*i have changed the name of the woman I wrote about just to give some privacy where its due. I have blurred out her eyes for the same reason.
Once the large masses of pregnant women get their bellies
measured and babies’ heartbeats heard, it tends to slow down a bit in the
antenatal ward. That’s where I was posted with 4 students on the day I met
Fiona. When there’s not too much work to be done (and even sometimes where
there is) I like to take time to just visit the patients, sit with them, pray
for them, and be their friend. The aim is to be a blessing, but the majority of
the time I think I walk away more blessed by them. African women are so sweet
and kind. And they make me laugh.
Most of the women who are admitted to the antenatal ward are
there because they have some type of serious problem affecting their pregnancy.
The beds are lined up and the women admitted into them are piled on top of one
another.
There’s never a shortage of prayers to be prayed or conversations
to be had.
On this day, my attention was somehow drawn to a little side
room with only two beds. When I walked in I saw a young women lying down tied
to her bed.
This wasn’t what had my attention though.
It was the putrid smell that was thick in the air that had
the strange effect of both repulsing me drawing and me in all at the same time.
It didn’t take long for me to locate the culprit.
Across from the woman who tied down to her bed I saw Fiona.
Fiona’s breaths were heavy and
labored, as if she would take her last one at any moment. Her extremely frail body
was contorted into such a way that you would think she was in the midst of an
exorcism. The tumors around her
face and neck were painful to even look at.
I was sure in my mind she must have been both mentally and
physically disabled and probably would have no idea I was even there.
But I knew I needed acknowledge her presence. I drew near to
her face to say hello and I stroked the top of her head. She smiled the most
beautiful smile. It was then I
realized it wasn’t a mental disability that subjected her to her bed.
It was however, a series of other life- threatening
conditions;
Fiona was diagnosed with AIDS
Cancer
Tuberculosis
Anemia
And several other opportunistic infections.
As if this list from the pit of hell couldn’t get any worse,
I quickly found out that not only is Fiona dying, but, she is only 20
years old and just so happens to be 24 weeks pregnant. While she couldn’t have
weighed more than 90 pounds, there below her protruding chest bones was a
little tiny baby bump.
These are those gut-wrenching scenarios that always presents
with a lot of “whys” and rarely
have a lot of explanation.
Fiona cannot speak English, but even if she had been able to
communicate with me-the grapefruit sized tumors around her face and neck robbed
her of that opportunity.
It was in that moment my heart adopted Fiona. I was locked
in. Connected. And committed to her case.
I, along with several other members from my team, committed
to visiting this sweet girl as often as possible. The prognosis wasn’t good,
but the prayers we prayed were fervent. And I had hope for her case. Often I
would bring in the Doppler, which is a small machine that allows both of us to
listen to the baby’s heart. We would hear it and both smile. Inside, I would let out a huge sigh of relief. I often feared for the life of her unborn child,
and rightfully so -she was barely keeping herself alive, let alone the little
on inside of her.
Some days Fiona was so sick and fragile I feared her last
breath to be eminent. And then some days I would find her walking (slowly of
course) in the hallway coming from a shower. She seemed to being doing okay.
I tried to get some background information on her, but it
always proved to be impossible. Doctors weren’t around. Nurses weren’t aware.
Fiona was a great mystery to me. If it weren’t for the ghostwriter in her
medical file, I would have never known anything about this girl who had become
my friend. Somewhere in the thick
pages of her case, I read that she was scheduled for a c-section in a couple
weeks. I made a mental note of the date and ensured myself I’d be there for the
surgery.
Then that fretful day came where I went into her room and
she wasn’t there. I frantically asked around to find out where she had be taken.
She was in labor.
I rushed to the Special Observation Unit where I found her
in one of the worst conditions I’d ever seen.
Her body can’t handle the agony of contractions. This woman
has nothing left to give. How will she even push?
Doctors were in and out of the room. They were incredibly concerned about her
case. I was informed that the condition of her blood was so poor that while it
was better for her to have a c-section because of her conditions, it would not
be possible. Fiona’s blood was too weak and she lacked the ability for her
blood to properly clot after the birth if they cut her open. With a c-section she would surely bleed
to death. If she delivered, she could also bleed to death, but with only a leap
of faith, the doctors chose the lesser of the two evils.
“She needs prayer.”
I think I told every healthcare worker that came in to see
her. And everyone just nodded in agreement. Countless times we were told, “she won’t
survive the delivery.” Without a
doubt her prognosis was death. There was a greater possibility for the baby to
survive (now at around 30 weeks gestation) but the mother had little hope.
Or at least that is what I was told.
I knew I couldn’t leave her side until the baby was born.
Someone had to be there to intercede. So I began to monitor her labor. I, along
with a couple of the students took on the role of being her midwife. But she
needed much more than midwifery care. She needed a miracle. So we stayed with
her. We prayed, interceded, counted contractions, read scripture, changed her
diaper, played worship music, took her vitals, listened to her baby’s heart
rate, laughed a little, prayed some more and this cycle went on and on. The
hours came and went and the labor barely progressed. With each passing moment
Fiona loss more and more energy. All we could do was pray.
Several doctors and midwives came and went, often both
touched and perplexed by our commitment to this one patient. In our time glued
to Fiona’s bedside, we had several opportunities to speak with these doctors
about God’s heart and His value for life and how necessary it is to depend on
Him in our practice, because after all, He is the greatest Physician.
After about 11 hours with her, a couple other people from
the team took over from us to watch her throughout the night and did the same thing.
Our team never left Fiona’s side.
When the morning came, we made our way back to the hospital.
Felt like I never left. She had dilated a couple more centimeters in the night,
but wasn’t near ready to deliver.
The pain began to be unbearable for her and there wasn’t
much we could do. The crew that stayed overnight had been there for over 12
hours (after already working a shift in the day) but they were prepared to stay
even longer should it be necessary.
But before we knew it (and much sooner than we expected)
Fiona was ready to deliver.
To say she was “weak,” would be a grand understatement. While
her baby was estimated to weigh only around 3 pounds, she didn’t have the
strength to push the little one out.
|
A couple hours after her birth |
The doctor was called and a vacuum extraction was
ordered. We helped in every way
that we could, but what was most needed was the presence of God. She could
bleed to death in this very moment. It wasn’t a joke. It was the reality.
Tension was thick in the air, but the Peace that passes all understanding
drowned it out. Fiona’s little baby girl was born well, cried and was taken immediately
into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.
All hands were on board to prepare for a massive hemorrhage
for Fiona. But an amazing thing
happened. She barely bled. Within minutes she was stable, cleaned up, wrapped
up and recovering from her delivery.
|
Fiona's grandmother, thanks Grace with a big hug |
Fiona was alive. Her baby was alive and God had answered our
prayers. She was a miracle. Her grandmother came into the room and together we
rejoiced over the life that was not lost.
There is no medical explanation as to why both her and her
baby did so well for this delivery.
All fingers point to the God who heals and gives life, and answers
prayers.
I feel blessed to be apart of seeing life when all that can
be anticipated is death. Fiona has
a beautiful baby girl that we named Evelyn, which means life.
A week after Fiona’s delivery I was able to wheel her up to
the NICU so that she could both meet and hold her baby girl for the first time.
What a special moment. Because she had tuberculosis, she wasn’t able to stay in
the ward long. But Fiona starred at her daughter and knew she was okay.
Fiona made the decision to sign the baby over to social
welfare. Her mother had died of AIDS when she was just a child and she didn’t
want her baby to watch her suffer. The baby was left for several weeks in the
NICU. Just a tiny thing. She needed to be fed and held and loved and our team
was more than willing to do all those things for her. What she needed most though, was
a mommy.
Fiona was growing stronger. She seemed to even be putting on
weight. Her condition was the best I had ever seen. And then one day, when I showed up to visit her she was
gone. She had been discharged and would only be coming in to start receiving
her chemotherapy. I felt so much hope for this hopeless case. God had done a
miracle in her life already and now she seemed to be doing so much better. I
knew chemotherapy would take a toll on her body, but somewhere in my mind I
imaged her being totally healed and taking baby Evelyn back into her home to
care for her.
However, on Tuesday I got news the Fiona had died.
I am still shocked to hear the news and I have no
understanding of what happened. I’m just reminded that she did after all have
AIDS and cancer. And while she seemed to be getting better, I know that with
such conditions things can take a turn for the worst quickly.
I grieve the loss of this sweet young woman. I thank God that I was able to meet her and intercede for her. She was and still is a miracle. I am grateful to God that I can be certain that she labored in dignity. She was cared for and loved by the love of the Father and my hope is that even though we weren’t there for her death, she would have still breathed her last breath in dignity as well.
Evelyn has been placed in a home for babies. I just so
happened to be at this home when she arrived from the hospital. I was able to
give her her first bath and first little outfit she ever had. She’s just still
weighing about 3 pounds but she is a beautiful baby girl. Her blood tests have
revealed her to be negative for HIV, which is just another one of the many
miracles she is associated with. I have prayed countless prayers over this
little child. She may never know the fight that was over her life. She wont
know the many times she was fed and held and nurtured by foreign strangers who
prayed prayers of hope for her but may her life always be anointed. I truly
have faith that it will be.