Labour Suite

Yesterday we finally made it to the maternity hospital. It is a private hospital and therefore fairly nice. We had to spend a little bit of time explaining why we were there and that we only wanted to see how things were done there. They were a little reluctant to let us in but finally called the Chief Medical Officer to meet us and give us a tour if she approved.

Dr. Rosie, wearing a white coat over her shalwar kameez, was soft spoken and efficient. We started in the induction room. A white walled room extending from the cement hallway with six metal framed beds. The beds were all full, some with two women together. They all laid obediently on their sides facing us. Nurses in white gowns and peaked caps were about, checking their IV bags and cutting fruit onto a metal plate in the corner.

Behind us a doorway was cut through the wall. The opening was covered by hanging fabric. When it was pulled back we could observe the delivery room. Three high beds were pushed against the wall. All were occupied and the tiny woman in the center bed was calling out in a voice universally acknowledged to herald birth. A nurse stood at her feet calmly setting instruments on a tray.

Just past the delivery room doorway was a wide door with a steep ramp leading down to the Operating Theatre. The anaesthesiologist was nearby and explained that he was preparing for his third C-Section that day. The lucky woman stood behind him near the table draped in a blue gown.

We saw the C-Section recovery room next and got only a small peek of the nursery (sweet little baby heads laying in wooden cots). Women with natural deliveries might stay for up to 24 hours but usually go straight home.

This entire labour suite could fit inside my apartment easily. And, amazingly, they do 700-800 births per month (they said perhaps 200 of them are cesareans).

As we asked questions and observed the quiet business of women around us involved in one of the most significant experiences of their lives I marveled at it all.

The building was old. There were chunks of cement missing from walls. There weren't doors or even curtains between the beds. And there was a significant absence of equipment (my ears and heart strained to hear the quickly skipping beats of an electronically monitored fetal heart rate). But, it was clean. The staff were efficient and pleasant. And I was comforted by the distinct impression that these women would be safely delivered and on their way home, happy with babies in arms.

And really, isn't that what it's all about?