felt dark except for the lamp above my face. She took a long look at my cavity with a mirror and prodded around for what felt like a long time. She finally broke out the syringe. It was gigantic. I started to cry at the sight of it. I remember looking to my mom and Graciela who had brought in chairs from the waiting room inside so they could watch. My mom stood up and came to hold my hand.
I don't know if it was just the immense fear of needles overwhelming me or if the syringe leaked some of the anesthetic down my throat but the next few seconds were filled with a lot of vomit, a lot of tears, and a lot of disappointment. I had vomited everywhere.
The recollection that she actually finished the procedure escapes me. She must have because I have proof in my mouth, but I only remember the vomit.
On the way home, we were all pretty silent. At the border, the border patrolman stepped out.
"US Citizens?" he asked. My mom and Graciela handed him their green cards.
"US Citizen," I mumbled.
"Any fruits, vegetables, or animals?" the border patrolman asked. My mom shook her head.
"I'm going to get ice cream!" I exclaimed as I popped out from the back seat with a large cotton-filled smile. The 45 minute border wait gave me ample time to imagine my mom offering me ice cream and I would sometimes get ahead of myself at that age. My mom pushed me back into the seat with one hand. The border patrolman chuckled and waived us through.
"Traviesa" my mom said. Graciela couldn't stop laughing.
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