I feel as though all I can do is sigh when I recall this past week. Because of our recent changes at the hospital and in the schedule, we each had a day of silence and solitude. I don't think anything in the whole world could have felt as good as a day of "silence" and "solitude". I was not fully alone, but more alone than I've been in months. I found a window in a far hall of our hostel that looks out into an old cathedral which is being restored. I could still hear the horns of cars buses, rickshaws and motor bikes being honked, most of them unnecessarily, on the main road near by. I could hear people speaking in a language so foreign, yet familiar outside, and in the hall behind me. Despite these things, I somehow found a way to sink deep into my own thoughts and prayers, easily draining out the business of this crowded country. At the end of the day I felt as if I had just drank from streams of living water.

Tuesday I was on yet another new "team", the "Home-visits team". Last week my school leader got the phone number of the woman I delivered last week, and decided that she would be the first mother we would visit at home. I was hesitant for this "outing" as even the visit in the post natal ward had been painfully awkward. To sadly confess, I do not know a lick of any of the languages they speak here. Only, "What's your name?" "PUSH!" and "Deep breaths." This beautiful woman didn't know a word of English, nor did her family. So any sort of communication apart from hand gestures was out of the question. I will also confess, that I can be a rather awkward person, especially in awkward situations, so this would surly prove to be torture. However, after the hour long bus ride out to her home through trees, land and bush, I was feeling a bit more excited. We arrived at her home which was attached to a mosque. It was amazing to see her face when I walked up, I don't know if I've ever seen anyone look at me the way she did that day- so joyful, so intimate. We went into a small room, and I'm fairly sure the rest of the neighborhood followed us in. I did a new born check on the baby, and pretended to do other medical sorts of things, to avoid as many awkward language barriers as I could. But when I ran out of things to do there was a severely long awkward moment, witnessed by somewhere around 15-20 people. And to be honest, I loved just staring at them all and laughing. We'd try to speak and---nothing. We eventually found out through a wonderful game of charades that there was a full term pregnant woman next door, so I got to do an antenatal check up on her, which was nice. It finally came time to leave, which was near impossible because of the "death grip" my patient-turned-friend had on my wrists. When she finally let me go, we devised a plan to get back to the bus station. Baibre and Mattias both suggested we accept the offer of two motor bikes. "ARE YOU CRAZY?!!?!" Was what I thought to myself, but it seemed to be the only realistic option. So, Bairbre and I began to get on the bike. She sat on the very back, in the lady like position, both legs on one side, as they do here in India. I was left with about an inch of seat in between Bairbre my Irish friend, and a strange Indian man. I somehow found a way to sit, a bit of my bum on the seat, a bit on Bairbre, and a bit in the air. One of my hands grasped a metal ring on the side of the bike, the other Bairbre's leg. All of my weight was distributed tensely, desperately trying to hold on for my life. When the motor bike began to make its short journey, one kilometer too long, I was terrified. I would have loved to have seen my face in those moments, they were probably something similar to the face I wore while riding that monster of a horse at the pyramids in Egypt. I imagine it to be a face that says, "Sweet Jesus. I am dangerously close to death's door." But, you'll be glad to know that by the beautiful grace of God, Both Bairbre and I stayed safely planted on the motor bike. It was nothing short of a miracle, as some of the pot holes in those streets could be compared to the Grand Canyon. When we finally got to the bus station 5 minutes later, my legs were shaking from being flexed so hard for so long. The whole way home I laughed, I was bubbling over with joy remembering our day. It was a wonderful day. We got to pray for a Muslim family, in a house attached to a mosque in the name of Jesus. Not to mention that a "patient" became so much more than just a "patient". She became real, with a house, a family, a life. She became a friend.

Friday I was in the Labour Room. I was supposed to be in antenatal, but was changed for some reason or another. Which was wonderful for me, as I hadn't been stationed there all week. We have been able to conduct a few births this week, despite the restrictions put on us last week, but I wasn't necessarily expecting one. I, however, got three. The first was in the morning. I began to monitor this woman as my "tutor" told me to try to find the fetal heart beat with the Doppler, the doctors had been unable to find it. I searched for a long time before I heard some placenta sounds, but they were slow. I stayed with her, rubbing places that needed to be rubbed, encouraging her to breath. The head began to crown, the doctor told me it was an intrauterine death and to let in just happen. My heart began to race as I slowly realized what I was about to do. Something came over me as I decided that it was something I wanted to be a part of. There were no doctors, no tutors, just the woman, and me. The head came; I waited for the next contraction, and then delivered the body. A baby girl. She was beautiful. She had been dead for a while. I went through the motions I had done 12 times prior to this, but it was so different. I stood with the mother for a long time afterward. I did nothing but stroke her arm. She was this mother's first baby. Olivia Life. I named her Olivia Life. She is dancing on streets that are golden.

After lunch I had only been monitoring this woman for a half an hour before she started to deliver. She did a beautiful job, and delivered a little girl whom I called Lealah Suzanne. It was this woman's first baby, and as most "primis" here, she tore. I was assisting the house surgeon as he sutured her when a nurse came up to me casually and said, "Head is coming," and pointed to the last bed. I ran to the bed in time to deliver the head, then the shoulders. Another beautiful little girl, Teegan Rosemarie. I delivered three little princesses. Two awaiting their destinies, one already there, in the hands of God.

It seems near impossible to understand and process the fact that I have delivered 15 babies. I am so unworthy of such a beautiful honour. This life is not easy, but it's one that I would not trade for anything in the world. There is a God. To those that may not believe- there is a God. I see him everyday in the faces of these babies, in the faces of these women, in the faces of the children on the streets, in the beggars, in the doctors and nurses, in these girls I am blessed to call classmates. If you look deep into the heart of your neighbor, you will find the finger print of God. He is good. He is loving. He is just. To Him must the glory be given.