It was a sunny evening my first year living in the Didinga Hills of S. Sudan, sitting in a dark hut listening to a young woman pushing on a rock when I witnessed my first birth. The light shown in through the small door when I saw the dusky blue body in the hands of the woman's local midwife, Regina. I was in awe! Then the whole hut went crazy and it took me a minute to realize why, the baby was not crying. The woman's mother called for Kim and I to come over and help. We didn't know what to do. But we tried and Regina tried and the seconds turned into minutes as every effort was given to stimulate the little blue baby boy to cry. He lay there limp. About the time everyone was giving up, his little chest began to move and He lived! Everyone praised God, because we all knew it wasn't because of something we did.
Fast forward to the next year. Regina the midwife is now pregnant. She has a older daughter and lost her second born after walking 26mile to get a Caesarean. This is her 3rd child and she has high hope that this baby will live. Regina goes into labor a month early and her mother comes to us nearly in tears asking us to come. It is Kim and I again and we rush down the hill. Regina says her water has broke, but she can still feel the baby move. We encourage the family to start walking to the hospital, reminding them of what happened last time. It takes 24hrs for them to come to the smaller clinic 10miles away in Nagishot.
The local midwife checks her briefly and says she will deliver that night. She does. Again in a dark hut I am watching a woman give birth and I don't know what to do. The baby's hand comes out her vagina, limp. The baby is dead. They use their hands to stretch her vagina open so the baby will come. Regina's mother covers her mouth so she will not cry out and shame herself. Towards the end her husband enters the room, they are worried Regina will die. She does not. Then the baby comes, small, dead and they lay him in a gourd. Regina reaches down to feel for his pulse, even through he is clearly dead. They say not to cry, for he was not known. We cry anyway on our way home. He was known and he was loved.
Fast forward a year. I am now a midwife student living in the Philippines and I have seen many women labor and give birth. I am learning what to do and how to help women give birth so that they and their babies will have a better chance of living. Birth is beautiful and birth is hard. I am learning how to prevent or notice potential problems, through good prenatal care. Every Wednesday I give prenatal care to women. Through my book learning I am learning the ends and outs of midwifery care. And through my time in the birth room I am learning hands of how to help women give birth as I work with experienced midwives.
I still have a lot to learn, but I feel even now, if I were to be transported back to these two births I would not be standing there wishing I knew how to help. I would be able to offer some very real, practical help. I know that come graduation in 2013 I will be ready to return to Africa to work along side local women to provide prenatal, labor & deliver, and postpartum care. While also building relationships and teaching about the saving love of Jesus.
