Africa... Visited.

My travels in Africa look somewhat like a dot-to-dot. We were a little here, a little there, and a smidgen of time between the two. 

Who is we? Laura, a friend I trained with in the Philippines, came to with me. We visited three teams in four cities in addition to catching the sweet baby for whom we were originally summoned. Timing throughout the trip was perfectly ordained by God. 

Us with Sahara, the baby we caught, and her mother

As planned, Laura and I had the privilege of attending the birth of Sahara, born in the middle of a Saharan sand storm. Her birth was perfect and beautiful, and all of the things we asked God for were granted. Because we were so far from any decent backup care, we prayed for a complication-free delivery, and God came through.

Laura and I painting a house

In the next town we visited, Laura and I were able to help another family get closer to settling in their new house. We painted the entire inside of the house in two long days! We were so clearly able to see God's timing there as well, because the family was unable to hire local help.

One of the families we stayed with

Next, we stayed with a family who is doing language learning in one of the bigger cities in the area. While there, we met orphanage workers and other volunteers from several different organizations. We were also able to visit a premature baby to give additional care and support to that family. 

Evaluating a Premature Baby

Finally, we spent some time in a third city further south. There, we were privileged to give a health teaching in a settled Nomad village. We taught woman about some of the common complications surrounding childbirth, and we gave them some simple solutions. At the end of this time, we shared a Bible story with them. As the team is new there, and focused mostly on language learning, this was the first time a health outreach and spiritual outreach had been combined. What joy to be there for that special 'Grand Opening'!

Introducing Women's Health and Jesus in a Nomad village

Overall, Laura and I both came back with a desire to seek God as far as long-term work in Africa. We saw His hand of provision, protection, and planning throughout our trip, and we saw the great spiritual and physical needs that He has equipped us to address. We ask you to pray with us as we pursue a long-term commitment to working in Africa.

A Hard Job....

She'd given birth to 10 children, and yet, this one was her hardest labor. She was so worried about her daughter. Was everything ok? Each time we checked heart tones, she met our eyes with a question in hers. Was that normal? Was her daughter going to be alright? Wasn't this labor too long and too hard?  Shouldn't the baby be born by now? Instead of settling in and letting labor take it's course, she was anxious. She couldn't sleep. She nibbled on food. She asked hundreds of questions. Sometimes she even paced.

Grandmother-to-be is a hard job.

It was 12:22 am on the coldest night of the year when we pulled down the gravel drive in rural KY. A fire kept the Amish home toasty and warm in contrast to the crunchy cold outdoors that shrink-wrapped your skin to your face every time you walked to the outhouse. Kerosene lamps stood, lit, on several surfaces in the main room, giving the house a comfortable feel like warm tea in your belly. After some relaxed conversation and laughter, things quieted down. We all tried to get some rest before the action really picked up.

Labor is a hard job.

She worked so hard, resting when she needed to, and exercising to help move things along. In early afternoon things began to get more uncomfortable, and it seemed that the end was in sight. Baby's heartbeat even gave us a few decelerated readings that seemed promising. A check told us that baby was in an unfavorable position, and we still had a long way to go. She stayed strong and tried so many different tricks to encourage baby to re-position. Her pain moved to her back and became nearly unbearable as darkness visited for the second time in her labor. She begged for relief and another check showed us that things still weren't anywhere near ready for birth. She clung to her husband with each contraction as they somersaulted over her, one right behind the other.

Mother-to-be is a hard job.

He looked earnestly at us as we discussed options for his wife and baby. We could try the birth pool as a last resort, or we could go to the hospital for pain relief. Positions and massage were not offering reprieve any more. He agreed to stoke the wood stove and try to heat enough water to fill an 80 gallon pool up in his kitchen. Up and down the stairs he trekked with armloads of wood. Teapots, soup pots, and canners full of water were heated on propane burners and the wood stove. Finally, the pool was full. His wife found enough relief to doze off a bit between contractions, and in his relief, he was able to crumple on the floor against the kitchen counter and nod off as well.

Father-to-be is a hard job.

With daylight just beginning to show her face, the time had come for little one to make his/her grand appearance. As with the rest of labor, it was an uphill battle. Mommy, Daddy, and Midwives tried so many different positions to talk baby out of his/her timidity. The midwives took turns, because even a certified contortionist wouldn't have outdone us that day. When Mommy needed to, she would push, pull, squeeze, or lean on whomever was available. This midwife now understands the term 'head compression' and knows that when squeezed hard enough, she will see multicolored stars swirling across her field of vision. The other midwife nearly had her jaw dislocated.

Midwife is a hard job.

And then, we could see the head. Slowly, slowly, and after plenty more work, it was here... and turning purple. The shoulder was stuck. But on the way to the birth, God had spoken to the heart of one of the midwives, and she knew to be prepared for this. A few proper moves and 30 seconds later, here was baby. Cord spiraled around her neck, body, and leg, which explains why she had a few incidents of sounding stressed. The focus was untangling the cord, and oops! Maybe we should get that second leg born. Then a deep breath, a snuffle, and a cry. So many lumps on that poor, misshapen head from her difficult escape from the inside.

New baby is a hard job.

Finally everyone was here, happy, and healthy. Grandmother was so relieved, and so proud of her daughter and granddaughter. Labor was over. Mother was curled up with her new little girl, admiring all 9 pounds and 8 ounces of her. Daddy was beaming and making sure morning chores were done. Midwives were planning to sleep cleaning up, filling out paper work, and answering questions. Baby was being cute, the way new babies should. All that to say that sometimes, it takes five people a day and a half to introduce a new baby to the world.

One Baby at a Time...

That's how I'm seeing the world. One baby at a time. When I left the Philippines and entered another season of waiting, I prayed that God would provide opportunities for me to serve His people with midwifery. A week after that, I had the privilege of attending the birth of my friends' firstborn son. Three weeks later, I was in Honduras for a birth.

December found me in Georgia with dear friends, welcoming their daughter, and January has had me working alongside a midwife in Kentucky. Has the Lord answered my prayers? You be the judge.


I received the message below from a patient in the Philippines. These are the sentiments that make my job worth it.

jan, 19 2013 ur my midwif of my child,, now my child is 2yrs old ,,thank u u are the 1 helping me in my labor,,

Laura is the other midwife in a headband.

And now, I fly again. To a new continent and a new country. To a family in Chad, who is bringing Jesus to their neighbors. To a Momma who needs a midwife for her 6th baby. The plan is that I will travel with a good friend who worked alongside me in the Philippines. We plan to visit several other teams in the country while we're there. Both Laura and I are praying about whether God would set either or both of us in a team there.

So I'm off to see another part of the world. Tour de Bebe. To see another set of prayers answered for myself, Laura, and the family to whom we are sent. 20 days from now, I will board a plane for 1.5 months of Africa. Blessed be the Lord, who fills my heart with desires, and then grants me the desires of my heart.

Another Birthday...

This isn't a post about my birthday, though I do have one of those that seems to float by once-a-year-ish. It is about the birthday of a little girl who arrived 10 days after my birthday. She has a head-full of black hair, dark grey eyes, and the most darling expressions I've ever seen.

One of the benefits of being a traveling, live-in midwife, is that you really get to know your patients, and depending on when your flight is booked, you really get to know their little babies too. I've had the treat of two weeks of newborn snuggles. But now for the main event.

It was not-quite-4am. Outside, the dark cloak of night still clung tightly about dawn's shoulders. My unconsciousness was interrupted by a knocking at my door. I bolted upright, fumbling for my clock. My jumbled thoughts couldn't determine whether I had overslept or if something else was afoot. I opened my door about as far as my eyes were managing to be open. Before me stood a slightly anxious/excited version of the father-to-be. Ah, this made sense. It was B-day.

Thing was, contractions were still pretty spaced out. Based on what I was seeing, I anticipated a long day ahead. The whole household was awake now, making phone calls, boiling water, and giving lots of advice to the laboring mamma.  Mommy, Daddy, and I decided to move the party upstairs. After a prayer, a few photos, and a little laying-out of my equipment something shifted. Contractions were announcing themselves more aggressively, and forcing a longer acquaintance.  Still far enough apart to predict a few more hours of labor, but a bit obstinate now.

 Then came the doozy. 3 minutes of it. And oh! That would be the baby's head I can see! Then sweetly, between contractions, baby girl turned her head and pushed with her feet and birthed her own head. I want to know this girl when she's 20, she's destined to be a world-changer. Nothing like making things happen from the beginning. Then how she yelled. Strong and lusty, just as we had prayed for. Proclaiming her birthday for all the world.

It was like the movies. Every time I opened the bedroom door, 15 eager pairs of eyes turned in my direction. Was she here? Was it time to see baby? Was everything ok? How much did she weigh? Was that really only 3 hours? But mamma and baby needed some time. Daddy and I had some cleaning up to do. So coffee and pastries had to fill in for first sights of a newborn. Then, finally, amid an assault of first pictures and ooohs and aaahs, little girl made her public debut.

That's how it was, folks. Another whirlwind labor and birth. Another snugly, perfect newborn and another happy older brother. And then two weeks of joy, here in Honduras. Smiles, diapers, Spanish, baths, snuggles, and fellowship. And that, was another birthday.

Next Stop Honduras...

My cute little white boy

There are so many ways my life could go next. This incredible, uncertain way of being is sort of frighteningly wonderful. Although I have no long term plans, I have graciously been provided another baby-catching opportunity. Monday, I fly to Honduras to assist in the birth of a little girl. Lord-willing I will stay three weeks with the family, helping them welcome their second child.

A little about the birth of this little boy pictured here. He decided to initiate me into Certified Midwifery by making his entrance into the world backwards, which rather surprised me. Then, to make life even more exciting, he delayed breathing for over 5 minutes. I don't think I have to tell you that a lot of prayers went up. As I pumped air into his tiny lungs, I just remember saying, 'God, you are the creator and giver of life, I cannot give life to this child. Please let him breathe and give life now!' The mercy of God toward us was overwhelming, and God did just that, He gave life to this cute little white boy.

I cannot think of a better way to attend my first independent birth. God gave wisdom and helped me remember my training, but ultimately, He was the only one who could come through for this child. I have such a poignant example of how I need Him in every birth, in every situation. Even more importantly, I can so clearly see His faithfulness in being mighty to save. These are things that can so easily be taken for granted. He is the faithful God who keeps His promises and acts mightily on behalf of His children.

First white baby I ever caught

It is gracious of God to have me in this brokenly-whole sort of place. I see Him directing my every step. In some ways, coming back to the States makes me feel stripped of everything, lost, and broken. In other ways as I can look back and see where I've been, I feel so whole and confident in who He has made me and the things He is doing in me. And so I find myself both whole and broken in the same instant. While life goes on, I see how my whole story is very much a becoming-sort-of-thing rather than a being-sort-of-thing. Also, super yay for Honduras, because the thought of adjusting to another developing nation is in many ways less intimidating than adjusting back to the States.

So yes, God is moving and working in my life. Questions abound, as does His grace. He is daily guiding me and purging me, and I WILL see the faithfulness of God as these next steps continue to unfold. So many decisions and so many blessings all at once. And this heart is overwhelmed on both accounts. But I know in Whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that it's all gonna be worth it.

Do You Want Her?

She was cute. That's what I thought from the second she walked in with her white and red polka-dotted dress. She was also really afraid. It took a lot of coaxing and reassurance just to walk her through the normal admittance procedure. If I'd had to guess, I would've said it was her first, but she already has a little girl. She was just so.... lost. She latched on to me pretty quickly, and thereafter never let me leave her side.

Her support person was her sister in law. A bundle of giggles, I'm not sure how much support she really was. Her interest was piqued when she found out that we had milk and Milo for the patients. She lost no time in preparing one for the patient, and another for herself. And she giggled. Really, she giggled through the whole thing. Even amidst the intensity of the baby's very emergence, she was falling off her chair in giggles and snorts. Not much help, it seemed.

But where was the husband? The father of this baby? He's not around anymore. He's gone. So when she pulled me over and had me squat down so that I was the right height for support, I knew I was all she had. I didn't scold her when she wrapped her arms around my neck and gripped tightly with the pain. I had become more than just a set of hands to welcome her baby. We prayed and we breathed and then it was time.

Nothing else existed in the moment of birth. Not the sister-in-law who was falling off her chair in giggles nearby, not the extra hands that came to help, and not the baby initiating her vocal cords in the next bed. She responded to my words of comfort and my encouragement to relax and let go of her fear. Our eyes locked, and we worked together to get that tiny girl safely into the world. A deep, deep sigh, and her head laid back and her eyes closed. Her hands found the new little one placed on her belly.

The nose was too flat. Momma kept pinching it. She told me she wanted her baby's nose to be tall like mine, so she kept pinching it. The upside is, baby just survived birth and seemed not to notice the small discomfort that was nasal reshaping therapy. I admired her baby's beauty as I began the newborn exam.

"Do you want her?"

My eyes darted to the mother's face, trying to reassure my quickening pulse that she was teasing.

"Do you want her? You can adopt her."

Her face was serious, and her sister-in-law repeated the question. I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered, horrified, or just heartbroken. And although reason tried to quell it, something deep inside me was screaming "Yes, yes, yes, YES!". Because she was precious and beautiful and I DO want a baby. Something wanted to treasure this tiny soul as she deserves to be treasured and that same something recoiled from the thought of a mother so willing to part with her new daughter.

"But she's yours, and she's perfect and she's beautiful."

"No, you can have her. You can take her to America and she can be yours."

In the absence of proper words, I defaulted to my nervous giggle. Act like its a joke. We finished up the exam and I focused on helping Momma and baby bond. Little girl was carefully cared for, even loved I think.  Probably her life will be tough with no Daddy to take care of her. I cannot change that even if I could consider adopting her. But I can pray that she will be loved. And I can trust, because I know there is One Daddy who will gladly adopt her. She will never have to ask Him "Do you want me?" because He's already signed her adoption papers with His blood.

On Retrieving Peanuts....

We needed peanuts the other day. A group of mothers-to-be was having a special class at our clinic, and part of the snack was to be peanuts. Looking through the list of ladies I was hosting the class with, I realized that one of the married students was on the list.... or so I thought. She owns a car, so the task of going someplace to purchase said peanuts was presumably a simpler feat for her than for any of the rest of the group. Assuming that she would also have peanuts on the brain, I sent her a text.

Hey, do you by any chance have any thoughts about retrieving peanuts?

This fair lady, (who was actually not in the same group as me) surmising I was referring to our upcoming shift together, responded:

Hey Melissa, I am still in the catching rotation, if that's what you mean.

Much laughter after we came to a mutual understanding of our respective interpretations of the texts. We now have a new euphemism for catching babies.... retrieving peanuts. Doesn't that just put things nicely?

 I shall proceed to assail you with pictures of food and babies, both of which seem uniquely suited to putting smiles on the faces of even the most sober of human beings. To the right of your screen you should notice a plate of Indian food, a side of Naan, and a plate of burning-incense-gone-wrong. It was an exciting dinner, the fire in our mouths closely coordinating with that of our centerpiece. The climax happened to be when the incense plate cracked, and the fire needed to be dramatically swept from the table and relocated outside in the drizzle.
 
Now, you may look at the picture on the left and ask yourself, "Where did Melissa get that fabulous blue, sparkly headband?" If that is the question you find yourself asking, I'll just take this moment to give a shout out to the Privett family for blessing me with a little care package. It arrived two days ago, and delighted this heart of mine.
 
This child is named Jags Christ. I do not find that I particularly endorse the name, but as a midwife, I do not always have a say in such matters. He is my first baby of the new year, born on the anniversary of my own sister's birth. Although his arrival does thrill me, the circumstances do not. His father has turned out to be a depressed, drug addicted, wife beater. He and the mother are no longer together. Little Jags has an older brother and sister to help take care of him.

While Jags was on his way out, his mother and I really bonded. She was so broken, not surprisingly, and needed a bit of extra tender love during her labor. After the birth, she asked me why I was kind to her. I was able to plant a tiny seed about the kindness of God, and how it reflects in His people. Please, dear ones, pray that her heart will be open to further cultivation of the love of her heavenly Father in the weeks to come.

 To the left of your screen you should notice some nearly indescribable cuteness. This fellow was not my catch, although I did play a huge role in his birth. I also played a role in his naming. Jack Derek shall forever be his handle. A very sweet little tyke, he cooperated extraordinarily well for his photo shoot.




Finally, a bit of laughter to wrap up this post. This child and I were mutually enamored with one another. Mother found herself amused as we spent a few moments in shared laughter. It appears that she is very weird and laughs at strange things, much like her midwife. The little doll was uberly precious, and I have not the slightest doubt that she is already developing a nerdy, off-beat sense of humor and general good-natured perspective on the world.

Alright folks. All for now! Over and out.

A Tribute....

... To a life that wasn't.

I cry for you, little boy.
For the fact that you have no name.
I cry for your mommy's empty tummy and empty arms.
For your daddy who came in after you were born.
He was wearing my shoes.
I cry for the aunty who examined you before I covered your still face.
And I cry for your 3 brothers and sisters who will never know you.

Little boy, your face was perfect.
Your mouth was a little 'O'.
You looked like you were sleeping, once I wrapped you all up tightly.
You had ten fingers, but they will never grasp your mamma's nose as she laughs.
You had little knees and elbows, and black hair, of course.

The silence, little boy.
It was loud. So, so LOUD.
Louder than any newborn wail.
I couldn't shut out that silence, little boy.

Your midwife was so strong, little boy.
She bravely helped you out into the world.
She told your mamma, softly, that she had done well.
I was so proud of her for being willing.
Willing to feel the pain of a life that wasn't.

I tried to be gentle, little boy.
Gentle with your mamma when I told her she had a son.
Gentle with you when I wrapped you and laid you beside your mamma.
And later, when I covered your face.
Gentle when I laid you to rest in your little box.

Little boy, you were so fragile.
So delicate. So tiny.
The box we brought for you was small, but you fit.
My hands shook as I cared for your still form.
I didn't know how to do this, little boy, I hope I did alright.

Life is a gift, little boy.
Yours was so short.
7 months or maybe 8.
I cried for you, little boy.
And in a prayer, I sent you back to the Giver of Life.

It Took my Breath Away...

It took my breath away...

Almost everything last night did. It started with my assisting a birth for a friend. Pretty straight-forward at birth. Everything seemed normal. But then with every check she just kept bleeding. I inserted an IV for her. And suddenly, with one check, a blood clot that was a half liter, and we couldn't get her uterus to clamp down and stop. I found myself inserting a second IV, this time with a bit more urgency.


It took my breath away...

 Another friend and I were both caring for women who were about to give birth. The sudden splash of fluid in each of our cubicles, and the excitement of both laboring women beginning to push their babies out. The thrill when they were born within two minutes of each other, and the little newborn wails filled the room. The beautiful moment when the mother I was caring for reached out and helped deliver her own baby
then held her close. She stroked the baby and told her she was welcome and to cry.

It took my breath away...

When my patient started bleeding, and I could not coax the placenta to come. The time limit was approaching and still it persisted. Prayers went up, and answers came down. An IV, a bit of persuasion, and some hard work on the mother's part and finally the placenta arrived. Minutes later, I started an IV on my friend's patient in response to yet another hemorrhage.

It took my breath away...

Before I had time to turn around twice, two more women were giving birth. The baby I was watching over was  relaxed about his first breath Again, gushing, gushing blood. Again voices lifting requests to the kind God who was graciously granting those requests. Again an emergency IV and a bit of coaxing to get the placenta out.

It took my breath away...

Overhearing complications from the next cubicle over, and knowing we were caring for 4 vulnerable women. Then the power went out. Trying to catch up, finish up, wrap up everything so we could endorse to day shift. Watching wide eyed as two more laboring women walked in the door. Listening as one gave birth before we were even able to hand over the shift.

It took my breath away... 

I dragged my weary body up two flights of stairs to my house. A few bites of food satiated my piercing hunger pains. I drank some water. Then, just before I climbed into bed, I wash away all the evidence of my busy night in a cold, cold shower....

...It took my breath away.

On Kisses and Faces....

 I have kissed a lot of faces. Chubby faces, crying faces, sleepy faces.

Some are more impressed than others. Sweet miniature human beings.

Such fascinating little beings.... making all sorts of interesting faces. Happy faces, surprised faces, hungry faces.

















They teach me to make new faces. Early mornings, late nights, trying out our facial muscles.













Sometimes we're in the same mood and we have the same taste in colorful clothing.

Other times we're peaceful, both just happy to be alright.

Continuity.... Continued

Continued.
 

So, after my first weekend of continuity patients and my mid-week birthday celebration and catch, my schedule was full of baby checks. I figured, since both of my other patients had almost two weeks until their due dates, that I'd buckle down and get some learning done. But babies are really surprising creatures, and they tend to come at the most unpredictable and unexpected times.

 Complicated.

After a late night with a heartbroken friend on Friday, I expected to sleep in on Saturday. Carl Wesley (pictured above) had another idea. He was planning to show up before his mother expected him, and before his daddy could get off work.

Unexpected.

At about 9 am I got a text. Ma'am, the pains have started. I really think this is labor. That's the rough translation. Since Carl Wesley is Rosalie's fourth baby, I decided that it would behoove me to believe her. I packed up a bag, and continued to text Rosalie as I prepared some lunch and dinner. I figured it would be best to be prepared, as I had night shift Saturday, and I might be at the clinic for a LOOOOOONG time.

Hurried.

Rosalie showed up at the clinic, and it was pretty obvious there wouldn't be much time before we met baby. I put on gloves and assessed her. She wasn't quite ready, but her body was in a hurry. With the next contraction, her bag of waters broke, and the following contraction resulted in the birth of a screaming baby boy. All of the sudden, he was here, and the rush and hurry was over. About two hours later I biked home at warp speed to get in a quick shower before my night shift started in 20 minutes. A long night full of a beautiful family. And they named him for a friend of mine.


Surprised.

That's how I felt the next evening when I got another text from the clinic. Melissa, your patient is here, and she's active. I asked if I might get a ride, but they told me to hop on my bike and ride like mad. I arrived at the clinic just minutes before the birth of this little girl, Joylyn. I had taken her momma as my patient because she was so young, and so lost seeming. Yet even in my wildest imaginations I couldn't have guessed her whole story.






Grieved.

My heart was broken as more and more of the story unfolded. At just 14 years old my patient had become pregnant. Just a child herself. Worse, the father of the baby was 46.... and married. A series of poor choices, and several lives forever changed. A little girl, confused about her identity, choosing a lesbian lifestyle. A drunken evening. A fight. An 'understanding' neighbor man. And at the end of those choices, she was pregnant. Scared of the father of her baby.... and rightly so.

Crying.

It's what I felt like doing every time I walked into her room. Every time the father of the baby asked me creepy questions, and touched his daughter. Every time the mother of my patient looked at me with worried eyes and tried to understand what had happened to her little girl. It's what I did that night when I got home, and the next few days after every checkup.There are no words, no scalding, salt-water drops, no heaving sobs that could express the sort of heaviness and pain.

Amazed.

This describes me as I held Joylyn about 2 hours after she was born. She looked at me, and she was so alert. Suddenly, I wanted to protect her from all the ugly her life may hold. I told her how she will serve the Lord. I told her how it doesn't matter that she was conceived in rape, or that her father is dishonorable. It doesn't matter that her mother is still a child. It doesn't matter what her life may hold, all she is belongs to God. I spoke over her that she will be a strong woman of God, a prayer warrior, and a testimony of His grace. As I spoke, she just stared at me like in these two pictures. As though she UNDERSTOOD. And there was rest in my soul.

Tired.

It's how I felt after my whirlwind 8 days in which 4 babies were born into my waiting hands, 5 women were coached through labor, and countless hours were spent at the clinic. It's how I felt when I thought about the world and how many tragic stories it contains. It's how I felt when I curled into my bed in the wee hours of Monday morning. Tired, Fulfilled, Sad, Happy, Peaceful, and finally.... Relaxed.

(Pictures of Joylyn's mamma will not be posted due to the sensitive nature of her story. I would, however, love if you will continue to join me in prayer for her dear little heart.)

On My Birthday...

One night, not long ago, it was the-night-before-the-night-before my birthday. As in.... two nights before my birthday. Well, that's the night it was. And this is how I spent it. I mixed up some flour, cocoa, coffee, and a bunch of other stuff that's not nearly as interesting. Then I put it in the oven. After all that, I put some frosting and chocolate chips (which I bought in States and have been hoarding) and some coffee beans on top. In the end, it looked just like that picture on the right. The reason for this, is that the picture on the right is actually a picture of the results of my labor. Like... Tastie!

Now the reason that I spent the-night-before-the-night-before my birthday baking, is that I had a party planned for the DAY before my birthday. Parties are rather fun, and I take great delight in planning them. So mocha cupcakes and Coke were on the menu. I invited all the Filipino staff, and prepared for a large turnout.






  First though, I had to teach a room full of women about fetal development in another language, and do about 11 prenatals in Visayan while explaining the whole thing to my shadow in English. This requires quite a bit of vocal stamina, mental flexibility, and a good sense of humor. Thankfully, all were in stock. The invigorating anticipation of my party supplied all the essential elements.

My party started out slowly. As in, there were two girls and myself. However before long, and in very classic Filipino timing, my Hair-Accessories-Making-Party/Lesson was in full swing. I had a full range of ages, and a representation from both genders... who knew? So in a flurry of hot glue, scissors, and sparkles, all my dear, dear Filipino friends began creating their unique versions of beauty.

My heart just swelled with happiness as I watched so many friends enjoy themselves. We chattered in mixed languages, giggles and exclamations accenting the musical flow from time to time. I just fluttered around like a regular.... something winged and energetic.... and gave instruction and opinions everywhere. These people were BRILLIANT! Super creative and wonderful.

So obviously, after a party like that, I was totally bubbly and overwhelmed with happiness. I just couldn't get over how GOOOOOOD my life was, and I had no clue how my actual birthday could top the beautiful day I had. But guess what? Well, just wait for me to finish my story, ok?

So... Now I'll tell you about my birthday. Like the ACTUAL day I was born, except 27 years later. First I woke up. That's how I start most of my days around here. Then lots of girls who live in my house told me "Happy Birthday, Melissa!". "Thank You" I replied. I think that's a pretty boring response, but it's also pretty classic, so I figured I couldn't go wrong with it.

After that, I walked to class with one of my housemates. When I walked in, I was startled to hear a lot of voices that were simultaneously saying the same word. That word was, "Surprise!" Which is exactly what I felt. Because there, in the middle of the table, was a bunch of really yummy desserts, and some soda and stuff. So while we learned all about genetic screening, we stuffed our pretty faces with delights such as pound cake, Chai cookies, cookie dough dip, and donuts.

Following the party, I had swing shift. I have this super cool housemate named Nancy. She has the gift of sarcasm, but also, she is really cool in a lot of other ways. She knew I wanted to catch a birthday baby, so she let me take the patient that was  already admitted. But the really great thing, is that God rewarded her generosity, and we BOTH ended up catching a baby on my birthday. My baby was a girl, so I gave her this headband I made, which matched the scrub top I was wearing (which I also made). And wouldn't you know, but the partying wasn't even over at this point. Wanna know why?

Well the reason has to do with the fact that Nancy is not the only really cool girl I live with. I actually live with 9 really cool girls. So all of them baked me this cake, and brought dinner and a present and this cake to the clinic while I was on shift. They also blew bubbles at me, and threw balloons at me. That was pretty special, because I never before had a birthday party where people came and threw balloons at me. Plus also, the bubbles.

So in the end, My birthday kinda lasted for TWO full days. It might be a bit extravagant, but I guess you only turn 27 in the Philippines once, right? As the day was ending, Nancy and I got our picture taken together. Her baby boy wore a shnazzy bow tie that we'd designed. So it was kinda a fun photo shoot. Except for the one thing, which was that my baby kinda cried. But I guess you could probably deduce that from the picture.

The end.

On Continuity...

Continuity.

It's a word used to describe the type of care we give to some of our patients.Sometimes we adopt certain patients and really give them all their care. Some are because we need the experience, and some we adopt because they need us. We come in for every prenatal visit, and we spend weeks glued to our cell phones, just waiting to hear that they're in labor. And the last 8 days have been rather... well....

Crazy.
 
They told me I was when I took 4 continuity patients in the middle of September. But either I needed them, or they needed me. Maybe both.  And although their due dates spanned 19 days, they all gave birth within 8. I'll have to tell you the stories over the course of 2 posts, because it'll get rather long. First, let me tell you about Claire, the cute little girl in the picture above. 

 

Long.

That's how her labor was.... really, really long.  She had a good attitude, and we spent a lot of time walking, swaying, and sitting on an exercise ball. Finally, after 12 hours of hard work on both of our parts, she had to be transported. Her body was just not progressing as quickly as it needed to, and she was now outside of the normal time limits for giving birth. The hospital was now a better option for her, as they could handle out-of-normal births.




Sad. 

The feeling rushed over me as I prepared papers for transport. As I crawled into bed around 4 am, I prayed that God would watch over her and her baby.  I slept deeply, only to wake up to a text at 11am. "Maam, my panubigan is out na. I think paglabor ko".

Upset.

Because her bag of waters had already ruptured, she was on a 12 hour timeline to give birth at our clinic.  Since she hadn't texted me right away, we only had 6 of those hours left. For a first baby, that's pretty fast. I knew her chances of getting transported were pretty high. Just 8 hours after my last patient as transported, I was prepared to feel devastated. But the shift was busy. Crazy busy. And one of the babies was born with some of its organs in the umbilical cord. Like the one in the illustration here. My supervisor let the mother kiss the baby, then she and I jumped into the ambulance within seconds of the birth and rushed her to the hospital, praying for all we were worth. She hung on for 4 days and one surgery, but she's gone now, leaving her family with a gaping wound.
Determined.

Both of us were. I rushed back into the clinic and my patient was still there, dancing with her husband. Slow dancing. He turned on music for them. Tenderly, he swept the hair back off her forehead and kissed her gently, murmuring in her ear. I recall the day she came into prenatals and giggled as she smoothed out a paper on the bed next to where I was writing. Her marriage certificate. "This past July, ma'am." She was shy, but so happy. And I knew I just LOVED her!

Loving.


It was the feeling in the cubicle. Between her husband, the other midwives and I, the woman was well cared for.  The supervisor gave her more grace with the time than expected. Her husband held her, pushed with her, and encouraged her after every contraction. We told her she could, and then a look of confidence would come over her face, and she would try again. And as her baby was born, the whole room erupted in praise to God, congratulations, and cheering. The baby took a bit to start crying, and again, cheers as the first sweet cries were heard. The dad held his cell phone up to let the caller hear the baby.

Intense.

That's how  the whole shift was. Intensely happy, intensely sad, intensely fearful, intensely loving. It was intensely busy, intensely tiring. And all in all, it was intensely wonderful.

How Can I Explain....

How can I explain....

I gently lay my hands on a full rounded belly, trying to ascertain the position of the little one inside. In response to my touch, the baby kicks. It's like a conversation with a miniature person I have not yet seen, and who has no power of speech. My eyes meet the eyes of the mother lying before me, and we share a sweet smile.

How can I explain....

I look through the chart. Her 'Risk Status' tells me that she has already been with multiple partners. Her Gram Stain results tell me that one of them has left her a nasty infection, and her doctor referral tells me she's been treated. I look at her. She tells me that she still has symptoms, in spite of her treatments, and that this pregnancy is uncomfortable for her. And she's 15 years old.

How can I explain....

I place the fetoscope on the belly of another young mommy and it sounds like there's more than one heartbeat. My hand rests lightly on her belly, beside the bell of my fetoscope and I feel it too. Then I come to realize... I'm hearing and feeling the hiccups of the itsy bitsy human inside.

How can I explain....

 I greet a tiny mommy, not even 5 feet tall. She doesn't look as young as the others, yet I gasp when I read that this is her 11th pregnancy. Her beautiful tummy does not even exhibit stretch marks. I could've believed this was her first baby. And it seems the whole family lives off an income of $5 per day.


How can I explain....

 I glance around the room filled with 60 pregnant women, listening as their voices combine in a praise song. Beautiful, Filipina voices singing in their native tongue. Singing songs they've learned in this place I work. This place that exists for the very purpose of bringing others to sing with us in honor of our God.

How can I explain....

I cannot help but love every moment of my life. How can I explain it? These amazing experiences all happened within the space of one day, and yet every day holds these sorts of emotionally charged occurrences. And try as I might, I really cannot explain it. I cannot explain the intensity of joy and sadness in this life I live. And through it all, the intensity of my wonder at the greatness of the God I love.

On My Crazy Yesterday....

Sabrina and I

My yesterday lasted 21 hours. Actually, it is still going. This is pretty common for my crazy midwife schedule. Some of the happenings within that 21+ hours, however, were not common. Not common at all. Let me tell you a bit about it.

I woke up at 11 am. Now this might seem like excessive sleep to you, unless you know that I didn't go to bed until almost 3 am. I was switching my sleep clock from day shift to night shift. I ate breakfast, made a grocery and market list, and balanced the house budget before heading off to a mandatory, organized, group learning session at the clinic.

One of my patients had been texting me all night and into the morning, showing signs of early labor. My mind was well occupied because of that and planning a visit to another patient that I'd transported the morning before. It had been a traumatic transport... a girl I really took time with, but who was not progressing normally in labor. I was going to visit her at the hospital, and I wanted company. I texted a few girls and organized the trip.

My patient smiled at me from bed 100...not the highest bed number in that single room, by a long shot. Beside her in the same bed another mother, baby, grandmother, and father sat, admiring their own new little one. 2 patients/families per bed is pretty standard in that ward. We held the baby, photographed the baby, kissed the baby, and asked questions. She expected to be discharged soon, and to leave the100+ degrees, 300+ patients, and assorted nurses and cats in the room. It was a happy ending to a story with a scary climax. We had transported her into a busy ER where we witnessed things that will not easily be processed or forgotten.

Sabrina and her momma

We prayed over the happy new family and headed out of the hospital. On our way out, a woman greeted me in the foyer. I engaged her in conversation and found that she was there with a family member who had been in a tricycad accident. I prayed over her and her family, asking God for healing, provision, and that His love would be known to them. After a quick discussion amongst ourselves, we girls decided to visit another ward to pray over some patients. We were not quite prepared for what awaited us.

As we approached the gymnasium that served as a mixed ward, a colorfully dressed older woman came up to us and asked for money. She became very angry when we told her we had nothing to give her. We asked the security guard permission, then proceeded into the gym. The first woman we prayed over was very thin and fragile. She was suffering from breathing, heart, and gastrointestinal issues. We next talked to the daughter of an old man. He had suffered a stroke or aneurism (my Visayan was not good enough to tell which) and completely unconscious. We again prayed over him, and for his family.

Isabelle pointed out another patient. A 'human form' that we could not distinguish as man, woman, or child. I don't think she could've weighed more than 40 lbs. Her body wasted from ulcers, the stomach acid had turned her teeth into mush. She coughed constantly, a thin, dry cough that took all her strength. I went to her side and asked if I could pray for her. She summoned all of her strength, and in a very quiet voice, told me her story. She has two kids, a 7 and 11 year old. She was dying. Her head turned and she spit out a few of her teeth. She continued to whisper her requests to me, and I leaned my ear to within inches of her face, trying to understand the quiet, foreign words that tumbled from her dry lips. Could I pray for her family? Her kids especially. And for healing for her body?

I took her frail hand in mine. I prayed over her, begging God for miracles. My broken Visayan, mixed with English as I poured out my heart.... our hearts. To see her healed. That God would have mercy on her family. By the end of my prayer she lay, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Our 10 minute interaction had worn her out. My heart was full... Like a sponge sodden with water, and threatened to seep from my eyes. We stood, blessed her and her family, and made our departure.

Silently, we made our way to a grassy area behind the hospital. Our hearts were too full for words, and as we sat in silence, tears spilled down our cheeks. It was all too much to take in. After a while, we prayed together and debriefed. A large, black billy goat meandered by on the grass behind us. And then we were ready to go. To find some food and, hopefully, the elements of communion. As we walked toward the exit of the hospital, the colorfully dressed woman spotted us again. She spoke harsh, hate-filled words that, although foreign, chilled our bones and unsettled our spirits. I silently prayed against those words, and against any curse or spirit behind them.

Our spirits began to lighten as we ate sticky rice, cassava cake, and RC cola from a little stand outside the hospital. The little children played shy, waving at us from behind the legs of their parents. After returning our empty RC bottles, we went to a bakery for bread, and found grape Gatorade. Lest you find me sacrilegious for thinking that  sweet bread and Gatorade could function as bread and wine, allow me to assure you of a strict dearth of grape products in the Philippines. Even my church uses grape koolaide for communion (Yes, I'm drinking the koolaide). We went back to my house and had a very sweet (no pun intended) communion together.

Night shift started slowly. I transported a labor who was too late in her pregnancy to deliver safely at Mercy. When I walked back in from my ambulance ride I was called into a cubicle to take over a labor. You cannot possibly imagine my shock when I saw who my patient's companion was... the brightly dressed woman with whom I'd had the tense encounter at the hospital earlier. My breath came in much shorter increments and I cried out to God in my heart, asking for wisdom, spiritual protection, and grace to handle whatever lay ahead. I quickly explained the situation to my supervisor in hushed tones. She confirmed that there was a spiritual darkness here.... she got a headache the instant this woman arrived. We set to work, knowing a new baby was not far off.

Melissa and I

I checked the laboring woman's progress. By normal standards she should have been 1-4 hours from giving birth. Again, not a normal day. She was from a people group who are amazing birthers. They seem to defy all anatomy and give birth quickly, exhibiting almost no pain, and NOT following any suggestions of well meaning midwives. 9 minutes later, a screaming baby girl was laid on her stomach. She told me that I would name this baby.... Also common amongst this people group. As morning dawned, I tried to decide what name I should give.

I suggested 6 or 7 different names for the darling baby girl. For some reason, the older, colorfully dressed woman kept on suggesting 'Melissa'.  Maybe God had allowed this reunion for a reason. She treated me kindly now, and smiled at me. Just before 6am, as we prepared to go off shift, the name was settled. Melissa.... My third namesake in a month. And as I wearily climbed into bed this morning, I saw God's hand in my every move or the day. I saw clearly that my entire day was crafted by God, ordained that I would share His love abroad. I saw that although I could not give financially to this woman, I could give my love.... His love to her relative, and I watched that transform an angry, dark woman into a more gentle person, soothed by His grace.

Melissa, her momma, and I

I do not know what God will do for the patients at the hospital. I do not know the fate or future of any of the people I met yesterday. But I watched God work, and I have confidence that He will complete the good thing that He has started. I feel like Peter and John in Acts 3:6 "Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." May God's life and light flow through me to bring His glorious gospel to the Nations.