Foul Shot

I caught the ball from the referee and dribbled it twice. I looked up at the net and dribbled again, trying to stall time. The crowd was chanting my number and my teammates behind me were cheering me. I grovelled inwardly. In the warm-up before this game I hadn't got one single shot in, in fact, I hadn't even been close to the net. I took a deep breath and took my first foul shot. It hit the backboard and the ref caught it and tossed it back to me. The crowd started roaring. The score was tied. And I couldn't shoot straight to save my life. "Oh dear God," I prayed..."I really really can't get this ball in, but I know you can....would you please do me a favor and get this foul shot for me? Thanks..." The crowd was deafening, but for a minute all there was in the world was that ball, me, and that net. I shot and the ball went cleanly through the hoop.

I don't know how they got me into this, but somehow while Jonah and I were visiting her island last weekend, we got involved in the first ever woman's basketball tournament. They found me some old running shoes, and we donned our pastel pink uniforms. I felt a bit foolish and told them over and I over I was just tall, and that was as far as my assistance to them could reach. They said not to worry, as if that was possible.
It was pitch dark by the time the tournament started, because it's far too hot to play during the day time. There was a huge crowd, around the lit-up court, and I felt utterly terrified as I tiptoed out with the rest of my team. The crowd cheered and clapped and I wondered what on EARTH I'd just got myself into.

Game One: Us: one basket. Them: two baskets. That's it. Our team trooped back to Jonah's house tired to death and rather discouraged, but laughing at the fun we'd had. Then somebody told us we had another game in half an hour. Good grief, I could hardly walk anymore! And the team we were playing hadn't played anybody yet, so so they were quite fresh. We all piled into Jonah's house and sat around trying to catch our breaths. "I think we need to pray about this," Jonah said, panting. After we prayed, we talked about strategy, and by the time we went back, we were ready to give it a try.

From the second the next game started, all of us were way more on our toes. Yes, we were more tired than the other team, but now we had a strategy.

We each picked an opposing player to guard, and boy did we guard them. "Bantay, Bantay!" we shouted to each other, and by the end of the first period, we were tied 9-9. It was kind of hilarious because every time I subbed off, people would generously pour out tips and advice to me, mostly in English, and mostly to the effect of stay under the net. I tried it and got a rebound in to my utter astonishment and amusement.

Well, In the end, we won 17 to 13. The next day we could hardly walk, and muscles I didn't know I had were aching. But we'd had the time of our lives. And I thanked God a lot that he even cares about basketball games.

Week 3- it never rains...

Still yawning, at 6:30 in the morning, I walked into the clinic and just about walked back out thinking I was in the wrong place. The sleepy, quiet clinic had become a zoo overnight. There were babies EVERYWHERE! All three exam beds downstairs were had new mothers with their babies in them, upstairs all the postpartum beds were full, in the delivery room, a mother had just given birth, one was pushing, and there were two more labors downstairs. "It's because it's the first week of the month," a nurse told me later, "it always happens like this." "It's cause it's a full moon," somebody else explained. Full moon, first of the month, whatever the reason, for a few days we had babies coming out our ears. Sometimes a woman would be laboring all through my shift and but still be in labor by the end. There's nothing worse than going all the way through labor with someone, and then missing the birth, so I usually stayed on into the next shift. Some days got awfully long, once I had a 23 hour and 45 minute shift. But it was worth it. The more babies that were born, the better I got at helping. And it never got old. The only time I didn't cry was when it was 3:00 in the morning, because I was way too tired too see straight let alone feel all emotional. I enjoyed getting to know the women, too. The births I enjoy most are ones where I've been there for the labor. By the end, you feel like you've known the lady for ever, and you can't wait to meet their baby. By the end of the week, my list of Babies I've Seen born had risen by 6 or 7, and I felt as if life couldn't get any better.

Week 2- making progress.

For one whole week there hadn't been a single birth, and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see another one. Then one morning I got a text there were two labors, and would I like to come? Would I like to come. I raced to the clinic and saw the first or several more births that week. I cried all over again, and marveled again at the mystery and wonderment of birth. Last week seemed like a dream, and everything started making more sense. I was ecstatic, and slowly things got easier, as I adjusted to the language, the people and the routines. I continued learning how to do vital signs, with the nurses' supervision, and kept practicing the language. One day, all the nurses were busy trying to put in an IV, but there was a mother and baby who needed vitals taken. "I can do it," I told them, and they gratefully accepted. I felt dreadfully nervous as I entered the room and did temp and pulse, and the rest. Things seemed to be going well until I saw the space that said "input and output." Oh dear I had no idea how to ask that. I pretended I had to get something in another room and went back to the nurses to find out how to ask if the baby had peed or pood since last time. After a few minutes of careful practicing in the hallway, I went back in, cleared my throat, and made my speech. They seemed a little suprised I'd made a separate trip back just to ask that, but they understood what I meant, and I nodded knowledgeably at their answer and spent some time writing "no, and once" on the chart. Then I skipped out of the room, humming a happy tune, and burst into the nurses room cheering "I did it all by myself!" They were kind enough to congratulate me. After that, I really began to start feeling useful, and I truly felt there was no other place I would rather be than right there at Glory Reborn.

Delivery in the Dark

"Oh Jesus, Salamat Lord Jesus", the woman breathed as yet another contraction subsided. I rubbed her back and listened to the booming thunder and pounding rain outside. Every few minutes blinding lightening flashed across the black night sky. Within a minute, the panting woman broke into another fervent, mumbled prayer as the next contraction engulfed her. They were getting a lot more intense very fast. I examined the baby's heart-rate graph and wondered absent-mindedly what they would do if there ever was a labor and the power went out. No sooner had the thought left my mind than the lights flickered and went out.

1 hour later: sweat trickled slowly and elusively down my back and dripped off my elbow and the end of my nose. I desperately wanted to wipe my face, but I knew I couldn't move from my position beside the midwife. I tried to hold the flashlight as steadily as I could while she sutured the woman's perineum. The power had already been out for ten minutes and the room was suffocatingly hot without the electric fans. It was the second time the power had gone out actually; miraculously, it had snapped on just long enough for the baby to be born; but now the most difficult part was before us, and we had nothing but a thin flashlight to work with. Outside the storm had moved on, and left an eerie calm. A dog barked somewhere, but the rest of the city seemed to be asleep.

All at once, without even a warning flicker, the flashlight died. We were silent for a moment, the midwife in mid-stich.
"Dear Lord Jesus, give me patience," she breathed. And that was our only flashlight.
I carefully put down the sterile gauze I was holding and fished around in the deep pocket of my scrubs for my cell phone. Retrieving it, I turned on the tiny light at the end, and grabbed an extra candle from behind me. Together they made just enough light to distinguish the thread and shiny curved needle. I wrapped one arm around the woman's leg and adjusted my position so the light was as close as possible.
"Is that okay?" I asked, as cheerfully as possible.
The midwife squinted, bit her lip, and went back to work.

Well, we finished the whole kaboodle with that skinny little candle and the light from my cellphone. Certainly not ideal working conditions, but it did add a little excitement to our night. Just as we were tying off, the lights popped back on. Go figure. The midwife inspected her work.
"Not bad", I told her, giving her a pat on the back. She would proceed to drive to seven different pharmacies that night, searching for a medication the baby needed to protect it from the Hep B virus the mother was carrying. I confess I spent the rest of the night sound asleep. I didn't feel too bad about that, though. I felt like I'd done a good night's work.

P.S. After that night, the guard went out and bought a very large and reliable heavy-duty flashlight.

love,
Amberkay