Last week, I (Faith) rushed a delivering mother to the hospital in Bonga (a 45 minute drive on a very bumpy road). The baby was already coming out, but shoulder first. Our clinic is not equipped to handle this kind of problem, so we had to go to the nearest hospital to see if they would perform a C-Section. As you can imagine, the woman was in a LOT of pain, trying to endure the 30-minute drive. And although I was not the one in labor, I felt as though I was. Just imagining what she was going through (having been in a similar situation with Emry) made me wince and grimace and groan as if it were me instead of her. And as I was driving, I thought about how difficult it must be for the people here, especially mothers. The mortality rate for women in delivery is enormous compared to the US, and with each pregnancy I imagine the fear of death looms in their minds. As labor progresses, they resolve, “This is the day that I might die.” As I dropped the patient off at the hospital, I realized this was only the beginning of her pain. Next she was to receive a C-section with only a local anesthetic. And then 4 days after the surgery, she would have to endure the long journey home by public transportation on a very bumpy, rock road with only the dulling effect of a tylenol. It is a hard life here. But living with the difficulties here brings about a strengthening that I envy. You hear no complaints or cries, no demands- just a thankfulness for the little help that I offered. I am humbled to live here. I am honored to be around such people.
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