The day finally arrived. Prisca was scheduled for a c-section to deliver the baby, but also so the doctor could explore the mass on her uterus and try to remove it. We waited for news and then rushed to the hospital to be ready when the visiting hours opened up.
Unlike a US hospital, Prisca did not have a private room to revel in the glory of answered prayer and share special private moments with her precious baby and husband. She did not have a call button to signal a nurse that she needed pain medicine. She didn’t have an adjustable bed where she could find the most comfortable position to recover from her c-section.
Prisca was one in a ward of 50+ women who were in labor or who had recently given birth. Metal bed frames with thin foam mattresses lined the walls of the ward, a mere 3 feet separating each bed. No privacy. No comfort measures. No calming colors. It was a stark room marked by it’s utilitarian purpose.
We found Prisca at the far end of the ward. She was laying flat on her back, covered in a heavy woolen blanket. She was perfectly still, moaning softly with pain, a small bundle of fabric between her legs. I didn’t realize it at first but wrapped in the small bundle was Prisca’s baby.
A baby girl.
A healthy baby girl.
A perfectly perfect baby girl.
A beautiful baby whose life was was nearly taken several months early.
We cried tears of joy for this miracle baby. But what about the mass in Prisca’s uterus? What had the doctor found when he opened her up? Was she perfectly healthy too?
Post by Heather Webb