Hurry, Hurry

     Supper is just finished, and I’m thinking of spending a night with the other girls, when I hear Anita calling me to go with her to the clinic. Not thinking that anything much is up, I didn’t even grab a scrub top.
    We saw a couple ladies, one in labor, and a man waiting for us outside the gate. We said some polite little hellos to them, and then told them they can follow us to the clinic.  Nothing appeared just too urgent. Then we picked up a nice little trot and headed for the clinic ourselves. Suddenly the little man came puffing up to us and told us the lady couldn’t come right now. We didn’t think a whole lot of it, figuring she would rest a bit, and soon join us.
   “Probably the baby will come at four o’clock tomorrow morning,” we told each other.
   But before we could enlarge on the subject too much, the little man came puffing up again. “The baby is on the ground!”

   Now fast action was needed. We had a very adrenaline packed hour ahead of us. We quickly finished our entrance to the clinic, grabbed gloves and a few other needed articles, and raced back out.  When we got to them, the mother smiled courageously at us, and the baby cried. Both were good signs. After caring for the both of them, we tucked them in for the night, and smiled as we walked away from the clinic, shaking our heads.

   “Hopefully, we will be sleeping at four o’clock now,” we thought.”Since this is really making our life easier, maybe we should tell all the ladies to have their babies outside!”

    Do you want to hear about our bad leg day, too? Poor Mis Leda. She got in for it this time. Our whole clinic smelled like something was wrong with that leg. As you can see, it is. A big infection. Since the initial cleaning, the man keeps returning on a motorcycle to get new bandages.

By the look on his face, you can tell he doesn’t enjoy the ordeal

Mis Leda cleaning the leg–donning a mask to help with the smell

The leg, looking better already

   On that same day, Anita spent a lot of time stitching on a big cut on another man’s leg. Poor man. He sat there, basically quiet as we picked and picked tiny little rocks out of the big cut. When Anita finished stitching him up, he slowly limped down the road, walking alone to his home. I sat there watching him hobble away, and wishing I could offer him my moto. But I don’t have one.


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