Uganda-Risti

Three nights ago, I had a traumatising experience. My colleagues and I had an excellent meeting with a local ugandan nurse. We made plans to work with her and set up Mobile Medical Clinics here in Uganda-even after we leave. This is the first time I have been involved in the planning stages of something that will be independently run. I was extremely excited to think of them doing it without us.

We arrived home for a meeting with a financial advisor-the manager of a local bank. We had just started the meeting when we heard haunting wailing coming from next door. We did not understand the words but could tell there was panic in the voice. The pastor we are staying with, Robert, said, “oh, someone has lost someone. I had better go see what is happening.” When I heard those words, I thought the woman was calling out to a child who had wandered off. I wasn’t surprised since I often see children playing in the lane without any adults in sight. I didn’t get up to help search since I didn’t think I could do much and we had a meeting going on. Beatrice, the woman we were meeting with, began to explain some of the words that were being screamed out. She repeated that the woman was screaming that she had lost someone. As she explained it further, we realised someone had died. Our hearts fell, thinking of the pain of losing someone. Each of us had experienced death at work and our minds went to those times and our hearts went out to the family.

Shortly after, Robert came back to the house and told us the woman across the street had lost her child. We all were sad thinking of her pain and we asked a few questions. Robert seemed in shock as he rushed around to gather his keys and belongings. We asked what had happened or if there was anything we could do to help. I asked how long ago the child had died and what had happened. It didn’t seem like there was much information, but it was possible the child had just died. He said he didn’t know but if one of us wanted to come with him, we could. We all hesitated to know who should go and who should stay and meet with Beatrice. I decided to go see what I could do. I rushed to get my shoes and ran outside. I went to the group of people gathered outside and tried to take the baby. The one holding the baby didn’t give her up right away so I waited until we got in the truck. I climbed into the front and as the mother climbed into the back, I held out my arms for the baby. The mother gave her up and I unwrapped her from the blankets. I undid the dress and felt for a pulse. I felt a very weak and thready carotid pulse but the child was unresponsive and not breathing. I initiated CPR while sitting in the front seat of the truck. As I started compressions, I prayed in tongues. The baby was still warm, I had hope that with the right medicine, we might be able to save the baby. It seemed like the drive to the hospital was the longest I’ve been on. The trucks in front of us crawled. The boda-boda’s zoomed in front of us-congesting our path to the hospital. Didn’t they know we had a dead baby we were trying to save?

I kept pleading with the baby to respond. I willed her heart to keep beating and her lungs to take a breath. I asked Robert to check if they knew the HIV status because I wanted to check if perhaps there was an airway obstruction. It was reported that she was negative. I gave two breaths which went in easily. As I continued with CPR, Robert was praying and speaking life to the baby.

We arrived at the hospital gate and waited for the guard to open the gate. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts. I could grab the baby, get out of the truck and run with her, but to where? I didn’t know where to go. As I continued compressions, I asked where I would bring the baby.

The hospital seemed lifeless. All the lights were out. We had been at the hospital that day-only five hours earlier. It seemed like a different complex-there was no “Emergency Room” nor any brightly-lit signs to guide me to someone who could help. I got out of the truck, all the while, continuing to do CPR, and asked where to go. We all walked around trying to find someone that could point me in the right direction to find medicine and supplies. All I needed was an IV or even an IO, some fluid and some epinepherine. Perhaps with those three things, we could get her back. We took her to the children’s ward. I stood and continued CPR while Robert tried to get the nurse’s attention. The nurse slowly came out of her station and I rudely interrupted their conversation. I asked where I can put the baby down so we could work on her. The nurse brought me to an empty stretcher. I placed the baby on her back and continued CPR. The nurse came over and shook the baby a few times, tried to feel for a radial pulse and made no effort to grab an IV or anything. I told her to get an IV and some epi. She shook her head and said the baby was dead. I argued with her and said, yes, but we can get her back. She said no, how would we give her the medicine. I said start an IV. She said but how would the medicine get to her. I said by pumping it through with CPR. She said they didn’t have any epinepherine at the hospital. She didn’t seem to get it. She grabbed her stethescope and listened for a heartbeat. By this time, there was no heartbeat. I asked for the stethescope and listened to the chest wall. There was no sound at all-I desperately wanted to hear any sign of hope. I couldn’t hear anything. My heart sank as I thought of the futility in my attempts. I knew that even if I could bring her back, there was no support for her until she could recover from the injury to her brain. There was not a ventilator in sight, there wasn’t even the ability to intubate a patient. Tears began to fall as I was forced to stop. I didn’t want to, I wanted to do all I could-to bring the baby back to her mother alive! Instead, I wrapped her up in the blankets and covered over her lifeless face.

A woman came over and opened the eyelids. She commented saying one word-anemia. Of course, there was no colour there-there was no blood flowing through!

As I walked with the baby in my arms, my heart broke, thinking I had to bring the dead baby back to her mother.

I brought her back, thinking I would hand the baby over to her mother. Instead, the mother wailed and wailed as I approached. She was in no condition to carry her dead baby. We climbed back into the truck and drove back to the house. Tears streamed down my face as I held the dead body.

We waited at the house as people climbed into the car. Some came over to my window and wanted to look at the baby.

We drove into the night and into the bush. At times there was no road. We drove for approximately 30 minutes until we arrived in the area where the father lived. We couldn’t find him at first and ended up at his parents’ house. I carried the baby inside-the mother wailed as I got out of the car. She wanted to touch her baby. Someone rushed her away and I called after and said let her see her baby. She said later, not now. We went inside the darkened room where the only light was a small, flickering flame in the corner. I felt like an outsider. The only muzungu, and yet, I was connected-even if it was only through death.

I sat down, still carrying my burden. We sat there as everyone grieved. Tears streamed silently down my face as I felt the pain of losing someone. My heart broke for the mother. In my mind, all I could think of was the anger of not having what I needed. If only....if only I was in Canada-this injustice would have had a different outcome. If only I had responded immediately when I heard the wailing. If only I had started CPR then-she would have lived. If only I had brought emergency supplies from Canada.

We grabbed cushions off the chairs and placed them in the middle of the room. Someone took my burden from me and placed the baby girl on the cushions. This brought with it a wave of grief that rose from the gutteral instinct of everyone in the room.

I sat there in the room, my head hung, and felt awkward. I didn’t understand the words, I had no comfort to give anyone, I could only sit in silence. I tried to hide my face from the new faces that came through the room. I didn’t want them to be shocked to see a white face. I didn’t want them to feel differently because an outsider was in.

Eventually I was rescued by Esther. She quietly entered the room and said that “pastor says we should go.”

I climbed back into the truck and a somber group drove back to the house.

I was soooooooooo thankful to have Heidi and Kate there to de-brief with. I was able to tell them my frustrations of not having enough. They understood the injustice of it all. They reminded me that this is not in vain. That we can make a difference here and change the tide of medical care in Mityana.

As we drove to the father’s house, I pleaded with God to bring the baby back to life. I know He can. I have heard stories of this happening-even in this day and age, but yet it didn’t happen. Would it be that I was too proud? I would think it was my righteousness or my holiness when I have none of that?

I was angry and felt like swearing at the thought of how futile my attempt was in trying to save her.

It is sobering to think that I cannot save anyone. I have nothing to save them and it is a helpless feeling.

As we drove out to the father’s house, I asked God where He was in it all. As I sat in the dark room with the grieving family, I asked Him where He was. I felt Him answer that He was grieving. There was comfort in knowing that His heart felt the injustice. In knowing my breaking heart was not alone.

Coming home to the comfort of Kate and Heidi was so sweet. Having them say sorry for not being with you was surprising but beautiful. I never thought of it when I was in the midst of it all, but them saying they wanted to just be with me and do what they could and that they didn’t want me to be alone was a comfort.