It hit me like a ton of bricks again tonight. I really do live a sheltered life. My work allows me to share much of life with people in the village around me. But I don't really understand their struggles.
Tonight, I had just arrived at William and Michelle's house for dinner when Michelle got a call from the clinic. The nurse on duty needed some help with a patient who was bleeding. After Michelle called our ambulance to head over to the clinic, she walked the short distance from their home to the clinic. I considered going with her, but didn't want to intrude on the patient's privacy. She came back after Meshak (the driver) had left with the patient, and told us Elizabeth's story.
This young lady had been brought in by a TBA (traditional birth attendant/midwife). She was having a miscarriage, and had already lost a liter of blood. Michelle was able to simply pray with Elizabeth, to listen to her, to encourage her to simply take the next step and not worry about what may be lying ahead at the hospital. (This was her second miscarriage, so she knew a bit more about the rest of the process.)
Though the cases differ tremendously from one night to the next, seeing crises like this one is nothing unusual to our clinic staff. I, on the other hand, live just a 15-minute-or-so walk from the clinic, yet am oblivious to all they face day in and day out, night after night. I guess that could be said for me (us) in many areas of life.
Tonight, though, because I know about Elizabeth, I don't want to simply go to bed and forget about the physical, emotional and psychological pain this lady is facing. May God carry her through this time...