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WHY SERBS DESERVE TO DIE OUT FROM THE WHITE PLAGUE* - Part V
Featuring Mama-Kangaroo in the episode:
WARNING:
And the night fell. And the new day dawned. The second day in the ICU. "Tell me, when will they bring us our babies?" I ask the woman lying in the bed next to me, who has also delivered her baby by C-section. "Never." "Ha ha, that's a good one. Come on, stop fooling around, at what time do they bring in our babies?" "I am not fooling around, woman, they do not bring the babies in at all. Babies are not allowed into the ICU." I am watching her closely, expecting to detect a smile in the corner of her mouth. I am waiting for her to tell me she was only joking. But she stays dead serious. She is going through her handbag and says: "Here, type in the neonatology unit's phone number into your mobile. The only thing you can do is to call them and ask how your baby is doing." I am still convinced she has to be confused about some things. It is said to sometimes happen due to the sudden hormonal misbalance following the childbirth. But, I take the number, type it into my mobile phone and call neonatology unit immediately. They should know. Telephone rings and rings, but nobody is answering it. Half an hour later, I give up on further calling. The battery is almost empty, so I put my mobile on recharge. I turn to the woman that is on the other side of my bed, intending to ask her about the babies. I have totally lost any trust in the other woman. "Tell me, did they bring you your baby?" "I don't have a baby, I had a cyst operation. But I did not see them bring in a baby to anybody." "But, that is impossible!" "I really don't know, I have been here since yesterday afternoon only. The nurses will come soon to prepare us for the doctor's round, you should ask them." "And, when is the breakfast?" "There's no breakfast." "Excuse me?!" "Only on the third day you get some cookies and tea. Until then, you get an IV. Neither water nor food are allowed." Well, I can understand that the first woman has lost her mind due to the sudden hormonal misbalance, but what on earth is wrong with this one?! How can they not give us anything to eat for three days? Right now, I could eat an ox. And, boy, am I thiiiiiiiirstyyyyyy... Fortunately, I brought my own water and cookies. I take them out of my bag and start eating and drinking. "Have you totally lost your mind?!", the first woman tells me. "If they see you, you will be in big trouble!" "How will they see me, when they are never here? Besides, I am not scared of them. What can they do to me? Confiscate my food and water?" "But, aren't you afraid that something can go wrong, woman? They would not ban food and water after an operation, if it wasn't dangerous." "Listen, my cousin gave birth to the twins by C-section in Canada few months ago, and just a few hours after that, she was able to drink and eat a little, while later that day, she could eat normally. I have no idea what those doctors of ours are doing here - but I am definitely not scared that anything can go wrong." Now I have managed to draw attention of other women too. They look at me as if I have lost my mind. I am sure they also think it is due to a sudden hormonal misbalance. Soon after that, a little squad of nurses appears, going around the ICU with some sort of a basin and half a meter long metal tweezers with which they pick up some cotton, dip it into whatever is in that basin, and then, with the disgusting facial expression, press it wherever it needs to be pressed. Five to seven minutes later, all 10 of us are "ready for a round". Doctor Round rushes into the room in a hurry, with his head lowered down - to avoid his eyes accidentally meeting any of the woman's eyes as that might, God forbid, encourage them to ask him something. He goes from bed to bed, grabbing the charts, devoting between 10 and 30 seconds to each (I am 100% sure that he must have finished a speed reading course!). Five to seven minutes later, all 10 of us have been rounded. One of the nurses, still enchanted by the presence of Dr Round did not escape from the room in time, so I manage to grab her in the last minute and ask: "Excuse me, please, can you tell me: when will they bring in our babies?" "What babies? There are no babies here. Hospital protocol does not allow babies to be brought into the ICU." Even before she finished uttering the last sentence, she hurriedly escapes from the room. I now finally realize that they have absolutely no intention to let me see or touch my baby. I start crying. I call neonatology. Nobody is answering. I cry again. I call Papa-Kangaroo. I cry. I call neonatology. Nobody is answering. I cry. My anesthesiologist arrives. "How are you doing Branka, is there any pain? Why on earth are you crying?" "No pain, doctor, this epidural is the best thing on earth. Blessed be the one that invented it. But, they won't allow me to see my baby!" "Well, I really don't know what the rules are. You should ask your doctor about that. She is also the head of the ICU." Oh, praised be the Lord! My "connection" is the head of the ICU! There's hope! "Where can I find her to ask her, is she here?" "She works the afternoon shift today. Don't worry, I will tell her to come see you. Did you try getting out of bed?" "No." "Come on, then, get up, let's see if you can stand on your feet." Of course I can stand. What is the problem in standing? I don't get it. "Branka, it is fine. Be sure to get out of bed and walk about from time to time. Do not overdo it, but little at the time. It is very important to do that after an operation. The nurse should help you." After he leaves, I am back to what will become my routine until the end of my stay at the ICU: playing phone-hide-and-seek with neonatology unit, and crying. Sometime after noon, two (!) nurses dignify us with their presence for 10 minutes. Shift change. I am trying to figure out how to take that little pipe-rope from the IV off the hook, so that I can make a lasso to catch one of them for five minutes, as I need help to change the position of my bed from half-sitting into horizontal. My back is killing me. I would like to stretch out, and maybe even catch some sleep. "Nurse, how do you put these beds into horizontal position? I am pressing those buttons on the side, but nothing is happening." "That shit you call beds were given to us by the Americans as a donation, and as soon as we got them, they broke down. The sitting position of the beds can't be moved from the fixed positions they are in." Having said that, she disappears out of the room. We, the present women, look at each other in bewilderment, almost not knowing how to react, until one of them says: "It wasn't enough for them to just bomb us**, but they had to send off their garbage beds to us, to appear humane! Scum!" "Why don't they give us pillows?", asks curious Branka. "Oh, I did ask for one", said one of the women, "but they told me that the hospital protocol does not allow pillows." "Oh, I would really like to know why?" I felt a sudden courage. "Maybe they are afraid we will use them to smother them?" Laughter breaks out in the gloomy ICU. First one in two days. But, only five minutes later, each woman is back to doing her own business. Some are crying and playing phone-hide-and-seek with the neonatology unit like me, others are trying to sleep, yet others listen to music... In the afternoon, my doctor finally shows up. "How are things? I am told you are crying?" "They won't allow me to see my child. I want to and I have to see my child. Please, bring me my child!" I am begging her through tears and sobs. "Babies are not allowed into the ICU, hospital protocol does not allow it." "Why?" "It is for babies' own good. You see, we don't have just the mothers here, but women that had some other operations, too. It is not safe for the baby to be in the same room. And we do not have money to divide ICU in two. This is not America. It is as it is. Tell me, is everything else ok?" "Well, this nurse Slobodanka, she is horrible, she shouted at me yesterday, refused to give me a night-gown and did not want to change my sheets..." "Yes, she also shouted at me. And insulted me", adds one other woman. "And me, and me", a few more courageously jumped in, knowing that the head of the ICU is my 'connection'. "Don't you say a word against Slobodanka, you hear me! She is the most diligent one here! I will tell on you to her, just you wait! Well, I am off now, and you stop crying already, for goodness sake, what's with you?" My doctor exits the room, leaving a dead silence behind. We are looking at each other in the unpleasant atmosphere, until one of the women regains her power of speech: "So, you say, that is your connection, huh?" "Yeap." What fucking connection did I ever hope to rely upon?! Why didn't I just bribe her?!
And the night fell. And a new day dawned. Third day in the ICU. Up until the doctor's round, we were talking about pies, roasted pork and lamb, while after the rounds, we started complaining to each other about the pains we were feeling. That mutual exchange of complaints at least distracts us from crying, so that we do not dehydrate totally. Just as we were exploring the subject of bad and horrible Americans that did not only bomb us, but are now sending us their waste (maybe even of the nuclear contaminated variety?) with the label "donation" on it, my anesthesiologist arrives. "How are things today, Branka, is it any better? How's the pain?" "No pain, doctor, no pain at all. I told you, blessed be the one that invented epidural. However, my back does hurt, but the epidural can't help there. We are all crocked from sleeping in the half-sitting position." "Well, why don't you just adjust your beds into a horizontal position?" "Well, nurse says it can't be done. See, these buttons don't work at all." "And did you plug the beds into the electricity sockets?" "What electricity sockets?" My anesthesiologist bends down, looks under the bed, and gets the cord from underneath the bed. He plugs the bed cord into the socket. I am cautiously touching the buttons. The bed suddenly transforms into a space ship! "Oh, would you please plug in mine, too!" pleads the woman next to me. "And mine, and mine!" all the women are pleading my anesthesiologist. The poor guy starts going from bed to bed and plugs us all in. "Well, tell me, why did the nurse tell us that the beds don't work, that they are out of order?" I ask him. He is looking at me and only shrugs his shoulders. Then he leaves in a hurry, excusing himself with a need to wash his hands after all that dust and spider nets he caught while looking for cords under the beds. I am sick of crying, and I decide to go into action. Branka has come up with a plan to get up from the bed and go in search of her child. Unlike the other women that are dying from pains, thanks to epidural, I am spared that, and therefore quite moveable. Except for being chained to the bed by the IV on one side, and a urinary catheter on the other. But, I already saw how other women go about it, so I put the bag with IV in one pocket of my bathrobe, and the bag with urine in the other, and I get out into the hall by making small steps. The women in the room have told me that neonatology unit is right around the corner, next to us. I can see the hall that leads to it, but the doors are locked. I can go no further. I probably have to go up the stairs, and then come down to it from the other side. But I dare not do it, as I am not sure I can walk up the stairs on my own... In the middle of contemplating what to do, I am startled by a sudden scream coming from a nurse that appeared out of nowhere, it seemed: "Where do you think you are going?! Get back into bed, this minute! Do you want to faint here, in the middle of the hall, and put all the blame for it on me then?!" "But, my anesthesiologist has told me I have to walk!", I remember the great excuse. "Forget about any kind of walking, get back to bed when I tell you to!" I am going back to the room slowEly, and the nurse follows me to make sure I am not going to disappear. I use the opportunity to ask her about some things that are confusing me: "Tell me, please, can you take this urinary catheter out of me? I don't really need it, I am sure I can urinate on my own, without any problems." "And what if it turns out you can't, and I have to put it back in again?" "Why do we need to carry them around in the first place?" "Hospital protocol." "Ok, but why is it like that? I mean, what are you getting from it, why is it necessary?" "That is how we measure the quantity of fluids that you pass out of the body." "Don't you have some other way to measure that?" This question of mine stays unanswered. We are already back at the ICU, and she is putting my IV and urine pipes back into place, tying me up to the bed again. She also confiscates my bathrobe, and hangs it on the wall some 10 meters away, so that I do not get any stupid walking ideas anymore. Soon after that, they wheel a new woman into the ICU. She is barely conscious. Her breathing is irregular, she blabs nonsense, she is half-conscious. Woman lying next to me tells me that that is exactly how I looked when they brought me in. The new woman is parked at the very end of the room. She is lying in her bed on her side, facing the wall. I see the doctor that accompanied her lean over her as she tells her: "Everything will be ok. You will be ok." Woman does not react with even one word or movement. "But, the baby is not ok." Woman does not react with even one word or movement. "Do you hear me? Baby is not ok!" Woman does not react with even one word or movement. "Do you hear me? Baby is dead." That said, the doctor turns around and leaves the room. The new woman does not move, does not produce a sound, I am not even sure if she is breathing. We, other women in the room, are looking at each other, with tears in our eyes. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with a panic fear. I am shaking. I HAVE TO SEE MY CHILD! RIGHT NOW! What if he died??! What if they lied to me??! What if they switched him with some other child??! What if they sold him to someone??! I do not believe anything they say! They are not humans, they are monsters! "Nurse!!!" I shout, "Bring me my child, now, NOW!!" I start sobbing, screaming. I am on the border of having a nervous breakdown. The nurses are calling the doctor on call. It is the nice doctor from the first night. She calms me down, comforts me and promises me that she will bring me my child. I trust her. I calm down. I wait. Finally, there is my son... They carry him into the ICU, and my eyes are filled with tears, and I wipe them off so that I can see him, but they are unstoppable and fill my eyes again and again and again... I stretch my arms towards him, but they won't give him to me. I can only look at him, but not touch him. And I can't see him from tears. I wipe them, but they keep coming, I wipe them again... and I speak tenderly to him, to my love, to mother's only happiness, the one I couldn't wait to hug and kiss for 9 long months. Five minutes later, they take him away, leaving my embrace empty. The rest of the day I am in half-trance. I cry non-stop Mostly when I look at that corner where a woman that lost the baby is. I will be admitted to the baby-friendly unit tomorrow, where my son will be next to me 24 hours a day, but she will go home without the child that she wanted so much. If she even realized that she has lost her child. I am trying to fall asleep, to sleep as much and as long as possible, so that tomorrow arrives sooner. TOMORROW. TOMORROW. TOMORROW.
Footnotes:
* "White Plague" is a popular phrase used to
refer to low birthrates.
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STORIES FROM MATERNITY WARDS Mama-Kangaroo 002
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