I was working on data entry yesterday once I had finished all the dressing changes for the day. I was entering patient demographics: are they married? do they have children? where do they get water from? what is their bathroom like? what amenities do they have? how much schooling have they had? and so on. What struck me was how normal these answers can seem, how looking at a paper is so much different than looking into someone's eyes. How I can get lost in the numbers and forget the story being told. And then I started thinking about each individual patient, each person, as I was entering their answers. My heart was breaking.
I quickly noticed that most women who have had pregnancies, have lost at least one child. The obstetric fistula patients, one after the other, have statistics like this:
- 36 years old, 8 pregnancies, 8 deceased children. Single.
- 31 years old, 2 pregnancies, 2 deceased children. No schooling, cannot read.
- 50 years old, 1 pregnancy, 1 deceased child. Separated. 2 years of schooling, cannot read.
- 37 years old, 5 pregnancies, 2 alive and 3 deceased children. Married. 5 years of school, can read.
- 40 years old, 8 pregnancies, 5 alive and 3 deceased children. 3 years of school, able to read individual words.
The list goes on and on. But these are not just numbers, it isn't just data entry. These are people. Each child lost is a life lost, another piece of the heart broken. I can't even pretend to say that I understand this heart break. I can't begin to understand what it is like to live in a country where fetal death is so common, where you must try not to rely on a pregnancy to bring a healthy infant into the world, for fear of disappointment. What is it like to lose a child, and know that it's not uncommon? Does it hurt any less knowing that your neighbor, or friend, or family member went through the same heartbreak? I can't understand, but I can't imagine the pain is any less intense. In fact, I think it might be multiplied. One more child who didn't survive, one more small, beautiful life lost. Because of lack of access to healthcare, because of lack of funds, because of where they were born. Why should it be so different for me? Why was I born in a country where I can go to a hospital any time I am sick? My own heart breaks and tears come to my eyes as I, one by one, enter in these devastating numbers and say a silent prayer for the person behind the statistics.
What words can I offer? What can I do to comfort those who have seen so much pain? But here's the thing, words aren't always needed. So much can be said through looking someone in the eye and truly seeing them, for holding a hand, for sitting silently next to them just so they know you are there and they are not alone. I can pray for them. I can hug them. I can see them, really see them. Look them in the eyes, let them know they are loved and they are important and that this pain will one day end. And yes, there is pain and suffering in this world that cannot be understood, but there is also good in this world. There is joy, there is love, and there is hope. There are people in this world with amazing hearts, who seem to simply exist to spread joy and encouragement. We can be these people. All it takes is one person to see you, to know you are loved. Let us fearlessly and boldly go out into this world and love each other. Let's spread hope and love across this broken globe.
No comments:
Post a Comment