In the 1980s, within the district maternity hospital of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, amidst a ward housing five expectant mothers, a dialogue unfolded among the women preparing for childbirth. Their heads lifted above their beds, emerging from under blankets or peering out from behind the metal headboards of narrow beds. Amid this atmosphere, the doctor casually announced the arrival of a new expectant mother, aged forty-one and expecting her second child. Naturally, the corridors buzzed with speculation, swiftly disseminating news as concerned twenty-year-olds paused, captivated by the uncommon narrative of childbirth at forty-one.
In the USSR, such late pregnancies were rare occurrences; typically, accidental pregnancies would lead to abortions or medically induced premature births around the six-month mark. However, the reality unfurled differently for a 41-year-old woman residing with her husband, daughter, and son-in-law in a modest two-room apartment. A year prior, her daughter had welcomed her first child into the world. Multigenerational households like theirs were not uncommon in the USSR, where one-room apartments often accommodated six to eight individuals.
When the woman discovered her pregnancy, it caught her by surprise; years had passed since her last conception. Yet, by the time she sought medical advice, termination was no longer an option. Her daughter's reaction was one of hostility; she vehemently reproached her mother for what she perceived as a lapse in judgment, sparking a tumultuous scandal. Nevertheless, the woman had no recourse but to carry the child to term, enduring the profound turmoil within her soul. The bitterness and disappointment of being betrayed by one's closest confidant cut deep, leaving scars not easily healed."
That's how she found herself in the maternity ward, where she promptly relayed to the doctors her poignant tale of her daughter's shame and refusal to accept her motherhood. How could she, her daughter, react with such disdain to her late-in-life pregnancy? The doctors endeavored to soothe the distraught woman, emphasizing the importance of focusing on the impending birth and caring for the newborn. Despite the challenging delivery, a healthy, rosy-cheeked baby boy entered the world.
However, turmoil persisted. When the infant was brought to his mother for breastfeeding, she recoiled, refusing to nurse or even acknowledge him. She turned away, concealing herself beneath a blanket, steadfastly declining meals, including a tempting steak offered for dinner. Despite the chief physician's earnest pleas, she remained resolute in her refusal, her despair palpable. It was a Sunday, exacerbating the urgency of the situation.
Recognizing the signs of hormonal imbalance common among new mothers struggling with bonding, a seasoned obstetrician among the medical staff intervened. Urgently, she inquired about the woman's dietary preferences, learning that chicken might be acceptable. Hastily, nurses scoured the kitchen, only to find it bereft of poultry. Desperation mounted until a call echoed through the maternity hospital: "Who among us owns a private residence with chickens? Your assistance is needed!"
Responding to the plea, a young woman with a chicken farm offered her help. Hastening to her home, the nurse relayed the dire circumstances to the woman's husband, who promptly provided a live chicken. Without delay, the bird was prepared, cooked, and presented to the troubled mother by the physician herself. Astonishingly, that very evening, the distraught woman tenderly nursed her newborn son, a testament to the power of empathy and resourcefulness in overcoming adversity.
There was a collective exhale of relief since the immediate crisis was averted. However, a cascade of new challenges ensued: the benefactor of the chicken faced a tumultuous delivery, requiring the intervention of forceps to safely deliver her baby. Simultaneously, another mother, experiencing labor for the first time, endured an extended and arduous delivery, resulting in significant tissue tears and subsequent blood loss. Despite these trials, she persevered, earning the privilege of using the shower that night, a rare respite in the otherwise restrictive environment where access to the bathroom was strictly regulated.
Amidst the ward, a striking Uzbek woman grappled with the agony of contractions, her cries of pain drawing a sharp rebuke from a doctor for disrupting the ward's tranquility. Left feeling ashamed and vulnerable, she suffered in silence, bereft of familial support as husbands and relatives were barred from the maternity hospital. Others in pre-labor anguish remained mute, fearful of similar admonishment.
Amid this tapestry of experiences, another expectant mother, a repeat visitor to the ward, revealed a troubling pattern of relinquishing her newborns, earning her the label of a "refusenik." Though she rationalized her actions, tension simmered within the ward. Yet, amidst this tension, a young woman with a compassionate spirit, despite her youth, gently implored her to reconsider, emphasizing the incomparable beauty of a child's love. Moved by this heartfelt plea, the refusenik, with a hesitant smile and warm, Italian-brown eyes, pledged to keep her newborn. True to her word, she left the hospital with her newborn daughter, a decision witnessed by those who had formed unlikely bonds within the confines of the ward.
In the backdrop of shared adversity, the maternity ward served as a crucible, uniting disparate women in a shared journey, transcending mere acquaintance to forge connections imbued with empathy and solidarity.
Those who had already given birth were relocated to different wards, making room for a new arrival, Nefertiti, who bore a striking resemblance to her namesake, renowned for her beauty. Yet, despite her outward allure, there was a perceptible narrowness in her perspective. Married with three children, Nefertiti's reluctance to terminate pregnancies led her down a troubling path, opting for late-term inductions followed by nonintervention, resulting in the demise of premature infants. Her matter-of-fact recounting of these events, delivered with unwavering confidence, left a chilling impression, prompting reflections on the depths of human cruelty and the role of medical professionals in such moral quandaries.
As the pangs of labor enveloped me, I navigated the threshold of pain, resolved to endure silently, ignorant of the protocol regarding vocal expression. Nine grueling hours later, with gritted teeth biting into the edge of the bedside table, my resolve faltered, a primal groan escaping my lips. Swiftly ushered into the delivery room, I received two pain pills and, 45 minutes later, welcomed my daughter into the world. Concerned by her blueness, I questioned the nurse, only to receive a dismissive response: they are born like this, it will pass. Left alone, grappling with exhaustion and uncertainty, I finally stumbled towards the exit, only to be redirected by a vigilant cleaning lady, guiding me gently back to the birthing table.
With a mixture of amusement and camaraderie, the midwives resumed their duties, swiftly concluding the birthing process. Transferred to another room, I awaited the arrival of my baby for breastfeeding, a delayed initiation due to the rules being not followed by medical personnel. Advised by the nurse to massage my hardened breasts, I endeavored to facilitate the flow of milk, eventually enabling the newborn to latch on. While spared the ordeal of sourcing poultry, I was prescribed vitamins to address postpartum anemia, a consequence of blood loss during delivery. Similarly, my daughter was diagnosed with vitamin D deficiency and prescribed supplements.
Four days later, my husband escorted us home, marking the culmination of our hospital journey and the beginning of a new chapter in our lives as a family.