Who needs an MD anyway? The janitor can do the job.

Danica here again.

So I figure it’s time for a few more medical stories!

For the last couple of times at the hospital I have had a Belgian midwife join me, which has been great not only because of her expertise, but because she can speak French and English! I’m afraid her first day of work may have scared her away, though…

We arrived at the delivery suite which was in the process of being “cleaned.” The janitor was swishing around about an inch and a half of water/dirt/bodily fluids/ likely HIV-infested blood all over the floor. The nurses and patients waded through the water (in their flip-flops) without much concern. Not exactly the most sterile environment to give birth in.

Listening for baby's heartbeat.

There were two ladies about to deliver (side by side). One of them was just a 16 year old girl. They were alone, no spouse, no sister, no support. I watched as the nurse performed (unnecessary) episiotomies on them both. Scissors cutting through flesh with no freezing. Then to my amazement the nurse called the janitor over (the same one who was swishing sludge across the floor) and he climbed right up on to the delivery bed, rubber boots and all, straddling the poor 16 year old’s face. As she screamed (right into his groin) he pushed as hard as he could on her belly to force the baby out.

The baby did come out, looking very limp and covered in meconium, and not making an effort to breath. At this time, the midwife and I were standing mouths open in shock/horror, and I scrambled to get some gloves on while she grabbed the nurses hands and instructed her to stimulate the little babe. The baby did breath and I dried her off and handed her back to the nurse. She put the baby on a table, and sloshed a bucket of water over her to clean her I suppose, and then left her there alone, in a puddle, on a wet blanket.

The other lady, one stall over, delivered her child shortly after. No janitor consults required this time. As the nurse was stitching up the damage from the episiotomy, the woman kept whimpering and (naturally) tried to close her legs. The nurse released a tirade of anger, yelling at her to stop crying, and then proceeded to beat the inside of her thighs. Anytime her legs moved a bit, she got another wallop. Another nurse-in-training stood by the bedside and pinched the patient’s hip bone with a sharp instrument. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was trying to “keep the patient calm and distract her from the stitching.” Oh boy.

It’s days like this that make me just shake my head. I don’t want to sound like I am coming down hard on Burundians. In my day-to-day interactions with Burundians, I find them to be polite, warm, and hospitable people. I realize that the medical staff here are merely behaving in the ways that they were taught and modeled. It also could be a reflection of a country that has been at war for so many years. Life just seems less important, less valuable. It really does just make me sad, though. I have seen the other side of labour and delivery– the side where it is a life event. A time of immense struggle no doubt, but also of extreme joy and intimacy and wonder. I would love for a Burundian woman to be handed her newborn, snuggling skin-to-skin, as people hug and kiss and congratulate. But it is not the custom here. At least I have not seen it yet.

Reminiscing about my delivery experiences...

The midwife and I have decided that our energies might be best spent in trying to do some teaching at the hospital, so every Friday, we will be teaching a little course on topics like newborn resuscitation, sterile techniques, etc, etc.

Please pray that we would be well received and could teach in a fun and humble manner.

Well there’s my thoughts for today! Until next time…  Danica