After a near two-month absence because of a long strike at the hospital, I returned to the ward this month, anxious to be with the mamas again. In fact, I was so excited that I dreamt about babies all the night before! I am happy to report that I have seen nine deliveries this month already and have held more sweet babies than I can count. Hooray for new life!
Side Note: All the details of the strike are fuzzy but money was misappropriated, vital needs weren't being met, people were laid off and after promises of soon-to-come supplies, the staff returned to their work. Today was further proof of the horrible conditions when a missionary from another organization popped into our little mission clinic asking for a feeding tube. When we asked why, she explained that a friend is a patient at the hospital and is so sick, he can't eat. The staff there pulled the existing tube before they realized that they didn't have another to put in. Folks, tell me, what do we have to complain about?! Seriously.On my first day back, I was visiting with a midwife when I learned that she had been sick during the strike. Aint' no big thing. Just typhoid. Wait...what?! She brushed it off like it were the common cold. Some days I think, "Where am I??"
That same day, a sweet woman was referred to our ward from a local clinic. After a failed augmentation two days prior and an attempted vacuum extraction the day before, she still hadn't delivered despite being 10cm dilated! Yikes. The midwives augmented her again in preparation to vacuum extract again. Poor woman. When they thought she was adequately "juiced", the midwife produced a contraption that I hadn't seen before. It was a power-free extractor made of plastic and something from slightly less frightening nightmares than the metal cup and chain I've referred to before. I was intrigued. The midwife gave it to me to hold while she gloved up which afforded me an opportunity to check it out. My friend and I couldn't resist the urge to snap a quick picture, although it felt like a lie because I wasn't going to get to use it - fortunate for the mother, I'm sure! When the cup was in position, the midwife pumped up the pressure with her hand, watching a small gauge on the back of the extractor.
And then she pulled. And pulled. And pulled.
I was beginning to think the baby was going to be stuck permanently when slowly, inside the clear plastic cup, I began to see the dark hair of our little one. After much more tugging, me mopping the brow of our champion midwife and an increased drip of pitocin, the baby came. Not in the usual burst as shoulders break free, but in a struggle of pushing and pulling, right up to the end. Hear me: BIG BABY.
He was huge and he wasn't breathing. Out with him came the thickest meconium I have ever seen and lots and lots of blood. The midwife rushed him to the warmer as the pediatric resident came wandering in. He moved slowly to get oxygen (a second tank when he realized the first was empty) and suction before the midwife jumped in and took over. I stood back and watched in awe. She ran the whole show, instructing the resident and other midwives how to care for her patients. She was remarkable. Later, we praised her quick thinking and knowledgable work and in modestly she brushed it off with quiet thank you's and a laugh.
Around the time that the baby was beginning to perk up, the mama started to hemorrhage. The midwife worked quickly, instructing me to find the pitocin tablets in her pocket. I felt like I was moving in slow motion - finally getting my hands on the foil packet and popping out three tablets which the midwife quickly pushed into the rectum of the bleeding mother. It worked like a charm and controlled her hemorrhage enough that the midwife relaxed a little and could turn her attention back to the baby.
In surprisingly little time, our boy pinked up and cried loudly. A conspicuous hat was pushed over his terrific cone head and he was promptly given to his mama to nurse. The exhausted mother looked at me and asked, "Do you have a master?" I'd never heard the question phrased this way before. I replied that I am unmarried. So the baby was given the name of my friend's husband! This was followed by lots of pictures and sweet conversation.
At the end of the day, it's hard to walk away from such scenes - the mama and baby, safe and doing what comes so naturally. I have run into one of these mamas outside of the hospital only once. And one sent me an e-mail (Can you believe it?!) and a picture of her 6-month old that I had helped welcome into the world. But the rest are never seen or heard from again and I wonder what becomes of them.
Most babies aren't named until several days after their birth but following the tradition of a doula friend who used to work with me, I name the sickest babies, just to give them some kind of identity should they not survive. I don't tell anyone. I just use their name in prayer. And of course, I don't know whether or not they live but when I walk out of the ward at the the end of the day, baby {blank} is still breathing.
The ward never fails to surprise me and I'm so thankful to be back in the swing of things.
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