Her labor just wasn't progressing normally. We had tried every trick in the book, but after hours of labor, her body was still not ready to give birth and she was so, so tired. Because of this all, our supervisor decided that we should transport her to the local hospital where they have a greater ability to deal with labors that are not progressing normally.
She was scared.
She had cooperated so well during labor. We had danced together, swinging our hips to help that baby scoot down. We'd climbed the stairs so many times, and we'd tried every position in the book, and a few more besides. Her husband was there every step of the way, massaging her back, lending a supporting hand, mopping the sweat off her forehead. We were a team. I felt anguished as I gave her the news that she'd be transported.
Panic registered on her face.
Here, where hospitals are frightening, disease-filled places. Where people go to die. This was her worst fear. I took her hand in one of mine, and laid my other hand on her beautiful, round belly. "Pwede ko magampo para sa ikaw?" (is it ok if I pray for you?) YES! She squeezed my hand as I closed my eyes to pray. I placed her in God's hands, asking that He watch over her and give her body strength. I prayed over that baby too, and asked for a miracle. I reassured her that her baby's heart was still strong and normal.
Tears ran freely down his face.
The husband was just unashamedly crying when I looked up. They both were; scared, touched, and so caring of each other and their little unborn baby. I felt my own tears prickle at the corners of my eyes as I walked them out to our ambulance. I held her hand the whole way to the hospital, crying with her and telling her how God would take care of her. My heart was full, and I was floored that I could love someone so deeply after having known her only a few hours. It took all I had to walk away from her after I endorsed her to the doctor on duty. It was my own version of faith.
And I left her in God's hands.
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