If I had a dime for every time one of my clinical instructors wrote that I was quiet or needed to be more assertive, I would be a very rich woman. Or at least a lot less in debt. In fact, I got so annoyed with seeing that on my papers, that one time I wrote an evaluation stating that I might not be a social butterfly but that doesn't imply in any way that I won't advocate for my patients. (I'd just like to add that the response I got was, "Fair enough, this is true. See you guys? Sarah doesn't talk much but when she does it's good. And she gets you extra points on quizzes." Thanks, thanks very much). I wish my instructors (especially the L&D one who told me I'd get eaten alive as a nurse) had seen me yesterday. Not necessarily because I'm proud of what I did, but because sometimes I just like proving people wrong.
Yesterday morning, Ashley, Adam, and I went to the airport and put Leah on a plane for home. I arrived in this country exactly five months ago, and I've never been here without her. It's weird to still be in the same place but have entered into a new season of life. After that, we dropped Adam off to go flying with some people, and then Ashley and I came back to the house. Mark got a call about mid-morning from the MTI clinic that there was a woman in active labor. There were two random things that I prayed for before coming to Haiti in September: that there would be a piano in my house and that I would get to deliver a baby. I can only expect that since I had a keyboard in Saint-Marc, that there is some midwifery in my future as well. So when I heard the words "active labor," all volunteer rotations went out the window. After I was already in scrubs ready to go I asked Ashley if maybe I was a bit overzealous and I should stay back. She said no, and that was all the affirmation I needed.
During our trip out to the clinic (which was longer than necessary because our driver didn't know where we were going even though we've been there like five times and the translator told me he knew where we were going and he didn't), I got about three calls asking how soon we'd be there and if we were comfortable with delivering a baby. I was afraid they were going to try to find someone else to take her if we didn't get there soon. But when we finally got to the clinic, the woman was up walking around with contractions about 15 minutes apart. The person who kept calling me wasn't even at the clinic. Oh Haiti.
Needless to say, we did not get to deliver a baby en route. But her contractions were getting a lot closer together. I wanted to let the volunteers handle it, so they walked her to the gate. Then some sort of commotion ensued. One of the EMTs asked me to come over and see what they were saying (not that I could really tell), so I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. By now, our patient is hunched over trying to breathe and the security guard was yelling at people. Our translator said they weren't going to let her in because they didn't want her husband and sister to come with. I started telling the security guard (for no apparent reason because he didn't understand me), "Okay, well this woman needs to come in right now!" He continued yelling and closed the gate. I start muttering about how I'm just going to do it myself. So I flung open the gate. Security guard freaks out and is trying to close it against me trying to keep it open. Then I start yelling in an attempt to convey to this man that my patient is going to have a baby on the sidewalk. Somehow we end up pushing through, though the security guard shoved the patient's sister out of the way. Then our translator came behind and the security guard tried to stop him. In turn, our translator smacked the security guards arm and there was nearly a fight. This was when I was like, "Shoot...just keep walking, just keep walking..." We always joke around our house about things causing international incidents. As I listened to all the yelling going on behind me while we calmly walked our patient inside, I was afraid that I may have actually been the cause of one.
Later yesterday afternoon, true to form, I began analyzing the situation. I had definitely stood up for my patient and made sure she got the care she really needed, but I probably could've done it in a different way. Was it really necessary for me to start yelling just because everyone else was or try to force my way inside? I can't decide. Either way, I felt like I needed to apologize to the rest of the volunteers for my temper. It was one of those times where I realize how far I have to go before I'm a calm, wise medical professional instead of a spitfire young gun.
Sidenote, since I've been asked by quite a few people. Yes! I did get to watch the Super Bowl! And it was absolutely glorious. We went back to La Reserve (sadly, no former dictators were sighted this time) and ate really good food. I was harassed because I was not jumping out of my seat or yelling or clapping, but the people sitting around me will attest to the fact that I was squealing and twitching quite a bit. I'm sure I looked special. Such a good game. It brings so much happiness, love, joy, and other fuzzy feelings to my heart that I can't even make any mean comments about the Eagles. At age eight I remember sitting in church drawing pictures of the Packers for my grandpa (as all good little Mennonite girls do), but I don't actually remember watching that Super Bowl. The next year I spent an obscene amount of time arguing with a boy in my class about whether the Pack or the Broncos would win. I finally feel vindicated over that loss. It's a beautiful day.
