Since even before I arrived in Bangladesh, I have heard,
from many people, that it is hard to have a “natural” birth here. Each person I
talked to, with few exceptions, said that doctors prefer to schedule c-sections
for various reasons but mostly because they make more money that way. Abu and I
decided that we needed to be very careful when picking our doctor. We chose our
friend’s mom. She is fairly close to our home, can go to the hospital that we
choose and didn’t even want to think of a c-section after hearing that I
already had a natural birth. She also has a warm and friendly personality,
which I think is important. On our initial meeting, she got a general medical
history, checked by growing belly, and we chatted about her son. She then
referred us to a lab, near our home, where we could get the ultrasound and
blood tests done.
Abu called to see about hours and an appointment and found
that we must pay in advance. He went in paid the 1500 taka ($18) the day before
our scheduled appointment. Next day, at five in the evening we arrived for our
appointment. The doctor who was scheduled to do our exam had been called away
and was on his way back to the clinic. He arrived back at about 5:15 and we
were fourth in line to have our exam. As
we waited, Abu took Sara to the bathroom. While they were gone a cute young
girl, maybe about eleven was going to sit in their chair. Naturally, I said, “this
seat is taken.” Unfortunately, she did not speak English and tried to sit
again. I said, “no” and waved my hand over the chairs, but she still didn’t
seem to understand. Finally, I said, “nai!” Bengali for no, and she picked a
different seat. I felt quite bad and kept wishing that Abu and Sara would hurry
up so she could see that I was not just being mean. After they came back, I
made a point to talk to both of them and hug Sara so she understood I was with
them.
After we saw the second person go into the ultrasound room
Abu decided we should move closer (we were on the opposite side of the waiting
room). After we moved, a burka-clad
woman noticed me and, quite obviously, told her daughter to have a look at the
white woman, or so I imagined her saying. After a few minutes of the shameless,
eye bulging, staring I took their picture with my cell phone. The woman in the
burka seemed to understand what I did and finally turned back to her business.
I took a Women’s writers course at Metro State before I left and in that class,
we had a long conversation about the “work” of being watched. I have thought
about this conversation pretty much every day since I got here. Each day I have
left the house here without makeup or having done my hair nicely I wish that I
had because I cannot more inconspicuously here and I am always feeling judged.
As we waited, I thought back to my ultrasounds with Sara and
remembered that they took a while to explain everything and try to get good
pictures. I found, after the second person was out in less than ten minutes,
that this was not going to be that type of experience. When I was called, they made me go in alone
because I guess my husband cannot see me get onto a bed and have a blanket put
over my legs (which was quite hot and I was sweating by the time we were done).
Once I was “comfortable” on the bed, they let Sara and Abu in. They also made
all of us take our shoes off, which I thought was pretty gross. I wanted to tiptoe.
I know what can be on the floor in those places! The man who did the ultrasound
spoke English fairly well and did a good job explaining everything. He was very
fast and it was a good thing this was our second time around with this because
otherwise it may have been too fast and confusing. We did not find out the
gender, even though Sara really wanted us to. The baby seems to be growing well
and everything else looked normal. When we were nearly finished, I asked if we
get pictures, he said, yes. We had to wait until after seven to get the report
and the pictures. I was quite excited for the pictures but unfortunately, the
man doing the ultrasounds was not interested in the cute shots of the profile,
face, and feet. I have some small grainy pictures of the femur, spine, abdomen,
and placenta. I have to admit to a fair amount of disappointment about the
pictures but at least we know that the baby is healthy.
It took us a bit longer to get the labs done because I
needed to go in fasting, get my labs drawn, go home, eat, and come back two
hours later for more blood draws. When we arrived, we had to pay first, 1100 taka
($13.25), and then we met a crabby looking woman who either spoke no English or
just did not want to talk to me. She was an expert phlebotomist and had no
trouble finding a good vein. At this point I noticed the plastic shield that
the blood tubes went into to be punctured and filled were re-used, there were
tiny little blood splatters on the inside. I racked my brain trying to remember
if she broke a seal on the needle or if it was already opened. At this point,
with a needle in my arm, and the blood mostly drawn, it was a bit late to
insist that she remove it, plus I was not sure. After removing the needle from
my arm, she put it into a small, dirty, grey machine that made a whirring
sound. I was staring at it wondering if she could possibly be washing the
needle. I was lost in those thoughts when she suddenly thrust two small cups
into my hand and Abu interpreted that she wanted me to pee in them. I left her
little room in a sort of daze not only about the mystery of the needle but also
because of the small cups in my hand. They were identical, transparent, white plastic
with an opening no bigger than a nickel. I stood outside of the bathroom for a
moment and Abu asked what was wrong. All I could think to say, which I knew he
would not have the answer for was, “how the hell am I supposed to pee in these
tiny things?” I was actually a bit more successful than I ever dreamed
possible. As I was washing my hands (and doing a extra good job), I guess the
crabby looking woman thought I was taking too long and came looking for me. I had
not even been in there very long. We were excused after turning in the urine
sample.
Two hours after breakfast, we returned for round two. This
time, the woman taking my blood was eager and willing to practice her English
on me, she also did a great job finding a vein. I watched carefully and saw that she took what
appeared to be a new needle. After, when she put the needle into the grey
machine I asked what it was, she then pulled out the needle to show me. It was
a needle burner. The needle had been in the machine for about three seconds
before she pulled it out to show me and it was already half-gone and glowing
red. I was quite relieved. As I thought
about this later, I think that burning the needles makes a lot of sense here.
There is not a monitoring system that the states have to ensure whoever
collected the needles would dispose of them properly, this way, they cannot be
reused. The woman then asked me if I could give another urine sample. I really
did not want to and I guess it was optional so I passed.
The lab reports are all in English and I understand that all
looks well because they give normal values with my results but many of the labs
have a different name than back home so I do not know which labs look fine. I
guess it does not matter as long as they are fine.
The next step is to bring the results to my doctor but she
flew to MN today to visit her son, so we will have to wait a few weeks and that
is just fine with me. I know all is well.
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