I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived at Mahamodara Maternity Hospital. The tuk tuk dropped us off outside of what appeared to be fortress walls. We were met by our Duke coordinator and led through the gate, past a building that was in disrepair and dilapidated. We traversed through a labyrinth of crumbling plaster and boarded up windows. There was a smell of mildew lingering in the air. I thought to myself, “Women come here to give birth”? Once we rounded a corner, I noticed an area to my right which looked as if it should have been full of expectant women, but was eerily vacant. It was then I realized what I was seeing was the shell of the Mahamodara which stood during the 2004 tsunami. I stared into the ward, and could imagine this area full of pregnant women and newborns on that day, and could almost feel their terror. I was told the hospital was hit by 3 waves. The first wave destroyed the “fortress” walls that I had seen earlier, but these barriers had lessened the impact to the building. It flooded the first level and knocked out the electricity. The doctors and staff evacuated the mothers and infants, some to higher ground, and others to Karapitiya Hospital. The second wave was estimated between 20-30 feet high. There are many stories of heroic men and women from that day, including one physician who calmly completed a Cesarean section by flashlight after the first wave hit. He then safely evacuated the mother and child. Due to lack of funds to demolish the building, it now stands as a temporary memorial.

We moved on, and at the end of the hallway we entered a courtyard. In front of us was a beautiful new building which now housed high risk expectant mothers. The ward contained 64 mothers who had a variety of problems, such as gestational diabetes, hypertension, and preterm premature rupture of membranes. There were strict visiting hours here, so there were no hovering families or concerned husbands. The hospital has very few fetal heart rate monitors, so the midwives and nurses monitor the fetus through the use of a pinard.  I spent a lot of time in this ward, and in the antenatal clinic, examining patients. I practiced with the pinard, straining to hear the fetal heartbeat as clearly as these experienced midwives, who could easily estimate fetal heart rates. I did many abdominal examinations, measuring the fundus, palpating the fetal position, and attempting to guess the baby’s weight in kilograms. I was certainly attaining one goal I had for this rotation, to get back to basics!

I witnessed the miracle of birth for the first time this week. I made my way through the maze of exterior hallways at Mahamodara to the labor and delivery room. Once I entered, I saw 10 wrought iron beds sitting side by side, each containing a woman in varying stages of labor. Two had just given birth and were coddling their newborns, encouraging them to breast feed for the first time. Several were in the final stages of labor. I chose a mother and joined the midwife and medical student who were at her side. I again noted the palpable absence of the typical “cheering squad” you see in America. These women were left to hold their own legs, and labor alone. There are no epidurals or pain medication, just pure will and true grit. After another hour of exhausting effort, she gave birth to a healthy baby girl. A new mother’s joy transcends all language barriers!

This was my final week in Sri Lanka. I cannot express enough gratitude to the doctors and staff at Karapitiya Hospital, and the University of Ruhuna Faculty of Medicine, for all of their time and willingness to share their vast knowledge.  The long journey home gave me time to reflect on my experiences here, and all that I have learned. Of course I am extremely grateful to have had the opportunities to assist in surgeries and delivering babies, to learn about rare illnesses not seen in the United States, and to practice primitive examination skills; but some of the most invaluable lessons I have learned were from the Sri Lankan people themselves. They are a hopeful people. Having recently suffered through a natural disaster, as well as a three-decade long civil war, they see brighter days ahead and are working hard to be sure the whole world can see them too. They are patient people, accepting of the fact they may have to return to the hospital daily in hopes of being admitted, or that their surgery may be delayed by many weeks. They are people who are full of grace, willing to undergo painful procedures without pain medication or anesthesia, with no complaints. Finally, they are a grateful people. They understand they are fortunate to have free healthcare and very skilled physicians. The phrase “medical malpractice” is foreign to them, and litigation against their physicians is unheard of. They are grateful for visitors from faraway lands and are eager to share their history and culture with all those who are willing to make the trip!