I’m not exactly sure how to put Kris’s and my experience of
the past few hours into words… but I’m gonna do my best because I feel it is a
story that needs to be shared.
About noon Kris and I were busy doing some repairs on the
Semesche water system, fully absorbed in our work (in more ways than one, since
it was raining on us, of course), when Mark arrived in the car in the Semesche
market, traveling at an alerting speed.
My first thought was, “Something has happened to one of the kids,” or, “Someone
must have passed back in the States.” I
must admit I was extremely relieved to hear the real reason for the rush and to
think, “Oh, it’s just another pregnant woman needing to get to the hospital… we
can get her there… no prob.” Kris and I
had carried a pregnant woman to the health center in Carcha back last summer,
and everything went smoothly… the woman seemed very calm and composed… and we
got her safely to her destination, only to find out that there was no real
emergency because the baby had turned on his own.
Today, when we arrived back in Benitzul with Mark, they had
not yet returned with the pregnant woman, and we began to question whether it
was a hoax and if they were really coming after all. Then I heard the moaning and saw the
stretcher coming down the road followed by a crowd of people. “Wow, this must be pretty serious,” I thought,
as the groans got closer. I ran to get a
blanket and some pillows to help make her as comfortable as possible. I also remember thinking to myself with a bit
of fear and excitement, “Am I gonna see my first live birth?!” Once she was in, we squeezed in five others,
including a health promoter and a midwife.
Kris did his very best to rush and be cautious at the same time, so as
not to make the ride too bumpy. I asked
some questions to the one passenger that spoke some Spanish, finding out that
the mother’s name was Rosaria, that she was eighteen (actually a pretty old age
by Valley standards for her to be having her first), that the baby was turned
cross-ways, and that the father was up north working on a farm in the Peten (migrant
work: a very common practice of the men around here). Kris
and I tried to count the time between Rosaria’s cries, and found them to be
about 3 minutes apart… everything to be okay at least temporarily.
Then the groans got louder and longer. We kept looking back at the poor girl and
trying our best to communicate with the midwife to see if we needed to stop or
keep going or do something different altogether. I think it was about this point that when I
looked back, the midwife had the girl’s skirt up to check on her, and I saw the
baby’s feet… very small, white feet. That’s
when everyone in the car finally said in either Spanish or Q’eqchi’ (I don’t
really remember which), “Hurry Up!” At
that point, Kris put the pedal to the medal, and we were extremely thankful for
the newly leveled roads at Semesche and beyond.
About five or ten minutes later, we could tell that Rosaria’s
pain and discomfort had increased significantly, and we were told that we were
going to have to pull over to the side of the road. I called Christian, the director of CAFNIMA
who is also a doctor and has attended many births. I told him what was happening, and he calmly
walked us through all of the options of what could happen with a baby being
born feet-first and what our responses could be. We were very thankful that the midwife was
there to attend to the actual birth, as we saw legs follow feet, and then the
sternum, and then maybe a minute or two later (between Christian telling us different
techniques and us trying to communicate them to the midwife) the head made its
way out on its own.
He was so beautiful.
Such a tiny little human being with a full head of dark hair. The time
after his birth was a blur as we realized that the midwife and health promoter weren’t
really jumping to do anything, so Kris (as led by Christian) tried to spank his
bottom, then blow into his little lungs, then massage his heart, then check for
a pulse, then try again. I kept
repeating to Christian, trying to keep my emotions at bay, “There’s no response….
There’s no response… He’s still not responding.”
The midwife just kept shaking her head. And at some point we realized that all our
efforts weren’t going to work. And so we
stopped. And one of the older men with
us cradled the sweet, lifeless form in his hands, saying, “Ahh, Dios,” over and
over again.
At that point the tears were free to flow. We gave the mom and all of her supporters
some room. And we went through all of
the normal emotions of grief… from sadness to anger to questioning God or ourselves
and back to sadness again. We did our
best to communicate our grief to Rosaria and those present with her… and for
once I was almost thankful for the language barrier because we didn’t have to
look for the most eloquent words… “We’re
sorry… our hearts hurt for you,” was about the extent of what we knew to say to
a young girl who had just had her first child taken from her. And as they were ready, at their request, we
headed back to Benitzul… this time without quite the rush, with a deep sadness weighing
us down.
When we returned to Benitzul, many of our neighbors and
community leaders that we know so well were all waiting. They loaded Rosaria back on the stretcher to
carry her back home. We said our last
words of sorrow and blessing over the stillborn child. And we made our way back to the houses,
allowing the tears to flow freely once again as we recounted to story to our
friends.
As I have reflected on the experience even more so over the
past few hours, I have realized that this was no abnormal or shocking
experience for the other 6 people traveling with us in our car. Child mortality rates are high in this part
of the world… today those statistics that had been floating around in our support
letters really hit home… poor or limited prenatal care is a reality for those
we live with here in the Valley and for the majority of the world. Death is much more real to these people, much
more expected, and maybe even more so accepted.
As we were on the road back from Benitzul, I was thinking, “Okay
God, what do you have to say about this?” or “So how do I understand or respond
to this?” I believe he placed two
different scriptures on my heart that both helped to comfort me and helped me
realize that we don’t have to answer all of the questions of, “Why?” and, “What
if?” And so I leave you, whoever might
be reading this blog, with these words, as well:
“There is a time for everything… a time to be born and a
time to die.”
“The Lords gives and the Lord takes away; Blessed be the
name of the Lord!”
