An Unexpected Gift

As I was standing outside the birthing center of the Bishop Asilli Clinic in the Luweero  District listening to one of the Nuns describe a typical day, Sally, our trip coordinator, began to beckon me into the delivery room.  She says; ‘there’s a baby coming.’

I enter a dingy, approximately 10 x 12 room with two old examination tables covered in what looks like white plastic garbage bags.   Two Ugandan women, experiencing intense labor pain, were being treated by an assistant.  Sarah, a member of the OTM group who is a Doula, was giving a woman who was clearly full term breathing instructions as she shared her “Emergen -C” infused water.   No water was available for patients.

Sarah introduced me to Margaret, who spoke little English and seemed disgusted and confused about why I was there.   Drawing closer to Margaret, the repulsive stench coming from her body nearly knocked me out.  It had clearly been a long, long time since soap and water had touched her.

Another contraction began and Margaret reached out for me.  Fearing that I might faint from the funk, I took a step back.  Then I closed my eyes, said a prayer, and took a deep cleansing breath.  A sister was asking for help, the funk didn’t matter.   I held out my hand.  Margaret swiftly pulled her whole face between my breast.

When an examination by one of the Nuns determined that she was only 8 centimeters dilated, Margaret was  told to get off the table and go outside.  Reluctantly and only with help from Sarah and I, she got off the table and went to an area in back of the clinic.  There we met Margaret’s sister.

On all fours in the grass, Margaret indicated that she needed to defecate and did  – right there on the grass.  Margaret’s sister gathered banana leaves to clean her and Sarah handed me her scarf for wetting to wipe Margaret’s face as there were no towels.  Margaret, still on all fours in the grass, writhed and cried.

Sarah and I, insisting that Margaret was near delivery, coaxed the attendants to re-examine her.  They now agreed that it was time.  I held Margaret closely as Sarah continued her coaching work.

Struggling to position her on the garbage bags, Sally held one leg, as I held the other, and together, we scooted Margaret in position.  For an instant, I wonder how in the world I got here – in a hot room overwhelmed with the stank of body oder, defecation, urine and blood, assisting a woman who is most likely HIV-positive in childbirth.  I silently thank God, we open her legs a little wider on the stirrup-less table,  and see the emergence of the baby’s head.  After two more big pushes, we joyfully witness Margaret’s baby boy enter the world, exercising great lungs, weighing in at 3 kilometers. Margaret sees her baby boy and smiles big.

As the child is taken away, Margaret smiles at me, lays my hands on her belly and indicates for me to rub.  When the nurses return their attention to Margaret,  I continued to massage and jump as the placenta is released.  Margaret smiled big again.

Sally, Sarah and I joyously celebrated Margaret and her beautiful baby boy, recognizing that even with all the inadequacies, they were both very lucky.   Most woman in Uganda’s villages deliver their babies in a bush.   The death rate of woman and children in childbirth is insanely tragic.

When I inquired about Margaret and the baby the next day,  I was told that she was gone.  Mothers in Uganda spend hours, not days recouping after childbirth.  Though, I’ll most likely never see her again, I am grateful beyond words for the deep connection I experienced with this sister on the path.  Truly grateful beyond words.

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