We are on the tail end of the fist month in Guatemala, about to head to Nicaragua next week to start the second month of the World Race. Little did I know that the nurses on my team had been diligent and persistent in their goal for the month: to witness and/or participate in an operation at the hospital we have volunteered at.
Their hard work paid off.
During team time last night they incepted the chance, nay the hope of joining them as they got to experience something that we never would have in the United States, to see an operation in scrubs, up close and personal. Maybe.
As they went in early the next day, they had a quick conversation with the surgeon whom I had been working with the week before and recognized me! Juaquin, dressed sharply I may add, waved and said hello to me, remembering me by name and simply asked if I was a registered nurse. I shrugged and said no, but that I would like to watch the surgery (in my poor, broken Spanish). He smiled and threw some scrubs at me and I suited up.
We were scheduled to see a hernia operation on a one-year-old later that day when the girls and I were quickly rushed into the operating room as a woman on a gurney is trucked in. She was almost entirely naked and her belly was the biggest I had ever seen. She seemed scared but quickly lost consciousness thanks to the anesthesia pumped into her lungs.
I got this no problem, I thought. How arrogant.
We were only a few feet away. Within a minute the doctor sliced upwards the woman’s abdomen exposing flesh, blood and a thick layer of fat. The doctors then threw some quick utensils in to separate the flesh as they aggressive stretched the skin from side to side with their hands.
What. Am. I. Watching?
This first surgery and exposure to the child birthing process was traumatic. It was an emergency and the baby was in a lot of stress. Sure, I’ve seen a ton of gory horror movies and zombie thrillers. I’ve seen guts, blood, and ultra violence in movies. I’ve never seen anything in person like this. I was queazy to say the least.
After what seemed to be only a few minutes the doctors had cut, snipped, and ripped away at the belly and uterus and were pulling out a grey tiny human who was mute. There was no music being played, no screaming, and all the surgeons were very quiet and still. Shockingly, it was a complete contradiction to what I had seen in television programs such as Grey’s Anatomy, House, E.R., Scrubs, One Tree Hill, The O.C., etc.
Sure, what a miracle life was the first moment the baby was brought out. But what happened after the placenta was plopped into the sterile bowel, the blood began to spew out of her in an upward angle I could only relate to a sprinkler. The doctors did not have goggles on, which blew my mind. It was like the scene from the Shining, where the elevator doors open up and all the blood flows out. Also, I learned today from a doctor that Spanish for blood is sangri, where we get sangria from. Good luck drinking that again without having this image in your head. More on that later.
For Taylor and myself, this was our first time experiencing surgery and child birth. We looked at one another, her hand grasping tightly to one of the nurse’s arms, and we stepped outside to get some fresh air. After collecting myself to a calm and cool manner, we went back inside. The baby had turned pink and was under oxygen, the pediatrician go to town on it with foot prints, finger prints, medicine, the whole nine yards. They gave some vitamin k to the baby through the anal cavity using something similar to a cue-tip to help the baby regulate blood flow. After a few minutes of seeing the doctors and nurses sew up what remains of the woman’s tummy, using a long suction chord to slurp up all the blood into a container, I had to step outside again in the lobby lest I become ill and/or faint with all the man that I am. I say slurp strategically, because the machine used to suck the blood made a sound only comparable to one who is slurping a slurpee from 7/11 and had the same color as the delicious cherry flavor. I hope I can drink another slurpee without that image in my head, but probably not. My life henceforth will never be the same. Sorry, Will.
I have never seen that much crimson in my life.
The surgery, all in all, went on without a hitch! It was the woman’s sixth child and she had her tubes tied during the procedure. She was great afterwards and the baby is going to be a-okay. Hopefully. The infant mortality rate in Quiche is very high within the first 7-10 days. We see this as mothers won’t even name their children after ten days due to fear of attachment. In the maternity ward, the girls on my team would often see mothers neglect their child and be absent as they wale and cry for comfort, because the mother in order to protect her own heart have to distance themselves because the infant mortality rate is so great here.
But wait, there’s more.
The second surgery we saw was on a little boy and one we were able to be more involved with. After the first surgery, Sara expressed that she had added to her bucket list that she desired to be apart of a surgery while on the Race. Jason had joined our ranks of observants. Jason, Sara’s loving husband and my fellow teammate, is a very tall man. I thought my scrubs were short, the average Guatemalan is under 5’5”, but on Jason he had his tummy and ankles showing. Doctor Juaquin asked him to come close and he was able to move the lights above the surgery closer and further per request, while Sara helped handle tools and hold various things and body parts. There were several local nurses and doctors who were apart of this surgery. Jessica was at the foot of the boy, while I hugged my back against a wall and watched from afar, with my best attempt to not be in the way. The Doctor called me by name to come over to him, closest to the entire procedure and practically hugged me next to him as I had the best seat in the house to see the execution of the procedure.
After the first surgery, this was a walk in the park. During the procedure the anesthesiologist showed me pictures of other hernias they had worked on in the past. The small boy did great and was completely knocked out. The doctors kept us busy with conversation as we helped be apart of this procedure. The young boys huevitos, in Spanish it literally translates to little eggs, hadn’t descended yet, so moving the boys testicles down was an interesting conversation as they asked what words were in English. My Spanish is broken and very little, but me studio una semestre para de universidad. So, I know a little. They taught us the slang terms for thanks, yes and no, porfa, simon and nel. In return, I taught them English slang such as gucci for “good.” They began to ask each of us what our professions were in the States, the gals of course were Nurses, and I just began explaining how my heart is in music and my day job is serving tables at a restaurant. After I explained what kind of music they all chuckled and called me crazy. It was good and kept us busy and no one got sick and/or fainted.
Later during the day we had the opportunity to be apart of another C-Section delivery. I quickly declined as I did not want to be ill again, but realized that I may never have this opportunity again. The gals in my team remarked that my future wife will appreciate this whenever I have some concept of the procedure if I ever have kids. Honestly, in the fourth operation we just walked into the operating room un-announced and unexpected, the doctors and nurses were friendly and completely cool with it. That would never fly in the States, it was such a sublime moment. They were so friendly.
I decided to watch the third operation with the gals, Jason was too faint of heart to bare it again. This time I knew what to expect and didn’t feel weak or faint at all! The nurses tried to give the woman an epidermal in the spine that failed, and she began to weep from the pain of having the needle repeatedly put inside her back. They gave her anesthesia as she laid barren on a cross and the doctors went to town. They were aggressive and forceful and delivered a small, purple human out of her. I knew better than to gander at the rivers of blood again, so I began to see what the pediatrician was doing to the child.
The little girl being born was adorable. She was tiny and purple, slowly she gained color as she began to breath and stretch her legs for the first time. Every time she would open her eyes she would squint and close them, as it was far too bright for her. She began to whimper and quietly cry after awhile, just as the first baby did. I reckon C-section babies do not cry immediately out of the womb as natural births do.
The nurse took the baby outside really quick, and then brought her back inside. Sara said that would never happen in the States due to abduction. I silently grew angry even as the thought crossed my mind that people would do that. When I used to volunteer for the anti – human trafficking organization Abolition International, I did a lot of researching on human trafficking. The UN’s earliest recorded age of a traffick victim is five years old, but there were unofficial rumors of infants being put into trafficking. Horrific.
As I watched over the baby when the pediatrician worked, I marveled at the life that was before me. I’m not really sure that the Bible is clear on when life begins, there’s a lot of grey area on the subject, but this baby had received the breath of life and was experiencing the world for the first time in a tangible way. She stretched her legs and arms as far as she could for the first time in her short, little life. It was incredible.
The last surgery we only saw the latter half. After seeing three surgeries previously that day, the sewing up of the shredded organs and tissue was a breeze to stand and watch.
For the first time this month I am able to see and meet people who genuinely are the exception, they are the raped and the incest cases. They are real people that matter, and in emergency situations. They are not just a statistic. We have gotten to see what happens when things are done poorly, when people do not do their job, and when women do not have safe environments for treatment and it is rough.
One of the men we saw today was our old friend, Estuvio. Estuvio has a thick mustache and a devilish grin, but the most joyful person I’ve met in this country. He used to be a hot shot boxer, title champion with lots of drugs, women, wealth, money and high status. He lost himself in that life. He felt hollow and alone after he emptied his self-worth out on material lives. He found the Lord in his despair, and felt as if God told him to quit his job and become the facilities manager at the hospital. He obeyed and has been helping the less fortunate ever since, and is filled with such gozo (Spanish for joy)!
Today has been an eye opening experience. I’ve felt ill, faint of heart, angry, surprised, overjoyed and delight. A full range of emotions. To quote my buddy Michael when I was down and out a few weeks ago that was super encouraging,
Even if this trip is hell for you start to finish, it’ll really help you develop a more educated world view. Which is a huge blessing. Remember that the worse things are, the more desperately these people need to be served. I’ve heard it said before the harder people are to love, the more they probably need it. I think that same principle applies to cultures and societies. Stay encouraged man. Gods got you there for a reason and a purpose, whether you see it or not. Even if you’re quietly scrubbing piss off a floor, you’re making ground for the kingdom. Remember that.
To quote my good friend Anthony, some people have to go through years of medical school for an opportunity like this, and I’m over here taking selfies.
The best has yet to come, ya’ll.
With love and respect,
-J
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