Early morning December 1, 2009. Providence Hospital, USA.
Mother and I are waiting with Grandpa. Everyone else has gone home.
No one should ever be alone when they die.
The days prior were spent with the family surrounding his hospital bed. Laughter fills the room as he tells stories of his childhood, fond memories of time spent on the farm with his children and grandchildren, the dreams he still has, and how he imagines things could have been different. Four generations together.
Love. Life.
Each of us having our own time with grandpa as well. Mine was spent either talking about my nursing school or horses (our mutual love). He tells me of his first memory of ever getting on a horse. Full gallop towards a windmill. He was thrown off. "Get back on that damn horse!" With minor injuries he did, and that was that.
We also spent time talking about memories of grandma, another mutual love of ours. Besides our newly (on his part) shared love for our Creator, she is the greatest of loves. Unforgettable. Always the perfect pitch. Always a whistle. Smelling to me of freshly made cakes, pies or cookies with a hint of expensive perfume. I know it wasn't expensive, but it smelled like it was to me. She was classy. A caregiver, compassionate, loving always unconditionally, gentle and kind, and ever faithful. I found peace in her presence. His eyes sparkle, excitement and enthusiasm in his voice as he talks about his love. My heart whistles a sweet tune. Billie Holiday. You go to my head.
Grandpa's skin gets paler and colder to the touch as the days pass by. His end and his beginning we all know is approaching. People flood in and out of the room visiting and saying their last goodbyes. Not just family, but dear friends. Love overwhelms us all.
His final days. Denial. I'm not ready.
His final hours. The monitors lull me into a quiet sleep. I wake every hour when the nurse comes into the room to take vitals. His breathing is slow. Slower. Its time to go grandpa. I lay beside his still body, holding his cold, strong hand. Mom is on the other side. We tell him its okay to go. Time drags by as we wait to hear one more breath. And another. And another.
Death. Just a body.
Life.
Early morning December 1st, 2010. Temeke Hospital, Tanzania.
Kujifungua. Enter war zone.
The smell cannot be described. It is impossible for me to explain. Its overwhelming. Blood, sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids. Enough said.
Women cry out to Allah. Many of the first time mothers believe that they are dying so they cry out to their god for help. We quickly enter in and pass the registration desk to the toilets where we change into our uniforms. We pray and try and prepare as much as one can emotionally for what the day will bring. I'd like to deliver a baby. A boy. In honour of my grandfather.
The first signs of a baby. Yells echo through the labour ward as my teammates call out my name. Adrenalin kicks in. I pull out the sterile gloves and race over to the delivering momma. Quickly I introduce myself and mutter a few words of encouragement, mainly to myself. I can do this. Lord help me! Gloves on and I get my hands in to support. "Sukuma! Sukuma mama!" The head is out and I check for a possible cord around the neck. No cord, so I wipe the infant's face with a clean khanga and wait for the shoulder's to rotate. I can feel my hands begin to shake. I say a prayer of blessing and ask that God breathe the breath of life. "Sukuma mama." The final push and I deliver the infant up onto the mama's chest, grab the bulb suction, suction his mouth and nostrils, and begin stimulating the baby to get him to use those lungs. Just a body. Finally! That scream! I will never forget.
Life.
I know I have said this before, but to be the first hands to touch life is an incredible honour.
Grandpa, not a day goes by in which you are not missed.
Baby Dale, today you turn 1! Happy Birthday! Thank you for the honour of letting me assist you into this world. I pray many blessings on you today and for the years to come!
