I am not sure that I have ever been called “soft” if my life
(except for maybe my waistline). But I
was judged harshly and labeled severely by two nurses last night in a labor and
delivery room at a local hospital in Swaziland.
It all started at 7:30AM when I dropped off one of the young
woman who lives at the Kibbutz at the bus stop to go and have her last prenatal
appointment before her expected due date of February 3rd. For the sake of privacy I will call her the
Girl. I was heading north to deal with a very serious family situation with one
of our new children and the Girl was heading south to her appointment. Almost five hours later I was finished my run
around and was heading home when I got the call. My Girl was in labor! I was traveling with my longstanding partner
in adventure, Susan Page, and so we dropped off the first baby at home and
headed south to see how the Girl was doing.
The rest of the blog is a likely poor attempt to explain what childbirth
in a local hospital in Swaziland looks like.
I promise you that I would rather not relive it in order to
write it, but to honor the Girl and all the other women who have given birth
here and will in the future I will put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and
share my experience with you. They are
heroes.
First let me say that this was a nice hospital. It is
government run, but is clean, tidy and reasonably new. Women in labor either walk to or are dropped
at the front gate and picked up a day after the baby has arrived. No one is encouraged (or allowed) to stay
with them, walk with them or wipe their brow.
They are on the long and painful path of the unknown, alone.
The women are told to go find their post-delivery bed and
put their bag of clothes on the bed.
They then take off their street clothes and wrap a cloth around their
naked body, usually a piece of Swazi cloth or a flag-like material. Then they wait. As labor comes on they move
from the hallway to the floor. From the
bathroom (with no toilet paper, soap or doors that lock for privacy) to the
outside entrance area where there are bushes with freshly washed underwear
hanging to dry. Vomiting ensues and the
pain continues. There is nothing for the
pain and no chance of avoiding the inevitable – the natural delivery of a baby
with no epidural or other reprieve.
When the mother feels like she is in full labor she walks
down to the “Labour Ward” and lies on one of four beds, her “private area” facing
towards the entrance of the main hallway (with no door on it) and waits for the
nurse to come and do a pelvic exam to see how far she has dilated. Until the baby is ready to “crown” she must
stay out of the labor ward except to be checked. When she enters for her examination she is
given a disposable sheet to so that she does not dirty the heavy plastic cover
on the bed and is reminded to keep that with her at all times as she will only
get one of them. Several times yesterday
I found my head spinning when I walked down that hall and glanced in that room,
only to see women spread-eagled with nurses determining their fate (or expected
time of their baby’s arrival). Not
something I need to see again.
With hours of pain and agony behind us, we thought for sure
that the baby was ready to come only to find that the mother had only dilated 3
cm. We were back to the hallway to watch these young women writhe in pain while
we white people measure the length of contraction on our iPhones. Surreal.
I digress.
When it looks like the woman (or Girl) is about to pass out
from the pain or asks you to have a C-Section because she can’t stand the pain
any more, it is time to go in to the Delivery room.
The Girl asked me if I would go with her in to the Delivery Room. Why? Because the other women who live at
Project Canaan told her that if you scream or cry out at all, the nurses will
beat you. She thought that if I were there maybe they would not do that to her. Against my better judgment I agreed.
PG Rating on the rest of today’s blog.
I followed her in to a stark white room with three delivery
beds, all facing directly down the hallway for the world to view all that was
going on (!). She went to the far bed, which provided the most privacy. She removed her cloth and crawled up on the
table, butt naked. There was another
naked women on the bed next to her who looked dead (she was not). I am not sure what stage of labor she was in,
but I suspected from the gurney waiting outside the room that she was waiting
for a doctor to arrive to head to the operating room for a C-Section. Doctors
don’t deliver babies here, nurses do all that work. Well, the pregnant women do all the work,
really.
The Girl handed the nurses the cloth she had been carrying
around with drops on it from prior examinations. She lay on the hard plastic
bed, again, totally naked and the nurses showed her how she was to pull up on
her own legs when she felt a contraction coming. There were no stirrups. She looked at me and was terrified. She said,
“Auntie, I can’t do this!”
I assured her that she could do it and that it was almost
over. The baby would be here in minutes
and she would be ok. I rubbed her arm, held her hand and squeezed tight as she
took her first attempt at pushing the baby out.
It was then that I was asked to leave the delivery room.
“Madam, you need to leave the delivery room,” the nurses
said.
“Why?” I asked with surprise. I was doing a great job of keeping the Girl
calm and hopeful.
“Because you are too soft,” both nurses said at once.
What? ME too
soft? I quickly backed up against the
wall and held my ground explaining that I had promised her that I would be
there for her. And then I said,
“And if I leave her, you will beat her.”
They laughed out loud, totally agreeing that my accusation
was correct. Then pointed to the hallway where I was to wait. Timing was good
and another contraction came along so we all focused back on the pregnant one.
They told the Girl to pull up and hold her legs and could see that the head was
there. Without giving me a chance to
look away they took the end of a scalpel (i.e. a razor blade with no holder),
did the episiotomy and then told her to push again.
Up until that point I was so overwhelmed by everything going
on that I failed to question why one of the nurses was standing up on a stool
beside the table. I looked at her and
saw that she was there to push down on the Girl’s belly and help push the baby
out. She pushed with both hands, and all her might, but the baby wasn’t
coming. They paused. I stayed quiet and the Girl and I looked at
each other. The next contraction came, and the same thing was repeated over and
over again. After some time the baby
come slipping out (with a long skinny head from the birth canal) and we saw
that he was a perfect baby boy. That was a surprise because the ultrasound told
us to expect a girl.
The worst was over, the placenta was delivered and I stepped
out of the room with the baby just in time to miss the stitching up of the
Girl. All of this was done with no pain
medication or anesthesia. She didn’t
scream, or cry out even once. And as I
write this I am still amazed at the fortitude and courage of this terrified 17-year
old girl.
The plan was and is for this baby to live at the El Roi Baby
Home. The child was conceived by rape and the Girl wants nothing to do with the
baby. She moved to the Kibbutz to avoid
gossip and hopes to leave us once she has healed so that she can go back to
school. We named the baby “Jerry” in
honor of Captain Jerry Coffee who is visiting us this week (his wife is Susan
Page, who was with me through this life-changing event). Jerry is a loving, caring, kind man and a
hero to us all.
Yesterday was another tough day in Swaziland, but much
easier for me than all of the women around the country having babies. I have never liked being called names, but
being “too soft” to a young girl in active labor is a name that I can and will
live with.
My prayer today is that a spirit of compassion will wash
over this nation so that we can all look at each other softly and help one
other rather than just “doing our job” and getting it done.
I hope that I can be the first to make that
change in other parts of my own life.
Live from Swaziland … Baby #50 has arrived!
Janine
PS - the total cost for labor and delivery of little Jerry was $3 USD.
