Maternity Ward

October 20, 2009

I arrived a little late to work this morning, as there were a few things I wanted to get taken care of before I began my work day, but I was welcomed warmly by patients waiting for the results and films to be taken. I don’t know if its really me that they are excited to see, or just someone who will make their wait a little shorter. Oh well. They greet me with smiles, thats enough for me. 

One patient I was able to x-ray was a little 5 year old girl who was absolutely beautiful. She was so sweet and quiet as she waited, but had to be carried into the room when I called her name because she was unable to walk on her left foot. See, she had sustained some sort of injury to the side of her foot (maybe she got cut by glass or something like that) and now the entire top of her foot was an open, swollen, weeping wound. It literally looked like her foot was turning inside out, and there was a terrible amount of pus weeping out of it. The requisition asked that the x-ray rule out osteomyelitis. I completed the ap and lateral view of the small foot and then allowed the young girl’s mother to come back in and pick up her daughter. I had the mother step out, as she had another baby on her back, in true African mama style. The little girl didn’t make a peep the whole time I was doing her x-rays, but sat quietly as I moved her very hot little leg into the position I needed it to be in. And while I was there, x-raying her, I was ok. Though I realize the amount of pain she was probably in, I could emotionally deal with it. But now that I am recounting it... Dang. Why does it have to be that way? Why does she have this potentially life threatening issue on her foot that if it had been treated well in the first place would not be there? The longer I am here, the more these questions come up and the deeper the breaking of my heart goes. Don’t get me wrong. I am still loving being here. But it is heart wrenching and as relationships with these people deepen and grow, I can no longer brush it off as just the way it is. 

Another patient came to the unit to have a chest x-ray done. She was from what is called Ward II, which is the medical ward. She was painfully thin and had a very difficult time standing for her chest x-ray. We got through it, though, and I sent her back to the ward. Before I did, though, I asked the woman who had come with her which ward she was in so that I could deliver the film if it was done before I left for the day. She said “the women’s ward,” which I took for maternity. When the film was done being developed I walked over to maternity. I had been in the entrance many times, as the ultrasound scanner is down the first hallway. However, I had never ventured any further into the two story building. A doctor doing intake pointed me up the bare hallway and told me to try th various rooms. I ascended the ramp and turned into the first on my right. There before me was a disturbing scene. In a room about fifty feet long and twenty feet wide there were two rows of metal framed twin beds. Windows allowed daylight shine in the room and a bathroom was at the end of the long room. On every bed and the floor space between the beds were people. New mothers recuperating with their babies who were just delivered laid on every bed and supporting family members spanned the bare floor space around the cots. Bright African fabric cast a stark contrast between the sterile white washed walls and steel fame beds, while the faint cries of new lives were heard over the muffled conversations of patients and family members. All eyes went to me as I asked about the patient whose film I was there to deliver, and in that moment the reality of where I have been these past few weeks finally hit full force. No bassinets, no separate rooms, not even curtains or chairs for visiting family members... And as the answer came back that the patient was not there, and I proceeded to the next room, the scene was repeated. I continued through the ward, climbing towards the second level, where instead of an empty hallway I was greeted by very pregnant mothers, waiting for their labor pains to begin. Not even a bench existed for them to rest on, only the cold concrete floor. Some could not garner the strength to stay awake for the conversations swirling up and down the hallway, and were napping on the hard ground. All of the expecting mothers smiled at me and as I inquired about the patient I was looking for, someone who spoke English assisted by asking down the hallway. I finally found another doctor who remembered that the patient I was looking for was in the medical ward, so I left the maternity building, but not before having my heart completely messed with by the way that even the beginnings of lives occur here. To say nothing is easy here is a vast understatement. I am amazed by it all. 

I returned from delivering the film and sat down to talk with Charles as we waited for the processed films to dry. Though I had met his family and had seen where they live, I felt like I wanted to ask him more of how life is for them. Because I’ve worked with him for the past four weeks and could have been tricked into thinking that he was ok due to his professionalism and daily appearance. So I began by asking how things are for them. Do they have enough to eat? What do they need? He wouldn’t tell me anything specific but did say that eating was sometimes a gamble. Sometimes they would need something and there was no way to get it. And he didn’t say it in a way that was asking for assistance, but rather just the facts. He is a man with an incredible heart, whom I have been completely honored to work with.

We spoke a little about the fact that he just had to bury his mother in law, also. I asked how old she was. He replied 62, in a matter of fact way. To me, that is young, but to him it was about the time that she would pass away. He said that it just happens here. Death is a part of life. Its not that they do not care, as I have seen an incredible amount of honor given to the deceased, but death happens, and life continues. 

Charles thanked me for coming and said that he thought God would bless me for coming and helping the people here. I replied that I hoped instead that God would bless them. Me being allowed to come and serve in Gulu is my blessing. It is my blessing already being delivered. Maybe instead God will pout out more on these beautiful people I’ve met. That is my prayer.