Monique and the Mango Rains: Two Years with a Midwife in Mali by Kris Holloway

Author:Kris Holloway [Holloway, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Waveland Press, Inc.
Published: 2006-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Weeks later, Mariko still had not come, but he had talked to Monique in Koutiala and asked her to tell Adama to hand over her salary. Not what was needed. Monique took it in stride, telling me to be a little more patient. I was fidgety and I wanted to talk with Mariko again. One morning, I decided it was time and went to the clinic early to see if Monique needed anything at the market while I was in Koutiala.

As I hopped onto the clinic porch, I found Henri inside, but no Monique.

“She is at the maternity ward,” Henri said. “She told me to tell you when you arrived to join her there. It is your friend Korotun who has requested you.”

I raced to the maternity ward. Though it had not weathered the rainy season well, at least women could still give birth there.

I knew Monique was worried about Korotun having strength enough to push the baby out, but I was filled with hope at the thought that Korotun was finally having her long-awaited child. I was glad that I could help at her birth. Monique had taught me the details of birth: what a mucous plug was and what it means to lose it, how the tiny donut-shaped cervix dilates ten times its normal size, and the importance of the glorious placenta. And I had seen many times the miracle of what a woman’s body could do.

Korotun lay naked on the slab, knees up, and head against the wall at an uncomfortable angle, her chin on her chest and her mouth slack. Monique was next to her, quiet. They were motionless, resting; only the pungent smell of impending birth moved through the room.

“How far has she dilated, Monique?” I asked in a soft voice, wondering how close Korotun was to completing the first stage of labor, the opening of the cervix, the womb’s door.

“She is almost done; it is almost time to start pushing.”

Pushing was the second stage of labor. After gently cradling the fetus for nine months, the woman’s uterine muscles had to move the baby through the cervix, along the birth canal of the vagina, and out to the world. The third and final stage was the expulsion of the placenta.

“Korotun, it’s me. Fatumata.”

I searched her tense face. She seemed far away, as if her spirit had drifted beyond the horizon.

“Fatumata,” she blurted and her eyes opened wide. She grabbed my hand. “Fa…”

She was cut off by a contraction. Her body was no longer hers; she had to submit to its will. Everything was secondary to the push. She grimaced and groaned, her belly looked as hard as concrete for a moment, and then she released.

“I am so tired,” she panted, “I cannot do this.”

“You can do it, Koro,” Monique said. “You can.”

Monique shot me a nervous glance.

“Let’s get you sitting up, where you can push with more strength.”

“No, no. I can’t.” Korotun said and flopped her head from side to side, rhythmic and delirious.

“I just want to rest, I just want to lay here.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.