Monday through Thursday are prenatal days. The women arrive in their cute print dresses and always carry purses. The new moms are sent upstairs for an introductory class to learn how their bodies work while prenatal appointments are held downstairs in the unused birthing rooms. We have two Haitian and three American midwives working this morning with one translator for each American accent.
“Bonjou,” I say with a smile, inviting the mother to enter the room before me as a sign of respect. I ask the mother if she would like to sit on the bed and I settle in across from her in a chair. “Mesamin Elisabet.” She mumbles her name quietly, her eyes averted, head tilted away and down.
These women travel for miles down dirt roads by foot, tap-tap (a truck with fifteen people piled in on wooden seats in the back) or, if they have some…
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