i think office jobs are great, by the way.

For the first time this week since starting do this, since learning about midwifery and delivering babies and providing health care for women, for the first time since I have put on my uniform and stepped into the hospital- I felt like giving it up. 

For the first time, ever, I found myself thinking, I don’t want to do this.

 It seemed fun at first. It’s never really been easy per say, but at least there was the joy of being with women and then the gift of delivering healthy cute babies to look forward to. Even when it was hard, it was manageable.

But this week I watched a woman bleed to death.

And I couldn’t do anything to help her.

And I am overly aware that it hasn’t been and it wont be the last case I see. I know this.  And I’ve already seen more death in my short few weeks here in Tanzania than I have seen in my whole life combined. There is some type of life threatening complication that arises every single day we go to the hospital. If it’s not a mom, it’s a baby. And I’m just so tired of seeing dead babies. That’s something that just wares on you, you know?

I left the hospital wondering, what am I thinking?? Who in their right mind would ever subject themselves to this kind of pain? To this kind of devastation? Why sign up for this? No ones forcing me to be here, why would I commit to this type of work?

I contemplated taking a casual jog away from the hospital, telling myself I could just run away now and never have to look back. Perhaps I could get a nice office job and wear cute shoes and be stressed out by something less life threatening-like whether or not I should part my hair to the side or wear it down the middle. I’m just not equipped to handle this on a daily basis. And I’m sick of death.

I walked aimlessly around the hospital for a bit, I think I was processing but in the moment I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Somehow though, I found myself right back where I started, in the labor ward. I went into the resting area for the hospital staff and although I was desperately hoping I could have a moment to myself in there, I opened the door to find a few doctors having a little break.

The doctors were having a casual conversation that I found myself interrupting.

“Doctor, why couldn’t we give that woman blood? Why did this happen? Something must be done to change these circumstances.”

You see, she died and it wasn’t just that she had HIV or that she delivered a stillbirth or even that she had post partum bleeding but it was mostly because she was a poor African and subsequently from family who couldn’t afford to send her to a private hospital where they don’t run out of blood donations. Where they have the proper equipment to handle emergencies. Where they have the resources to educate women and provide them with proper antenatal care.  Where the doctors are making more than 300 dollars a month for the thousands of patients they see by themselves.

Doctor: “ Za problem is za gova’ment. Zey don’t give us monies. Zey are not helping us”

I get that. But I just wanted them to understand that they cannot let that stop them from trying. Apathy fills the air in the hospital. They know their poor. They know they don’t have what they need. So as a result they just accept it, sometimes mumbling or making jokes about it being a problem- but I am seeing no indication of anyone taking steps to make it different. And I don’t judge them or blame them for it. It’s an oppression that they are under. In the moment though, I sat on the bed looking into this doctor’s face and I just wanted to see that motivation stirred up in her. I wanted to tell her she has a voice and even if she doesn’t have the money to do something, it doesn’t mean she completely lacks the means to.  The truth is there are enough resources in the world for every human being to have adequate and good healthcare. There is not a shortage of blood. There is not a shortage of medical equipment, there’s just a shortage of people taking the responsibility to get it. Last week the sterilization machine went out and I think I was the only person in the hospital to ask about what needed to be done to fix it. I got paraded around the whole hospital while everyone was told that I wanted to know what needs to happen to fix a machine that must work in the hospital? This is common sense to me. What was so strange about me asking a question that needed to be answered? But I quickly saw that it wasn’t common sense to people who are used to never having what they need.  As a result of asking, they called a technician and then told me they would let me know what he says. (ME, a student in the hospital. Not a director, not a manager or someone in charge of finances or billing, not even a technical employee of the hospital, but just someone who asked a simple question instead of accepting the answer of : this woman cant have a c-section she needs because our sterilizer broke. ) But, I’m going off on a tangent here. The point is I don’t have a lot of money either and I cant buy things necessary for the hospital either but that doesn’t mean I am okay with sitting back and watching people die. It means I have to be apart of making things different. So I get on my knees and ask the only One who has the answers what can be done, knowing that He provides, knowing that there is a solution. I wonder if more of the staff at the hospital pressed into God to see a release of things they need if they would even need to protest their bad circumstances or try and figure it out by themselves? I am sure God wants to release to them in abundance. I positive that His heart is not to have a hospital without the necessary things a hospital needs.

And this is just what I wanted to communicate to the doctor. Somehow, someway let her know that she is capable of being apart of the change. I tried to find the words to express this to her. 

I pride myself in being a pretty good communicator, so while all these thoughts raced through my mind I tried to order them in a way that would easily be received. I sifted through the ideas but then…. in all my confidence…. all I could muster up the ability to do was cry.

CRY?!

Anything else but showing weakness in the moment seemed like a better idea.

But the tears just streamed down my face. And I noticed people in the room start to get a little itchy, as they slowly crept towards the door hoping the crazy white girl talking about the government and making changes wouldn’t make any sudden movements.

As I cried everything I wanted to say escaped my mind and all I could do was apologize.

I told her, in a cracked voice, that I was sorry her country was experiencing this type of problem. I told her I was sorry that they have to be apart of something so devastating, something that they feel so helpless in. And then I asked for forgiveness on behalf of my country.

“I am from America,” I told her in my broken English, “sometimes my country forgets to look outside at its brothers and sisters. We look so much at ourselves and our own problems that we forget other people who are suffering on daily basis. I am sorry we are not helping you more.”

I told her that we DO have the resources that they need and I asked that she would forgive us for not being a bigger part in seeing things change in her country. I was surprised by my own tears. By my own response. It’s hard to look at my own country and acknowledge we are falling short. I know my country does incredible social work and relief aid for people all over the world, but when you see people die because of lack of resources in the hospital it becomes very blatantly obvious that we aren’t doing enough. What we have an abundance in, they lack desperately in. And I think it’s foolish that we have so much when our brothers and sisters in Tanzania have such a great need.

As I finished my apology I looked up at the doctor and she was crying with me. Her hardened response suddenly softened and the two of us sat alone in the break room and together we cried over the injustice in this world.

She opened up to me, “these women are so poor. The only joy in life they are able to really have is the ability to have children, to create a family. Do you know what its like to have your child come up to you and hug you or kiss you or show you affection?” she asked me. “This is a simple joy, but it’s a joy that is costing them their life. They are just fulfilling God’s command to fill the earth and multiply and then they are dying as a result of it. They are coming to this hospital and they are dying because we don’t have enough syringes to give them a shot they need, or enough blood to give them a transfusion.”

We both agreed that this was not God’s heart.

And then I remembered the question I had asked myself just moments earlier, “who would ever subject themselves to this?”

I would and I will.   

So while I contemplated making a run for it, I quickly saw that if I run I will only be missing out on being apart of something I so deeply desire to see changed. And even when it hurts, I wont give up the fight. And I will rejoice over the happy, easy times but I will not lose hope or faith in the difficult times. Or at least I'll try not to.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthian 4:16-18 NIV)