This blog is about what I observed and experienced as being one of the many, but the only male, attendants at a labor ward of the tertiary maternity hospital in Bangalore. This is in context of a minor (girl) with risk pregnancy who was admitted to and looked after by urban health project team after she was found to be in labor for 24 hours by our community health assistants at her in-law’s home. There was no support from family.
Roopa, my senior colleague, managed to assist in admission and investigations, following which the expecting mother was in what is called ‘clean’ labor ward (yes that’s how it is officially called). I took over duty as patient’s attendant from Roopa to be over night at hospital along with my other colleague, Amrutha (who joined me little later in night) so that I can do run around that may be needed in case of emergency.
For me, it was a first experience of being at labor ward. It was a very busy scene there due to sheer number of cases to be handled by a few (post graduate medical student, an intern, a couple of Aayas) staff available. We witnessed some 15 deliveries that night. No attendant was allowed to accompany women in labor ward so we all were crowding near its entrance in the lobby where we were frequently shouted at by Aaya requesting us to be away. So only thing we can do is to sit in the lobby, hear screams of women from labor ward and wait till name of the woman who delivered is announced. It must be scary for women inside as they were lined up inside the ward and I suspect they were able to see other woman delivering.
Among all these, suddenly just past the midnight, a spiritual leader from the near by Mosque started praying in a loud tone just at the entrance of labor room for a new born baby just delivered by a muslin woman. To my surprise, staff did not interfere and did not pay much attention. But it took many women waiting outside the ward with surprise. Later, from long conversation with this gentleman who taught me meanings of prayers that I used to hear a lot in KG halli, I understood that this was a normal happening and he used to visit the ward often. Things were just back to normal and a doctor (all of whom happened to be women) came walking from another end of the ward with a blood covered new born in her hands. This stunned every one of us waiting in that corridor, with our eyes fixed to the baby and I heard many asking each other, “is that a live or dead baby?”
Few hours passed by and I realized that this was not the place for a man to be. Every half an hour, a security guy or Aaya will walk the corridor and drive out attendants especially men (as only one female attendant is expected to be there). I had to repeatedly explain that I needed to be there, being the only attendant. To qualify as sole attendant, I sat apart from Amrutha as if we did not know each other. Also I came to know to my surprise that there is no toilet for men in this hospital. I got familial with all the corners of the hospital in search of this sought after place and was finally directed by security guy to go out in the dark.
By 12.45 am, o
ur young mother delivered a male baby through normal delivery. What a happy news! Then came a challenge of keeping the baby with me till morning. Attendant has to sign the form taking responsibility of the baby as baby kidnapping incidents have been reported in past. This is where completely unrelated women in the corridor showered empathy and help. They helped me wrap baby with available cloths and taught me to handle the baby well, while explaining what they were doing in Tamil/Kannada – though they knew I do not know these languages. Most women who passed by asked one question “yenu magu”, and I soon learned to answer “gandu magu (male child)”. Some one asked “nimda?” (yours?). In fact some imagined me as driver of Amrutha’s car!
Finally by around 4.30 am when mother was shifted out from the labor ward, some strange guy with camera appeared from the dark end of the corridor asking to unwrap the baby and adjusting mother in a specific pose! I later understood he takes photos so that by the time of discharge, a computerized birth certificate can be handed over with photo and other details.
It was a night that made me wiser. I leant about maternity services; how to handle a newborn; few things about Islam; challenges of huge work load that few health staff somehow manages; and humanity of a common man. By early morning, I located a Sulabh Shouchalaya (public toilet) in the campus of the nearby hospital only to find me in a queue waiting for a manager to complete ‘Aggarbattis and routine chores’ before he can open the facility for us.
