Third-World C-Section

To find oneself in need of a c-section in this hospital is not optimal. Most times, trying to find an available surgeon is like going on a snipe hunt. The fabled obstetrician is nowhere to be found when desperately needed. When the staff went on strike, the majority of our doctors didn't return and with them, they took our hopes for a c-section within a few hours of calling an emergency. When we were "fully staffed" we were still waiting hours but now, women are waiting all day and babies are dying while midwives scramble to find an available doctor with the necessary skills. 

While I've stood in the ward and watched many a woman wheeled away for her c-section, I've also had the privilege of watching several. It's spectacular. Truly. Even after years spent running fluoro in the OR, I am still in awe of how the theatre team work together to prep the room, the patient, and support the surgeon to accomplish the most amazing things. The team work is impressive. 

(One time in the States, I watched the entire staff pause mid-operation, cover the open incision, and scramble to catch a fly that was buzzing around the room. But that's another story.) 

In this hospital, the staff wear scrub sets or scrub dresses. Some wear scrub caps and others, squares of material wrapped neatly over their hair. There is an extensive collection of shoes at both ends of the theatre, I assume for entering and exiting in a pair that's "clean." The first time I visited, I was escorted from one end to the other barefoot. I cannot imagine the pathogens I walked through, nor do I want to think about it. Despite my overactive imagination, the floors look mopped clean, there are no excess supplies, broken equipment, or rubbish lying around. Everyone looks busy; charting, moving patients, running for supplies. It looks like a purposeful, productive place. It's refreshing. Having come from the unsanitary, overcrowded, foul-smelling labour ward, the operating theatre feels like a respite.

When I watch a c-section, I change my clothes, tie up my hair, find a mask, slip into a pair of stray shoes from the end of the hall, and go in search of my mama. I wait until the scrub tech has finished setting up her trays and pulled in close to the surgeon. Then I move further into the room and stand at the back, a few feet from the foot of the bed. This is the best view. The surgeon and his assistant work quickly and quietly, deftly passing instruments back and forth between them and to their tech. Before long, the surgeons are leaning back, using their body weight to pull open both sides of the incision. A moment later, a slippery infant is lifted out, suctioned, and spanked into alertness, or at least feeble breathing. The baby is untethered and it's mother is sutured up. I slip out and reverse my steps back to the labour ward.

Receiving the epidural.

Suctioning the baby's mouth and nose before finishing
 delivering his body.

Delivering the baby's body and untangling
 him from his cord.

Clamping the cord.

I'm so thankful for each c-section these mamas receive. Some come too late and the distressed infant isn't rescued in time or the bleeding can't be stopped in a hemorrhaging mother. But there is an effort made on behalf of two lives. Praise God for His grace shown through knowledge and technology, brought together for this!