I feel as though all I can do is sigh when I recall this past week. Because of our recent changes at the hospital and in the schedule, we each had a day of silence and solitude. I don't think anything in the whole world could have felt as good as a day of "silence" and "solitude". I was not fully alone, but more alone than I've been in months. I found a window in a far hall of our hostel that looks out into an old cathedral which is being restored. I could still hear the horns of cars buses, rickshaws and motor bikes being honked, most of them unnecessarily, on the main road near by. I could hear people speaking in a language so foreign, yet familiar outside, and in the hall behind me. Despite these things, I somehow found a way to sink deep into my own thoughts and prayers, easily draining out the business of this crowded country. At the end of the day I felt as if I had just drank from streams of living water.

Tuesday I was on yet another new "team", the "Home-visits team". Last week my school leader got the phone number of the woman I delivered last week, and decided that she would be the first mother we would visit at home. I was hesitant for this "outing" as even the visit in the post natal ward had been painfully awkward. To sadly confess, I do not know a lick of any of the languages they speak here. Only, "What's your name?" "PUSH!" and "Deep breaths." This beautiful woman didn't know a word of English, nor did her family. So any sort of communication apart from hand gestures was out of the question. I will also confess, that I can be a rather awkward person, especially in awkward situations, so this would surly prove to be torture. However, after the hour long bus ride out to her home through trees, land and bush, I was feeling a bit more excited. We arrived at her home which was attached to a mosque. It was amazing to see her face when I walked up, I don't know if I've ever seen anyone look at me the way she did that day- so joyful, so intimate. We went into a small room, and I'm fairly sure the rest of the neighborhood followed us in. I did a new born check on the baby, and pretended to do other medical sorts of things, to avoid as many awkward language barriers as I could. But when I ran out of things to do there was a severely long awkward moment, witnessed by somewhere around 15-20 people. And to be honest, I loved just staring at them all and laughing. We'd try to speak and---nothing. We eventually found out through a wonderful game of charades that there was a full term pregnant woman next door, so I got to do an antenatal check up on her, which was nice. It finally came time to leave, which was near impossible because of the "death grip" my patient-turned-friend had on my wrists. When she finally let me go, we devised a plan to get back to the bus station. Baibre and Mattias both suggested we accept the offer of two motor bikes. "ARE YOU CRAZY?!!?!" Was what I thought to myself, but it seemed to be the only realistic option. So, Bairbre and I began to get on the bike. She sat on the very back, in the lady like position, both legs on one side, as they do here in India. I was left with about an inch of seat in between Bairbre my Irish friend, and a strange Indian man. I somehow found a way to sit, a bit of my bum on the seat, a bit on Bairbre, and a bit in the air. One of my hands grasped a metal ring on the side of the bike, the other Bairbre's leg. All of my weight was distributed tensely, desperately trying to hold on for my life. When the motor bike began to make its short journey, one kilometer too long, I was terrified. I would have loved to have seen my face in those moments, they were probably something similar to the face I wore while riding that monster of a horse at the pyramids in Egypt. I imagine it to be a face that says, "Sweet Jesus. I am dangerously close to death's door." But, you'll be glad to know that by the beautiful grace of God, Both Bairbre and I stayed safely planted on the motor bike. It was nothing short of a miracle, as some of the pot holes in those streets could be compared to the Grand Canyon. When we finally got to the bus station 5 minutes later, my legs were shaking from being flexed so hard for so long. The whole way home I laughed, I was bubbling over with joy remembering our day. It was a wonderful day. We got to pray for a Muslim family, in a house attached to a mosque in the name of Jesus. Not to mention that a "patient" became so much more than just a "patient". She became real, with a house, a family, a life. She became a friend.

Friday I was in the Labour Room. I was supposed to be in antenatal, but was changed for some reason or another. Which was wonderful for me, as I hadn't been stationed there all week. We have been able to conduct a few births this week, despite the restrictions put on us last week, but I wasn't necessarily expecting one. I, however, got three. The first was in the morning. I began to monitor this woman as my "tutor" told me to try to find the fetal heart beat with the Doppler, the doctors had been unable to find it. I searched for a long time before I heard some placenta sounds, but they were slow. I stayed with her, rubbing places that needed to be rubbed, encouraging her to breath. The head began to crown, the doctor told me it was an intrauterine death and to let in just happen. My heart began to race as I slowly realized what I was about to do. Something came over me as I decided that it was something I wanted to be a part of. There were no doctors, no tutors, just the woman, and me. The head came; I waited for the next contraction, and then delivered the body. A baby girl. She was beautiful. She had been dead for a while. I went through the motions I had done 12 times prior to this, but it was so different. I stood with the mother for a long time afterward. I did nothing but stroke her arm. She was this mother's first baby. Olivia Life. I named her Olivia Life. She is dancing on streets that are golden.

After lunch I had only been monitoring this woman for a half an hour before she started to deliver. She did a beautiful job, and delivered a little girl whom I called Lealah Suzanne. It was this woman's first baby, and as most "primis" here, she tore. I was assisting the house surgeon as he sutured her when a nurse came up to me casually and said, "Head is coming," and pointed to the last bed. I ran to the bed in time to deliver the head, then the shoulders. Another beautiful little girl, Teegan Rosemarie. I delivered three little princesses. Two awaiting their destinies, one already there, in the hands of God.

It seems near impossible to understand and process the fact that I have delivered 15 babies. I am so unworthy of such a beautiful honour. This life is not easy, but it's one that I would not trade for anything in the world. There is a God. To those that may not believe- there is a God. I see him everyday in the faces of these babies, in the faces of these women, in the faces of the children on the streets, in the beggars, in the doctors and nurses, in these girls I am blessed to call classmates. If you look deep into the heart of your neighbor, you will find the finger print of God. He is good. He is loving. He is just. To Him must the glory be given.

This week has been different than weeks past. I was in the labour room on Monday in which I delivered a beautiful little girl whom I called Lauryn Anne. (It's true, I named a baby after Lauryn Hill and my mom.) She was so beautiful. It was a quiet day and I was able to stay with her in the newborn room for quite some time just holding her and praying for her. As I held her, I felt myself be washed over with this love that was almost unbearable. I felt as if I could not hold her tight enough, as if I could never put her down, I wanted to kiss her little face from that moment till forever. It's funny the connection you feel for the babies you deliver. It's amazing to be the first person to ever touch a tiny baby. To hold something straight from the womb, so fresh, so untouched. It's all I can do some days not to explode with happiness.
Then Wednesday we were told that we could no longer take deliveries, or do anything medical for that matter. We were officially cut off. We were confused, and frustrated, as we have been asked almost every week for our permission letter. We always provide it, and they always let us continue on doing deliveries, but this time was different. They not only said no, but they meant it. We had to cut down the number of people in the delivery room, the number of people in admissions, and we could only observe in both places. So, we adjusted, and continued on. It was a hard day on Wednesday, but it ended up being really good for me. I realized that even if we got kicked out of the hospital, (worst case scenario) we'd get another opportunity somewhere that would be just as amazing. I thought about all of the things through out my life that have been the "bad", and watched how God made them into "beautiful". My family for example. We are broken, and were for many years. Then a couple years back I realized, we've been made whole. Our ashes have been made beautiful. I love my step mom and my brothers. I love my step dad and brother. I love that we have formed new families out of the broken pieces of our first one. It's so amazing how God can take brokenness and make it beautiful. He makes life spring up from ruins. On Wednesday I realized that no matter what happens, we will still be standing; joyful, triumphant, victorious. We are midwives. Even if I didn't conduct another delivery for the rest of the time, I will still be learning how to "be with women", which is exactly was a midwife is. During this time we are learning about humility, servanthood, perseverance, hope, faithfulness, and steadfastness. Perhaps those things are more important than rubbing up a contraction, or delivering a placenta.
Thursday I was in admissions all day. I was able to be with an eclampic woman as she fitted. (Which is a lot like a seizure, and quite unnerving.) I held her as her body seized and convulsed, and as the doctor shoved needle after needle in her bum injecting medicine into her muscles to control the fits. It was a powerful and challenging time "being with woman". Despite the order to only observe I got to insert three cannulas (which I did successfully, thank God) and give an Intramuscular injection. It was a nice day working with the doctors being told to do this and do that. I love when we can work together as a team, as a family.
Friday I went to follow up on the woman who was fitting in the eclampsia ward. She had delivered the night before and it had been an IUD. Which you always hate to see on a woman's case sheet as it stands for "Intrauterine Death". I was broken for her as she had been pregnant twice, and both had been aborted. I often don't understand the hardships these woman face here. All I can do is pray.
Pray for us. Pray that we are able to continue conducting deliveries, pray that we have favor in this hospital. I'm so thankful for this experience, no matter what it ends up looking like.

Monday. The Newborn Room. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed to be assigned to the newborn room all morning. This cut down my chances of a delivery in half. During my quite time I thought about my attitude towards my station that day. I was so broken by my selfishness. I couldn’t believe that I actually had come to think that the labour room was actually about deliveries. I asked for forgiveness for my selfishness, and was reminded that His mercies are new every morning. So, I went to the labour ward, and walked into the hot, stuffy newborn room proudly. And you know… there was not a single baby born that morning. But, I had one of my best days in two months. I cleaned the receiving trays, I scrubbed the metal beds, wiped the cob webs down from the surfaces they had begun to take over, and attempted to remove the blood splatters all over the walls. It was a wonderful morning, I sang as I scrubbed, and sweat poured from my face as the heaters were still on to warm the absent babies. I spent some time praying in the new born room as well. We had had three still borns that morning, and all of the little loves were still in the room. It’s strange how one can grow accepting of such a horrible thing. It still breaks me, that much is certain, but I can go on singing, scrubbing… At lunch I thought about this joy that seemed to be exploding out of every part of me. I remembered the day when we were yelled at and told we couldn’t have any more deliveries. I remembered how amazing that morning was, assisting the interns and comforting mothers. I remember laughing more that morning that I ever had at the hospital. Then I realized the joy was so beautiful because it was a humble joy. It was a joy that comes from doing tasks less romantic, less desirable than most. It’s a joy that comes from choosing abundance in the small things, in the things that are seemingly unimportant. “The son of man came not to be served, but to serve.”

Despite my fears that morning of not getting a delivery, I did. There were only two women in the ward that afternoon, and both of them were having twins. “Twin gestation” is deemed high risk and usually we are not allowed to conduct such cases. However, I came into check on one of the mothers, and found my friend Paula from New Zealand getting ready to deliver the first baby. The head was crowning, so I grabbed the clip board and began to record times for her. The baby came out beautifully; a little boy. My instructor turned to me and asked if I’d like to conduct the second delivery. (The doctors had been told that we were delivering this case, but no one had come to take over, so we continued on.) The mother did such a wonderful job, and had a few minutes to rest before the next little one made his painfully beautiful journey into this world. The delivery was incredible, the doctors came into check on us, knowing that we were delivering the second baby, and they allowed us. For the first time in the Birth Attendant School’s history, we delivered both twins of a twin gestation. Jacob James, Paula’s, and Henry John, mine. I was reminded of the grace I had received that morning in my quite time and on into my time in the new born room. I was so honored to serve such a steadfast, faithful and loving God.

The rest of the week flew by, and to be honest I can hardly believe it’s over. I wonder if the next thirteen will go as fast as this one just past. If so, I will be on a plane in no time. That thought is exciting, as I am anxious to see my beautiful little niece, and at the same time it makes my stomach churn and my heart break. Every time I drive in a rickshaw, I love to watch people. Indians are such beautiful people. For the most part I have observed them to be kind, generous, and joyful. I love seeing grown men walk down the street with hands locked, or woman completely veiled in black laughing, their bhurkas fly up with the passing breeze revealing the colorful clothing underneath. I have fallen in love with this place, with these people, even with the madness. And I’ll be the first to say, some days are full of madness. On those days, depending on how sound my mind is, it’s either all I can do not to cry, or all I can do not to laugh. Oh India. How I love you. Oh Jesus, how you’ve taught me to love!

I woke up yesterday to find that it was February, 2007. I’m not sure how that happened. It felt as if I went to bed with braces on my teeth, and a dream in my heart, and woke up in India, waiting to embark on yet another adventure; which seem to come daily here. However, it has been seven years since I got my braces off, and seven months since I started the Birth Attendant School. Seven amazing months.

Monday I was in the labour room. I really love the labour room. It is amazing how we adapt. I remember when I first arrived at the hospital; I was completely taken back by the conditions. But as time has progressed, I have found that my understanding of the reasons for the conditions has grown, and somehow eased my mind. Perhaps it is not beneficial to have grown used to such conditions, but I feel rather at home in there. In the warm, stuffy labour room, filled from floor to ceiling with smells, and sounds that take one’s breath away. The metal beds that line the walls in both of the rooms now have memories attached to them of women and babies that have so graciously blessed my life. I have felt overwhelming opposition, I have felt defeat, I have felt hopelessness, and I have felt fear. I have felt victory, I have felt confidence, I have felt life, I have felt joy that leads to restoration. I have seen miracles. And it’s only February.

Gabriel Dillon- my eighth baby came into the world on Monday. He was a tricky little man. His mother was a “primi” (first pregnancy) and didn’t have much room to fit a baby through, so I was able to perform another episiotomy. To be honest, I don’t care much for them. But I’m not sure anyone really does. The mother was terrified, bless her heart, and throughout the entire labour insisted on closing her legs. It was a fight to keep them open enough to guide the little one out. As Gabriel’s sweet little head was delivered, I felt his neck to find the cord very tight around his neck. I looked closer to find it had wrapped itself around three times, and then once around his little shoulder. We clamped, we cut, and tried to unravel the mess, but the cords were somehow woven ever so complicatedly into each other. It was a rather stressful situation, as a bit of panic crept in. The lead duty doctor was yelling, as they sometimes do, instructions at us, then she reached her hands in, unclamped, clamped, unclamped, clamped, yelled, clamped. It’s crucial to make sure the baby’s end of the cut cord is clamped. If not, the baby’s blood supply could drain out of the umbilical cord. At the end of it all, the baby was pink and screaming, and I was sweating. I’d like to think we were equally traumatized, but chances are he’d take home the prize.

After the delivery I was feeling a bit discouraged, as my last few deliveries have been really beautiful, without such complications. But as I ran through the thoughts and memories of the birth I had just conducted, I realized. I can and will do the best I know how, but at the end of the day it is not how well I deliver babies that matters. I have a tremendous grace over me that has allowed me to do all that I have done these last seven months. I laugh sometimes when I get lost in the illusion that it is actually by my own strength that I have delivered these little ones. Sometimes I find it quite comical, my arrogance and naivety, other times I just find it sad. None the less, I enjoyed the revelation. I am carried by arms much stronger than my own.

The rest of the week was rather slow, but slow is good for me every now and then. It reminds me what is important. It’s not always how much we do that it is important, but how we do the things we do, no matter how big, no matter how small. At times I was frustrated, at times I was content, and at times I was overjoyed. Oh, the beauty of humanity.

Thursday I was in the labour room again. The interns at the hospital rotate every two months and we just recently received a new batch. Because they are new, I have delivered more babies than most of them. So, many of the deliveries we would have gotten went to the interns. It was really wonderful to work along side of them as a team. “Break dividing walls”. I love that it is not “them” and “us”, but we are learning to become a well oiled machine, working together to perform healthy, beautiful deliveries. I assisted a doctor in delivering a woman I had been monitoring for quite sometime, and it was really amazing. By four o’clock I still had not had a delivery. However, I had been monitoring a woman for three hours, and it appeared that she would deliver. So, I waited. And I waited. It wasn’t until 4:45 that the woman next to her began to do the “It’s coming!” grunt. I ran to get gloves, Hollie got a delivery kit. I delivered a beautiful girl with out a single complication. Praise the Lord. Hope Kelly.

It hadn’t been 10 minutes since I finished up with the first woman that I heard Hollie calling from the other room for me to get gloves and a birth kit. I ran to her prepared with everything needed to find a woman and a fairly threatening scene. She had extremely swollen feet, and an indwelling catheter (which they don’t insert with out good reason). I had no idea about who she was, or her history. I had no idea how many pregnancies she had had, or how they had gone. I reckoned that she was hypertensive, as her feet were very swollen but there was no time to take a gander at her chart as the head was crowning. It was an amazing birth really. It felt as if it was in slow motion, and I was just going through the motions. It felt as if I had been delivering babies my whole life. I was comfortable. (Not with out a few fluttering butterflies mind you, but comfortable.) The cord was around the neck, however it was loose and I was able to carefully pull it safely right over her little head. I noticed her hand was right by her face. So I just made sure to hold everything in tight to prevent tearing, and with in seconds we had yet another beautiful little girl. Skylana Grace.

There was another little girl born this week; one that I am quite partial to. Julie Bess- my niece. I am anxious to meet her in June. But for now, I say- “who is my brother, and who is my mother?” I will love those around me as if I would love those at home. All are worthy of such a love.