The Mystery of the Woman’s Body

 

I have been thinking about Joanna Namutebi – a bride who died a few days after her wedding. She lost her life trying to protect her body from unplanned pregnancy.

In many parts of the US, girls are educated on contraceptives as early as 11 years old. As a girl grows, her parent’s influence on her sexual decisions begin to diminish. By the time she turns 18, what she does with her body is fully her responsibility. Unless she gives permission, her parents are not privilege to her medical records.

Whether we are equipped with knowledge on contraceptives or not, the bigger issue is the delicate nature of the woman’s body. The woman’s womb, nurture’s life and extends the human race. The woman’s womb is also sensitive and when mishandled can lead to a tragic end - the irony of woman’s existence.

In The Economist issue of June 24^th, 2021, under the section of “Books and Art” it says, “When Serena Williams struggled to breathe after giving birth in 2017, she knew something was wrong. She also suspected what it was. Six years earlier the tennis champion had endured a pulmonary embolism, or blood clot. But a nurse thought she was delirious from pain medication. Instead of the CT scan Ms Williams wanted, a doctor did a fruitless ultrasound. Eventually the scan was ordered—and revealed clots in the arteries of her lungs.” This could have ended a different way, but Ms. William’s listened to her body and insisted on what she knew was right. Even staff in the world’s best hospitals can be clueless about the woman’s body.

In Uganda, we stumble, for the most part, unless a girl is sexually active or intending to start sexual activity, contraception is on the back shelf. Teachers may introduce the subject in the classroom but unless a girl is intent of doing “something-something”, the subject of contraception is not even on her “small” mind. In case of a “miss-step”, most protection is presented through condom use and that responsibility is mostly born by the man. Long term contraception is placed on the table when a girl is “going steady” or engaged to be married. The problem is, there are no rehearsals if she is not planning to act before she’s married. She will never know what works best for her body until she tries. I would like to think this is the situation in which Joanna found herself, unfortunately she landed in the hands of inexperienced medical staff.

When I was 23, the gynecologist at the clinic I worked asked me to assist her while she attended to a patient. My role was to handover surgical instruments. The doctor was capable, she could easily have handled the situation on her own, but she took precaution. I was eager to help. Behind the curtain a beautiful lady laid on the table. The doctor, tall and slender with a graying curly bob, snapped on her gloves and asked me to stand close while allowing the lady privacy. Her medical tray had a metal kidney-shaped bowl, gauze, a speculum, and several scissor-like instruments. Soon, the side table began to look like a murder scene as dark red liquid covered everything, her gloves, the cotton swabs, and the kidney bowl. At her instruction, I handed her what looked like a sealed paper airplane in a see-through blue package. She carefully pulled out the t-shaped instrument and inserted it into the woman. I had so many questions. Wait, what?! How does it work? Is it painful? Why all the blood? The patient lay silent, occasionally engaging in light conversation with the doctor about how her children were growing. My attention fixated on the bloody gloves, the European accent, the scissors. When the doctor was done, she said, “You should be fine. This will keep you safe for 3 to 5 years.” The lady confirmed that she felt comfortable, but I was weak in the knees. I washed my hands and returned to my workstation. I wanted to tell someone, but instead, I stored these things in my heart. I also decided I would consider other contraceptive options when the time came.

We were young, we groped in the dark those years – trying to be as careful as possible but naïve about what marriage meant. Counsel from medical staff, older woman and peers brought enlightenment. We were encouraged to wait a year or two before having children – “Get to know each other before the kids come along” they said. A bride was advised to talk to the doctor about available contraception options. She was advised, “If you’re going to take the pill, you have to start like a week before the wedding”. These words swirled in my head when a few weeks before my wedding, at my first examination, I studiously considered the ceiling of the ob-gyn office situated in the Old Kampala. It was the same doctor I had assisted the previous year – the tables had surely turned. Our meeting was no more than 10 minutes, still I hadn’t changed my mind. I’m not good with tablets but I was willing to stick with the program. The rest is history.

Knowledge of the woman’s body is essential, but may I add that the woman’s body is more delicate than we are willing to acknowledge. Woman is a goddess, a temple. Woman is beauty, woman is the house of life. God knits human beings together within the walls of her womb. What a power! Sometimes we forget the potency of the woman’s body. We get familiar until Sarah, a woman passed childbearing starts Christ’s earthly linage and Mary, a teenage girl brings the son of God into the world.

The famous story of the desperate woman who waded through the crowd, determined to find her healing in Jesus, by touching the hem of his garment, I strongly believe that woman had fibroids. That the bible documents the struggles of women and their bodies imprints aspects of being female that cannot be denied or simply brushed over.

It’s like the woman’s body is a target the second she arrives on the planet. Parents and guardians must protect her from child abuse. Once immersed in the blood of puberty, she must learn to handle her body, shield it from rape and unwanted pregnancies. She must hold on as she bears children (or not) and later sweat through menopause.

The woman’s mind is formidable, her body immensely coveted.

In Maya Angelou’s poem “Still I Rise” she says.

“Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?”

Nature celebrates those “diamonds” but in the same existence fights to destroy them – fibroids, cancer, barrenness…

Joana’s death could have been avoided under skilled professional care. Unfortunately, life doesn’t give the chance to undo, re-step or bring her back, but it gives us pause to weigh in and put systems in place that prevent this heartache. We are left with treasured memories of a sweet, cheerful, talented young woman whose life was cut at the cusp of a coveted dream. The pain lingers, branding like a hot iron the souls of those who knew and loved her.

May God strengthen Derrick as he lifts his head up each morning. May God surround Mr. and Mrs. Kizito, may they know it is well in Christ. But may our medical practices do better. May Joanna’s death not be in vain, may it be the saving grace from other young women.