These beautiful young women came to their friends birth and decided to braid my hair while we waited for the baby to be born.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Braids
These beautiful young women came to their friends birth and decided to braid my hair while we waited for the baby to be born.
Friday, September 30, 2011
One last check before sleep
After the sixth baby is born and tucked in, beside their mother, I walk from room to room, one more time before taking a shower and lying down. Every bed has a few people in them. Two grandmothers from different families sleep on a single bed; their two great grandchildren born within minutes of each other in beds on either side. Their heads, sharing one pillow, are wrapped in a swirl of lace and cloth.
Two very young cousins snuggle into a bed with the new baby they both worked so hard together to help be born. They make a heart with their sweet, teen age bodies around this new tiny little girl.
Moms in bed and Dads beside them on blankets on the floor. The occasional sound of a baby crying and asking to be put back to the breast.
Relatives from different families, who never went to sleep, sit on the porch talking with one another and sharing food. Outside, there is the sounds of the sheets being washed by sisters or aunts, squatting over tubs of water as they talk of birth and the days to come. The roosters and cows and goats remind me that although my day is just ending, it is morning here.
The skies are a gentle pink behind the mountains they call Mourn Rogue or the Red Mountains. They are a gentle slope of an ancient volcanic mountain range that is mostly buried beneath the sea, leaving 700 islands here in the West Indies. I tell the TBA that Haiti was once a volcano and I can see that she thinks this is just another one of my tall tales like a cervix opening inside a mother. She smiles at me and shakes her head and does not believe a word of it.
The mountains are the background of all our days and seem to hold us tenderly in their long sloping arms. I look out at them and the sunrise and then find a little rest.
Two very young cousins snuggle into a bed with the new baby they both worked so hard together to help be born. They make a heart with their sweet, teen age bodies around this new tiny little girl.
Moms in bed and Dads beside them on blankets on the floor. The occasional sound of a baby crying and asking to be put back to the breast.
Relatives from different families, who never went to sleep, sit on the porch talking with one another and sharing food. Outside, there is the sounds of the sheets being washed by sisters or aunts, squatting over tubs of water as they talk of birth and the days to come. The roosters and cows and goats remind me that although my day is just ending, it is morning here.
The skies are a gentle pink behind the mountains they call Mourn Rogue or the Red Mountains. They are a gentle slope of an ancient volcanic mountain range that is mostly buried beneath the sea, leaving 700 islands here in the West Indies. I tell the TBA that Haiti was once a volcano and I can see that she thinks this is just another one of my tall tales like a cervix opening inside a mother. She smiles at me and shakes her head and does not believe a word of it.
The mountains are the background of all our days and seem to hold us tenderly in their long sloping arms. I look out at them and the sunrise and then find a little rest.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Disney princess on a cloud of mosquito netting
Yesterday this premature baby was sleeping on a cloud of mosquito netting in her tiny Disney princess dress. She was born here and her Mom comes back regularly to eat and nap and get support with breastfeeding.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Spahgetti in the cord clamps !
After a busy day of births, I hurry to sterilize the instruments and a new cord clamp. We only have three sets so I have to set my mind to it first thing after a birth. I wash them and then look for a source of heat - charcoal, propane or electric depending on the day. The other morning I set them to boiling and imagine my surprise when I came down and the breakfast spaghetti was in with the scissors and clamps. I fished the instruments out and wrapped them up, determining it was still boiling water so it is okay.
However, I did not eat the spaghetti served that morning for breakfast !
However, I did not eat the spaghetti served that morning for breakfast !
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Big sister
I was busy delivering this baby when I happened to look over and see this little girl peeking through the door at her mother in labor. Here she is with her new baby brother.
Patience
We have three more births on Saturday. I wake up and by six there are three women in labor and all the families on the porch watching through the window as I scurry about setting up a third birth room and walk in a circle bringing water, charting and taking vitals. They are all in hard labor and we wait to see who will give birth first. I think to myself " this is hard but I have it under control. " I walk around again. I catch one baby and Marie another and it goes well.
There is pause and number three who is having her first baby does not push. I look at her chart. Her name is Rosealine. It is common to to have an aline at the end of names. I say, "Rosealine" and she opens her eyes. I then witness what I now know as the shaking method of medicine which is if you don't know what's wrong and why, just shake or smack it and it will all turn out. A wide variety of relatives come and yell at her and shake her hard, despite my protests. Then the TBA comes in and thinks a good yelling and shaking will also help and then I scream at all of them and get the baby out- slightly premature and covered in meconeum ( baby's poop) which is not good. I am trying to suction the baby and they decide a good shake of the baby is good for whatever ails it too. But the baby is little and slippery and I am trying to make sure it does not breathe it in. Shake, rub. I say "no". A word they understand. I put the suction back in my mouth and the TBA grabs the babys face and starts to push dimples into its tiny, green face and I become hysterical. I loose all patience. The mother is bleeding so they pounce on her. Rubbing and punching her stomach. I say it is not her utereus. You have to feel and watch- not just grab mothers and babies and utereus's and pound and rub and smack them into existence.
When the bleeding has stopped and the baby is nursing and no longer green, I pick up and walk outside. I think about how frustrated I was. How I just wanted to be alone and take care of the mother and baby without all this yelling and rough treatment. Later I think about how if you could not read and had no books or medicine you would develop customs that might help and if you thought someone might die, it might just help to shake and yell the life back into them and I suppose in the case of babies and moms and utereuses it might have sometimes worked. At least worked better than nothing at all. I feel ashamed and tired.
The TBA brings me warm tea and gives me a kiss. I am so sorry I was not more patient. I show them pictures and try to explain but they think I know some things but not everything and a good smack helps many things. I try to say a good smack doesn't help anything - not really and they look at me but do not believe me.
After all the washing of the laundry, by all the relatives in the back yard, they go home and it is quiet.
The cook has asked for money for some fish and I give her a few dollars and ask to see what the fish look like when she returns. There are six very little fishes. I look down at them and think how will they ever feed all these people. Six little fishes. I watch them eat every part- licking he inside of the heads with joy and satisfaction. I wonder who gets the head as it seems to be a treat.
It is dark by 6:30 and I go to bed.
The moon is a crescent again. I have been here one month; one full cycle of the moon.
There is pause and number three who is having her first baby does not push. I look at her chart. Her name is Rosealine. It is common to to have an aline at the end of names. I say, "Rosealine" and she opens her eyes. I then witness what I now know as the shaking method of medicine which is if you don't know what's wrong and why, just shake or smack it and it will all turn out. A wide variety of relatives come and yell at her and shake her hard, despite my protests. Then the TBA comes in and thinks a good yelling and shaking will also help and then I scream at all of them and get the baby out- slightly premature and covered in meconeum ( baby's poop) which is not good. I am trying to suction the baby and they decide a good shake of the baby is good for whatever ails it too. But the baby is little and slippery and I am trying to make sure it does not breathe it in. Shake, rub. I say "no". A word they understand. I put the suction back in my mouth and the TBA grabs the babys face and starts to push dimples into its tiny, green face and I become hysterical. I loose all patience. The mother is bleeding so they pounce on her. Rubbing and punching her stomach. I say it is not her utereus. You have to feel and watch- not just grab mothers and babies and utereus's and pound and rub and smack them into existence.
When the bleeding has stopped and the baby is nursing and no longer green, I pick up and walk outside. I think about how frustrated I was. How I just wanted to be alone and take care of the mother and baby without all this yelling and rough treatment. Later I think about how if you could not read and had no books or medicine you would develop customs that might help and if you thought someone might die, it might just help to shake and yell the life back into them and I suppose in the case of babies and moms and utereuses it might have sometimes worked. At least worked better than nothing at all. I feel ashamed and tired.
The TBA brings me warm tea and gives me a kiss. I am so sorry I was not more patient. I show them pictures and try to explain but they think I know some things but not everything and a good smack helps many things. I try to say a good smack doesn't help anything - not really and they look at me but do not believe me.
After all the washing of the laundry, by all the relatives in the back yard, they go home and it is quiet.
The cook has asked for money for some fish and I give her a few dollars and ask to see what the fish look like when she returns. There are six very little fishes. I look down at them and think how will they ever feed all these people. Six little fishes. I watch them eat every part- licking he inside of the heads with joy and satisfaction. I wonder who gets the head as it seems to be a treat.
It is dark by 6:30 and I go to bed.
The moon is a crescent again. I have been here one month; one full cycle of the moon.
Friday, September 23, 2011
the dreams of a midwife
There is a wave of births; first one and then another and another and another. I dream I am swimming in a warm blue sea with the mothers and babies and the baby takes my hand and says, '"we'll do this together" and we drift in a place of dreams and trust until we come ashore and they are born. I dream and then more and more come. Eight babies to scoop up before they reach the floor in a swish of warm water, to breathe life into, to wrap their mothers reluctant arms around, to bring to the breast, to weigh and dress, to wipe and clean and change the sheets and begin again as the one before smiles and waves good bye and walks down the dirt road to home and family and another comes.
When I close my eyes, I am standing on the beach and the waves carry all these babies to me. They are laughing and cooing and I am collecting them like beautiful seashells and with my arms full, I carry them to their mothers who are waiting.
These are the dreams of a midwife, even now as it grows quiet
When I close my eyes, I am standing on the beach and the waves carry all these babies to me. They are laughing and cooing and I am collecting them like beautiful seashells and with my arms full, I carry them to their mothers who are waiting.
These are the dreams of a midwife, even now as it grows quiet
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