The parents of the children are tired, sad, and worried. The
mothers keep a mostly silent vigil by the bedside. I see resignation in their
faces. When I ask them if they have any questions, they hardly ever do. I asked
Renaldo, my new interpreter, about a song I heard the mothers signing. The song
is common he replied. The main lyric, repeated many times is, I don't need to worry because God is with me.
Today, to make a sad day of suffering so much worse, a
mother dropped dead in the hospital. She was 15 years old. This was quickly a
hospital-wide event. People congregated in the hallway to see what had
happened. You could not walk in the hallways. Movement stopped much like
highway traffic does when there is an accident to witness. Humans seem unique
in our curiosity about injury and death. I presume this is because that while we
understand our mortality, we do not know how this will present. Death is a
compelling personal mystery.
People started to shout. Rumours circulated about the death.
My interpreter wanted to share the gossip with me but I told him I did not need
to know. Likely no one will really know what happened. Later, in the middle of
the afternoon I passed her shrouded body. She was alone. At end-of-day rounds
there was no one by the crib of the baby who lost her mother. I passed the
shrouded mother again on my way out of the hospital, but this time she had
a modest retinue of people with her.
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