My eyes scan the
room. I'm on a mission. I approach the bed where Dr. Mason is doing rounds.
Plopping down on the other cement bedstead I am oblivious to what Dr. Mason is
saying to the small group of nurses that are assisting with the rounds. I lean forward with my camera, not really
paying attention to how sick the baby might be, and ask if I can take a photo.
Dr. Mason pauses in his explanation of the babies' problems, "I really
don't think this one is a good one for a story. It's probably not going to make
it." I pause, embarrassed, not quite comprehending what he's saying. The
med student accompanying him on rounds tells me plainly, "The baby is too
sick. It's going to die." I look at the baby, really look at her. She
doesn't look that sick. She doesn't look like she's about ready to give up. Her
breath though rattles in her chest. And suddenly I'm angry. Why does this baby
have to die? She's so beautiful. So perfect. It's not her fault that she lives
in a country ridden with malarial mosquitoes. She shouldn't have to die simply
because she was born here in this messed up world. She's not even old enough to
know that she's alive. And now she's going to die. And her mamma, her poor
mamma, won't have a baby to hug and cuddle anymore. I wonder how many other
losses her mom has experienced. How many miscarriages? How many of her children
have succumbed to malaria? Or typhoid? Or any of the myriad of diseases that
this country is cursed with? How many will? Will she end up like the grandma
who came in with a prolapsed uterus, who had been pregnant 13 times, but only
had one child living? Who elected to have the surgery that would close up her
vagina making it impossible to ever have sex again because it was something
she'd always been forced to do?
It's these things
that make it so difficult here. It's not the dirt or the heat. It's not the
food or the sickness. It's not even the distance from family and friends or the
poverty I see everyday. It's the dejected look on the mother's face when
there's nothing more you can do for her child who is dying of a preventable
disease. It's the emotional drain you experience everyday when you see the way
that the women are undervalued and abused. It's the knowledge that there is
only so much you can do to fix the problems that are destroying this planet.
:( That must be hard. I'll continue praying for you and for those mommies who are facing such tough losses.
ReplyDeleteSending you a big hug! :)