Every Woman's Right
An emotional account of a lifesaving visit to Africa by a Welsh nurse.
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It's 6am on Saturday 26th June 1971, a beautiful summer morning and I am arriving at St David's Maternity Hospital in Cardiff. The midwives are giving me the impression that I am the last person they want to see at the end of a long night shift. Facing me are some truly fear inducing individuals. I go through the well rehearsed and somewhat undignified procedures and then I am shown to what they call the "holding room". My stay there is very short as it is clear that my baby's arrival is fairly imminent, so I am wheeled into the delivery room where a midwife is waiting for me.. an equally fear inducing red-haired woman who keeps slapping my thigh whilst telling me, "come on Mrs Gorman, we're going to be here all day!" Unlike now, where partners are expected to be at the delivery, my husband Mike is not present. In fact he had been told to go home as "nothing will happen until at least lunchtime."
In between contractions, I look around the room, the vision of which will remain with me forever. The rough, half tiled cement walls are bare, except for a coat of pale green washable paint. There are no pictures on, or music coming through the walls and no choice about how I deliver my baby. If I had known then, that in the not too distant future women would be able to give birth in water, on bean bags, on all fours.. almost any way they want, perhaps I would not have been so compliant. Suffice it to say that if I am told to stand on my head then I will do it. I was not a nurse then and definitely not confident enough to tell the midwife what I think of how she is speaking to me. In 1971, unlike 2005, nobody questions anything. I don't even know that I am allowed to yell out with contractions. I must be the quietest and best behaved labouring woman they have ever looked after. At 9.15am and just over 3hrs after my arrival at the hospital, our beloved daughter Catherine arrives. By the time Mike returns at mid-day, I am all stitched up and transferred to the post-natal ward. Nevertheless and most importantly, despite my moans about the cold environment and the unwelcoming midwives, I have felt totally safe throughout.
FAST FORWARD EXACTLY 34yrs..
It's 10.15pm on Sunday 26th June 2005. I have just worked a twelve and a half hour shift in the Welsh Regional Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where I work as a Senior Sister, caring for the sickest newborn babies in Wales. I am sitting on the settee in our living room, my legs aching from having run or walked my way through a very busy shift, reflecting on the fact that it is my daughter's 34th birthday. The kettle has just boiled and the BBC News is just drawing to a close. At the end of the bulletin, the newsreader tells us that in PANORAMA which is coming up, there is a report from the Central African country of Chad, where the maternal mortality rate is 1:11 and a single doctor is fighting against the odds to save the lives of mothers and babies. The coffee which I am about to make remains unmade. I do not want to miss a moment of this. I switch on the video recorder, just in case I fall asleep and miss any part of the programme; something I do regularly, especially after a day such as I have just had. Within 10mins of the start of the programme, entitled "Dead Mums Don't Cry" I am sat with my hands across my open mouth.
I now have a confession to make. It is that I rarely if ever cry. This despite a nursing career of nearly 30yrs. It is hard at times, even for me to believe. You see, when I joined the neonatal team at the University Hospital of Wales, the then Manager Jenny Siddall told us, "when you are dealing with the loss of babies, nobody minds if you cry. But you will be no good to anyone if the parents end up supporting you rather than as it should be, the other way around. So I decided then that I would not cry and I haven't. I wait until I go home and I am very quiet. My family know when I have had a difficult day. For me to be quiet and need to be left alone is totally out of character. I don't need to explain, they just know.
On the screen, a 16yr old is having eclamptic fits. This dangerous condition is easily and swiftly treated with drugs which cost the price of a bar of chocolate. The drug, Magnesium Sulphate is unavailable in Chad. Another 12yr old girl who has had an illegal abortion and is now overwhelmed by infection is dying. Families here in the fourth poorest nation on earth can only afford one day of antibiotics. Something is very wrong with the world when we can put people into space, walk on the moon, clone sheep, send messages around the world in seconds and in my case have the skills and technology to save babies whose bodies are no bigger than the palm of my hand, but let what I am watching happen and do nothing about it.
As the programme closes, there is an invitation for anyone wishing to contact the programme, to log on to the PANORAMA website. I have seen many programmes, which offer the same invitation, but something made me get up from my settee and despite the lateness of the hour, I re-boiled the kettle, made myself a large mug of coffee,dragged my tired legs upstairs and logged on. It is no exaggeration to say, that without a shadow of a doubt and making no apologies for the cliche, that moment changed my life.
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About the Book
The moving and sometimes humourous account of how a Welsh neonatal nurse was so moved by a TV programme that she contacted the BBC, raised money and along with three other supporters, travelled to Chad in Central Africa, where a single doctor was struggling save women's lives. All that was needed to save these women's lives were basic cheap drugs which are found on all delivery units in the West. Dr Grace Kodindo, an obstetrician did not have these drugs available until the donations started arriving. She was trying to manage the unmanageable. The maternal mortality rate in Chad is 1:11. with at least one woman and her baby dying every day. The visit was filmed by the BBC PANORAMA team and included meetings with the Chadian Health Minister, three Representatives of the The United Nations Population Fund and has culminated in hundreds of lives being saved, succeeding where the mighty United Nations has failed to meet one of its' own Millenium Development goals. The visit contained life-changing experiences, a "hands on" emergency where the author tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate a newborn infant. The book is an incredibly emotional account of the most extra-ordinary nine days the author had ever known, during which she a nurse of 30yrs was reduced to tears.
About the Author
Angela Gorman, now 58yrs old and a nurse for more than 30yrs has been a neonatal nurse for nearly 21yrs and works as a Senior Sister in the Welsh Regional Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in Cardiff, caring for the sickest infants in Wales. She counts writing as one of her hobbies and loves reflective writing when events occur in one of the most emotioally charged areas of nursing. Her clinical colleagues respond positively to her use of words which include a renowned sense of humour. She is also a very experienced Trade Union Representative and managed to talk her union into taking on this cause, unusual in that unions usually support causes which are linked to other unions; npt so in this case. She has used her significant contacts and renowned powers of persuasion to raise thousands of pounds and donations of equipment, which have funded drugs and equipment for the hospital in Chad.
Angela has been married to Mike for 37yrs, has three children and three grandchildren. Her other hobbies include travelling and reading. She now describes herself as a Chad Bore!