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 24th, 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.
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