My Mary Magdalene: Premature Delivery

After finishing my prenatal visit with Mary, her new husband Huswi proudly described the airstrip he built at their home so that I could land there to deliver the baby. I then explained that Mary would need to already be staying at the clinic before her delivery (see the September 2022 issue).

Not long after that conversation, Huswi showed up at the clinic. Mary’s water had broken sometime in the very early hours of the morning, there was blood, and she had been having contractions for the last 12 hours. Huswi had made the two-hour hike to the clinic in a record time of only one hour.

I remember thinking, It’s too early. Mary is not due until December. She was seven months along. I asked questions to try and get an idea of how she was doing. Was the baby alive or dead? Huswi thought the baby was still moving inside Mary when he left.

I called Daniel, the PAMAS helicopter pilot, and he picked up Huswi and me. Mary lives in a beautiful place deep in the mountains just before a ridge. I had not been to this village before, but thankfully Daniel had. When Daniel pointed out the landing pad, it was the smallest I had ever seen, and it was perched on the edge of a cliff. “Is it big enough?” I asked while trying not to freak out on poor Daniel.

Daniel said laughingly, “Barely, but I have landed here before.” He set the helicopter down as I held my breath, then opened the door to see if the runner was on solid ground. It was not. So we lifted off again as he explained, “I have to be careful not to hit the helicopter blades on the mountain.” Visions filled my mind of impact and spiraling to the remote jungle valley below. Thankfully, Daniel carefully set us down closer to the mountain on the second attempt.

The patient is usually never right by the landing pad, so we were met by a crowd of Huswi’s children who tagged along with us down the trail to Mary’s house, where she was inside. The room was small and rickety, with gaps in the floor, and I felt like I had to be careful not to fall through. Mary’s vital signs were stable. I was able to get a heart rate on the baby: 160, which is normal. Praise the Lord. The baby was not only alive but doing well. Mary continued having contractions, and I asked more questions while examining her. I then talked to the family about taking her to the hospital in the lowlands because they had medicine to stop the labor. The family agreed. Mary got up and walked herself to the helicopter, and off they flew to the hospital while I headed back to the clinic and prayed.

Mary’s baby boy was born that night. He weighed less than 1 kg (2.2 lbs), but he was breathing, although not very well. The hospital could not stop Mary’s contractions. She had retained the placenta, which the medical staff had to remove manually, and she also needed three units of blood due to low hemoglobin levels.

The baby lived for two days and then died.

The next thing I heard was that since the hospital could only get one unit of the three units of blood she needed, they discharged her, and she was hiking into the mountains. I prayed and waited for her to come by the clinic, but she did not come. I was worried. Thankfully the next day, a Sabbath, she showed up at my door at 6:30 a.m. wanting a check-up.

Mary’s hemoglobin was four. Usually, I would send someone out to the hospital with hemoglobin levels like that, but since the hospital already knew of her condition and discharged her, I figured there was no point. The hospital had given her medication upon discharge, but she had yet to take any of them. I talked to Mary and her husband about staying at the clinic for four days so I could administer her antibiotics and observe her, but they refused. We agreed that they could stay in the village for four days and come to the clinic three times a day so I could give Mary her medication.

After getting her first dose ready, we ran into trouble. She won’t take anything bitter, and the antibiotic tablet is bitter. She held the first dose in her mouth while it dissolved, refused to drink water, and spit the tablet out. On the second attempt, I crushed the tablet, mixed it with water, and tried to give it to her with a syringe. She spit it out all over herself and me. These failed attempts happened while Huswi told me how she fought and kicked the nurses at the hospital. Perhaps that was why they discharged her. As I went back inside for round three, she decided to run away.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I shouted to Mary, “You need help.” So I ran around the clinic and got in front of her. By this time, Mary was crying. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said as I hugged her. “I will try and find you a non-bitter medicine. Just give me time.”

Grudgingly Mary returned, but only as far as the cookhouse in the back of the clinic. I tried the child’s liquid form of the medicine, but it was the same bitter medicine mixed with sugar. That did not work, either. I resorted to medicine in a capsule, telling Mary it tasted like plastic. Praise the Lord; she swallowed it. I could see that keeping Mary and Huswi would not do any good, so I prayed with them and sent them away with her medicine. Please keep Mary in your prayers that Jesus will keep working in her life and heart and use these circumstances to draw her and her new family to him. And pray for me, too, that Jesus will show me how to be a true Christlike friend to Mary and that she will see Jesus in all I say and do.