Sharing a special experience.
My son celebrated his first birthday this month. That's like the first anniversary of my labour room experience. Wow!
The labour room, honestly, wasn't completely a pleasant experience. My hopes of finding comfort holding my husband's hands was put off as immediately as I was told that it would charge us extra. That plus the obviously un-hidable fear on my hubby darling's face sealed it and the topic was beyond discussion.
It was a twin-bed room with just me as the patient for the majority of the time. I was surrounded by a few nursing staff and the duty doctor who told me it was going to be a memorable day (whatever she meant). A few sensors were placed on my oversized belly to monitor my baby's movement, heart rate and contractions, I had no idea till then that the pain a human body endured could be measured using an electronic equipment (loud applauses for the advancement in science). It was a mixed emotion situation. Anxiety, fear, joy, pain, excitement and everything together.
Later that day, another patient occupied the next bed. Unfortunately, she was there for a completely different reason. Five months into her pregnancy, her baby gave up and she was advised to terminate the lifeless foetus.
I was squirming and screaming in unbearable pain but I was well aware of everything happening around me.
Just 4cm dilated and 40% into the dilevery, my duty doctor was called out on an emergency. (It was a personal emergency as her only child was hospitalised for some reason - that's all I know of it). Along with her the whole medical team marched out of the room, leaving just the two (patients) of us there.
That was when the loneliness triggered more fear and my pain doubled. With nothing to hold on to, the blanket that covered me bore the effects of my sharp nails. It was then the lady on the other bed walked up to me, held my hand in hers. She was bleeding, her face was pale and lacked emotion yet the words she uttered were sharp and full of depth. She let me squeeze her hand and gently pat my other hand and said , " it's going to be alright, your baby is gonna come out alive. You can do this" .
For a few seconds, I lost my breathe as her words sunk in.
Just that moment, it was the co-existence of hope and sorrow - joy and pain - life and death.
She returned to her bed just as the nurses re-entered the room and attended to their designated patients.
Minutes went like hours and hours crawled within the frame of the clock. At around 4.30 in the evening a babys cry echoed in the room.
Just as my tired face lit up like the Sun, my son was placed on my chest. On the other side of the room, a mother mourned her loss silently.
To that lady with whom I shared the most vital moments of my life, that woman who held my hand when I needed a support the most, that mother who prayed for my child's good health, the angel who touched my heart in the most special way, thank you. I don't know your name, I don't know your story but I hope you are blessed with a healthy, happy baby and joy filled life.
My son celebrated his first birthday this month. That's like the first anniversary of my labour room experience. Wow!
The labour room, honestly, wasn't completely a pleasant experience. My hopes of finding comfort holding my husband's hands was put off as immediately as I was told that it would charge us extra. That plus the obviously un-hidable fear on my hubby darling's face sealed it and the topic was beyond discussion.
It was a twin-bed room with just me as the patient for the majority of the time. I was surrounded by a few nursing staff and the duty doctor who told me it was going to be a memorable day (whatever she meant). A few sensors were placed on my oversized belly to monitor my baby's movement, heart rate and contractions, I had no idea till then that the pain a human body endured could be measured using an electronic equipment (loud applauses for the advancement in science). It was a mixed emotion situation. Anxiety, fear, joy, pain, excitement and everything together.
Later that day, another patient occupied the next bed. Unfortunately, she was there for a completely different reason. Five months into her pregnancy, her baby gave up and she was advised to terminate the lifeless foetus.
I was squirming and screaming in unbearable pain but I was well aware of everything happening around me.
Just 4cm dilated and 40% into the dilevery, my duty doctor was called out on an emergency. (It was a personal emergency as her only child was hospitalised for some reason - that's all I know of it). Along with her the whole medical team marched out of the room, leaving just the two (patients) of us there.
That was when the loneliness triggered more fear and my pain doubled. With nothing to hold on to, the blanket that covered me bore the effects of my sharp nails. It was then the lady on the other bed walked up to me, held my hand in hers. She was bleeding, her face was pale and lacked emotion yet the words she uttered were sharp and full of depth. She let me squeeze her hand and gently pat my other hand and said , " it's going to be alright, your baby is gonna come out alive. You can do this" .
For a few seconds, I lost my breathe as her words sunk in.
Just that moment, it was the co-existence of hope and sorrow - joy and pain - life and death.
She returned to her bed just as the nurses re-entered the room and attended to their designated patients.
Minutes went like hours and hours crawled within the frame of the clock. At around 4.30 in the evening a babys cry echoed in the room.
Just as my tired face lit up like the Sun, my son was placed on my chest. On the other side of the room, a mother mourned her loss silently.
To that lady with whom I shared the most vital moments of my life, that woman who held my hand when I needed a support the most, that mother who prayed for my child's good health, the angel who touched my heart in the most special way, thank you. I don't know your name, I don't know your story but I hope you are blessed with a healthy, happy baby and joy filled life.
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