Sometimes you have a really rough day. Sometimes you don't realize you've had a really rough day until you're sitting down at night and all you can do is stare at the wall.
But sometimes you see something really cool, and you realize you're having a great day when you catch yourself humming, with a skip in your step.
The hospital here delivers 45% of all babies of all 5 MSF sections in the entire country of South Sudan. That's not 45% of all babies in South Sudan, but still translates to a few births every single day. I got to see my first birth today.
I was doing rounds in the hospital, and had just finished wandering through the General Pediatric Ward, which is deserted as it's being painted (we moved all the patients into the hallway... Life goes on). I decided to pass through Maternity, which is a very smooth-running ward. There aren't too many sick people there, so things have the appearance of being low maintenance and easy. As I make my way back to the delivery room, I hear loud chanting/singing/yelling. I poke my head through the saloon-style swinging doors and say hi to the delivery room staff. The yelling continues from beyond the partition. I ease my way around to the delivery area to find two women up in stirrups. The OBGYN is intently working on the business end of the near woman, and the two expat midwives are chatting with national staff near the yelling woman. They don't seem too concerned.
The OBGYN starts explaining to me the abscess on the near woman's vulva, and the catheter he's inserting to keep it drained. I'm all for privacy, so I immediately feel pretty out of place. I'm rescued by the far woman starting up again with a sing-song chant/yell. I guess it's another contraction. The midwife team jumps into action, and it looks like the baby is crowning. The action dies down, and the OBGYN puts in a few more sutures.
I pretend to be completely at ease, and make myself useful by surveying the biomedical equipment in the room. I can always blend into the background while I check me some serial numbers. A big yell/song draws my attention, and the baby's head is out. All of a sudden, one midwife is climbing on top of the woman, pulling her knees back to her ears with a vengeance. The other midwife is bearing down on her stomach, and the OBGYN drops his suture work and rips off his gloves to push. Apparently something important just happened.
Out pops a vaguely purple little boy, who gets toweled off and put on mom's stomach. A few beats later, his yells replace his mother's.
The OBGYN explains that it was a very big baby, and that's dangerous to let the baby stay inside after the head has come out. Best to get them out quick.
The cord is cut, the placenta is quietly delivered, and the OBGYN fixes his final sutures. I sneak out as they're measuring and prodding the baby. As I leave, I discover a smile sneaking across my face.
Happy Birthday, buddy.
But sometimes you see something really cool, and you realize you're having a great day when you catch yourself humming, with a skip in your step.
The hospital here delivers 45% of all babies of all 5 MSF sections in the entire country of South Sudan. That's not 45% of all babies in South Sudan, but still translates to a few births every single day. I got to see my first birth today.
I was doing rounds in the hospital, and had just finished wandering through the General Pediatric Ward, which is deserted as it's being painted (we moved all the patients into the hallway... Life goes on). I decided to pass through Maternity, which is a very smooth-running ward. There aren't too many sick people there, so things have the appearance of being low maintenance and easy. As I make my way back to the delivery room, I hear loud chanting/singing/yelling. I poke my head through the saloon-style swinging doors and say hi to the delivery room staff. The yelling continues from beyond the partition. I ease my way around to the delivery area to find two women up in stirrups. The OBGYN is intently working on the business end of the near woman, and the two expat midwives are chatting with national staff near the yelling woman. They don't seem too concerned.
The OBGYN starts explaining to me the abscess on the near woman's vulva, and the catheter he's inserting to keep it drained. I'm all for privacy, so I immediately feel pretty out of place. I'm rescued by the far woman starting up again with a sing-song chant/yell. I guess it's another contraction. The midwife team jumps into action, and it looks like the baby is crowning. The action dies down, and the OBGYN puts in a few more sutures.
I pretend to be completely at ease, and make myself useful by surveying the biomedical equipment in the room. I can always blend into the background while I check me some serial numbers. A big yell/song draws my attention, and the baby's head is out. All of a sudden, one midwife is climbing on top of the woman, pulling her knees back to her ears with a vengeance. The other midwife is bearing down on her stomach, and the OBGYN drops his suture work and rips off his gloves to push. Apparently something important just happened.
Out pops a vaguely purple little boy, who gets toweled off and put on mom's stomach. A few beats later, his yells replace his mother's.
The OBGYN explains that it was a very big baby, and that's dangerous to let the baby stay inside after the head has come out. Best to get them out quick.
The cord is cut, the placenta is quietly delivered, and the OBGYN fixes his final sutures. I sneak out as they're measuring and prodding the baby. As I leave, I discover a smile sneaking across my face.
Happy Birthday, buddy.
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