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Registered Nursing class lab students working with human simulation "dummy" at Ohlone College Newark Center
Caption: KITGUM, Uganda, Oct 20 -- Pfc. Kendra Hinds, a medic deployed to Uganda with the Army Reserve's 7225th Medical Support Unit (MSU) searches for a vein in order to give a patient an IV. The expectant mother arrived at the Pajimo Clinic in the north of Uganda and delivered a healthy baby boy about 90 minutes later. (Photo credit Maj. Corey Schultz, Army Reserve Communications.)
Full Story:
Army Reserve Nurse Delivers Baby in Rural Uganda
By Maj.Corey Schultz, U.S. Army Reserve Command
KITGUM, Uganda -- When 1st Lt. Victoria Lynn Watson deployed to Uganda for Natural Fire 10, she never imagined using her labor and delivery nursing skills during the exercise.
But when a Ugandan woman, Linda, arrived in labor at Pajimo medical clinic, where the Army Reserve's 7225th Medical Support Unit was partnering with East African medics to offer healthcare to the Kitgum community, Watson sprang into action.
She checked her watch. It was nearly 2:30 pm when medics hurried the 19-year-old expectant mother from the clinic gates where hundreds had gathered to receive care.
During the 10-day exercise, the medics run a daily clinic to treat upwards of 700 Ugandans a day for ailments such as arthritis, minor wounds, skin infections --and dental and optometry care. Soldiers from Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania, Kenya and Burundi are working alongside U.S. troops on medical, dental and engineering projects in the Kitgum region. Meanwhile, each nation is also taking part in security training and a simulated disaster relief exercise.
While pregnancy was not a planned treatment, the Pajimo clinic staffs a midwife and Watson was eager to assist. If the U.S. Army Reserve officer were back home in Abilene, Texas, she would do the same.
"This is what I do. I'm a labor and delivery nurse in my civilian job," Watson said, hurrying past Ugandan families clutching medicines and awaiting dental checks, "This is what I live for."
Watson serves with the 7231st Medical Support Unit in Lubbock, Texas, but volunteered to augment the 7225th for Uganda.
Once in the clinics maternity ward, Watson and Pfc. Kendra Hinds, a U.S. Army Reserve medic from Lubbock, Texas, joined Stella, the Ugandan midwife. Stella asked the lieutenant to work with her to deliver the child.
Stella and her Ugandan assistant prepared the delivery room. Watson's examined the woman - nine centimeters and having contractions. Her watch read 3 p.m.
Hinds never helped a woman give birth. So, Watson talked her through the exam as they felt the mother's stomach to see where the baby was.
"You can feel the contractions," Watson said to Hines. "Her sides and belly get hard. Feel here...that's the head. It's in the right place, that's good. The baby is aligned right."
The midwife, Stella Betty Lamono – who goes by Stella, produced a Pinnard Horn - a wooden listening device not often seen in America that is used to hear the baby's heartbeat. Watson and Hinds took turns listening.
Then Stella posed a question.
"You are delivering," Stella said. "You should name the baby."
"OK, I'll name the baby," Watson said, in a light-hearted way. "How about, let's see...Gracie for a girl? Yes, I like Gracie."
"And a boy?" asked Stella.
"Okay, for a boy...Cage. I like Cage."
Stella translated. The mother smiled, amused despite her obvious discomfort. It was nearly 3:30 p.m., the baby was coming but the delivery team still had things to do. They tried to start an intravenous drip.
There was a problem, they couldn't find a vein. They spoke with the mother and found she had not eaten anything for two days.
"She's dehydrated, she needs something with sugar," Watson said.
Soldiers offered sweet powdered drink pack from their daily rations - MRE's, such as lemon-flavored ice tea and a lemon-lime electrolyte drinks.
Watson stirred each drink in a green plastic cup and gave it to the mother, who drank thirstily.
The team then found a vein for an IV, the mother tried to relax. From time to time, she would lift a pink curtain and gaze through the window into the dusty yard. Things quieted.
Meanwhile, her sister arranged swaddling clothes on the receiving table at the other side of the room.
"How many weeks is she?" Hinds asked.
"Thirty-eight," Stella said, confidently.
Ugandan midwives determine the duration of the pregnancy by feeling the stomach for the size of the baby's head versus the height of the fundus -- how high the uterus has pressed upwards into the diaphragm.
"This is amazing," Watson said. "In the States, doctors run a sonogram over the belly, ask for the date of the last menstrual period, and go from there. We learn the 'old school' way, but we never actually do it like Stella has."
Certified Ugandan midwifes attend a three-year school, Stella said, herself a midwife with seven years experience who delivers up to 28 babies each month -- often in rural clinics.
The contractions continued. The mother remained stoic despite the lack of any pain medicine. Sweat beaded on her face, veins throbbed along her neck. She would lay calm more moments, the moan softly and slap the nearby wall. Hinds grabbed a cloth and patted her face and held her hands through contractions.
"Most girls in the States would be yelling and hollering by now," Watson said.
Unlike in the States, the clinic had no monitors, electrical gadgetry or air conditioning. It did have clean water, sterilized equipment and a trained midwife, plus her U.S. counterparts.
It was around 4 p.m., when the mother groaned and slapped the wall again.
"She's in second stage," Watson said. "All she has to do now is push."
A few minutes passed, the mother began to push – Hinds held her hand and continued to comfort her. Then came a loud cry from a healthy baby boy. It was 4:30 p.m.
Watson wiped him down. He waved his tiny hands and stared around the room with large, alert eyes. Stella tied up the stump of the umbilical cord
"You delivered the baby, what name did you pick for a baby boy,” Stella said, reminding Watson.
“Cage," Watson replied. "But I can't name her baby. It's her baby!"
Hinds placed the infant into his mother's arms. The new mom smiled.
"What is she going to name him?" Watson asked. Stella translated. The mother answered --and Stella began to laugh.
"What did she say?" Watson asked.
"She decided she liked the name you picked," Stella said. "She named her little boy 'Cage'."
Outside, U.S. and East African medics were closing up for the day, handing out the final doses of vitamins and routine medications, when they learned the good news. An officer took out the records reflecting the number of people treated, changing 714 to 715, to add Cage - Kitgum's newest resident.
"It's pretty amazing there's a little one out here that I named and that I helped bring into this world," Watson said. "Pretty amazing."
To learn more about United States Army Africa or Natural Fire 10, visit us online at www.usaraf.army.mil
The nursing ward of the abandoned Brownsville General Hospital, Brownsville, PA.
Read more at Something HDR.
Nursing students in the College of Nursing and Health Innovation practice clinical situations in a simulator lab on the Downtown Phoenix campus.
Homecare in Los Angeles is an essential service to the elderly community in this area. Los Angeles is made up of Los Angeles city limits, Los Angeles-Long Beach-Santa Ana Urbanized Area, Los Angeles-Long Beach Santa Ana MSA, Los Angeles-Long Beach- Riverside CSA and other Urban Areas.
Hi,
After posting a good-bye to Billy on the Lollypop Farm wall on facebook, someone requested that I write a "Happy Tail" about Billy. It took some time, but I think I can do this now.
I can start this story stating that I had a dog, Randi, from the time I was 6 years old until I was 23. We were never parted ... she even went to college with me (reasons why I never lived on campus). When she did die, at age 17, I was DEVASTATED and stated that I would never have another dog ever again.
Seven years later, in September of 2003 I saw Billy at Lollypop West and knew that we should be together. I wasn't sure if it was the "This is all a mistake, and I don't know why I'm here" look on his face, or the way he leaned his entire body into my few fingers placed through the kennel, but I just knew I had to take him home. I had to check with my husband (who was sure I was nuts after I told him it was love at first sight) and my landlord (I was ready to move if he said, "no,") but it was all a "go," and Billy came home with me shortly thereafter. I remember him pulling me from car to car in the parking lot that day (we needed to work on those leash manners), looking up at me with each car as if to say, "Is this one yours? I'm ready to go home."
Our first week at home was rough. I didn't know what toys he liked (I bought a bunch of stuff, just in case), and I was afraid of what he might do. His previous owners stated that he soiled the house and scratched at doors and windows. Luckily, all he did in the first week was eat a bar of Irish Spring soap (the resulting BM from this was not pleasant!), and pulverize a roll of toilet paper. (I later realized that he was just making confetti to celebrate his new home!) OK ... a few more anti-boredom toys were added, and a LOT more exercise. He never soiled the house or scratched at doors and windows.
As I got to know Billy, I remember thinking how strange it was that he didn't know what toys were. I had to teach him to play ball (which became his ULTIMATE pastime) and how to use chewy toys. He had a stuffed animal frog which he loved and carried where ever he went. He slept with it at night, snuggled up under his head. We then started working on basic manners and socialization skills. He progressed quickly, and soon I realized what a "people dog" he was.
He started going to work with me some days at the nursing home, and he loved everyone as much as they loved him. Even those who said they didn't like dogs liked him after they got to know him. From there he went on to earn his AKC Canine Good Citizen award and pass his Therapy Dog International test with no problem.
Billy was a celebrity wherever he went: people would come out of their houses while we were walking to greet him; visitors, staff, as well as residents at the nursing home would seek him out daily, and fuss over what a good dog he was. After he retired, up to this day, people still ask for him and wonder how he is doing.
Billy was just an amazing dog: so loving and so smart, so obedient. He loved me so much, and I loved him equally--maybe even more. He went every where with me: work, vacation, swimming, the barn, on trail rides (I've been riding horses since I was 6) and never left my side unless I told him to wait somewhere for me. Regardless of where I told him to wait, or how long he had to wait, he waited right there for me to come back, never moving an inch. He heeled so well, that he was always to the left side of me, with or without a leash. The only exception to this rule was after I had children--he would walk next to the baby in the stroller or walk with the one lagging behind the group, making sure that everyone was OK.
He had a huge variety of tricks he would perform: shaking hands, rolling over, spinning around and around, playing dead, etc. ... and if you had a highly desirable treat in your hand, he may spontaneously start doing all of his tricks--one after another--hoping that one of them was the one he had to do to get that treat! What a ham!!!
Things seemed to be going well until he had an incident (Easter morning) when he woke up howling and dragging his back legs. I had no idea what had happened, but I was so sure that I would be losing him that day. As I drove to Orchard Park Emergency vet clinic, I came to terms with the real possibility that I would have to drive home without him. By the time we got there, he was standing in the back seat, happy and wagging his tail again. X-rays showed that he had, at one time, broken two vertebrae and that he had some degree of deformity from that. The vet noticed some scars on the inside of his legs, and thought that maybe he had been hit by a car at some time in his life. I felt so bad for him, as I also remembered that his previous owners had left him to "roam free" when they were not home. The temporary paralysis was probably caused by him sleeping on a big fluffy bed and might return at any time. After some steroids and the purchase of a new, firmer orthopedic bed, Billy was back to chasing balls around the backyard and had no further issues for years.
Everyone used to ask me what breed he was. Although we will never know for sure, he had the pit bull smile and tongue curl, the howl of a hound (and boy-oh-boy could he tree a 'coon in no time!) and some other breed which made one ear stand up all of the time, and the other ear stand up about 2% of the time. He was very active but could cuddle for hours at night while watching a movie (all 60 pounds of him). If his previous owners were accurate, Billy was 7 going on 8 when they dropped him off at the shelter. He was with me just short of 8 wonderful years.
I had to make the decision to euthanize Billy as I watched him deteriorate. I knew for a while he had some kidney failure, but the damaged area to his spine started to develop further deformities, putting pressure on his spine. While he never complained of pain, I saw the look on his face when he could no longer control his urine (he was truly ashamed of himself, poor thing) and the terror when, on two occasions his back end went out and we had to help him up. At this point I knew it was time. Luckily, our vet said that he would come out to the house.
On July 15 I said goodbye to Billy in the sun, on a favorite blankie, with his "froggie," with lots of hugs and kisses. I swear I could feel my heart breaking. I know that part of me died with him, and I will never, ever again know a dog like him.
What I do know, is that I can love another dog again ... not in the same way, but with the same strength. I brought Bella (a funny setter/spaniel mix with the energy of 10 dogs) home from Lollypop Farm on April 30, as I knew Billy's time was dwindling, and my other dog, Onnie (a mixed breed-Lab/chow/some type of herding dog?--whom I rescued directly from a bad situation), did not do well at home alone.
While Billy is gone, and I miss him dearly, Onnie and Bella are there for me, and I am there for them. Onnie doesn't have the personality to go to work with me, as she is a one-person dog, but Bella has gone to the nursing home a few times and seems to help the residents in the healing of the loss of Billy. She will never be Billy, nor will I ask her to be. I have learned that the benefit of having loved an animal far outweighs the pain of the loss when we lose them.
Billy taught me so much, and filled each day of my life with so much love and happiness, as do each of my other dogs. Billy taught me that I was not being unfaithful to my previous dog by loving another and that, by saying I would never have another dog again, I was depriving myself of so many good times as well as depriving another dog a good, happy home.
Attached are some of my favorite pictures of Billy ... one of sir handsome himself collarless right after a summer outdoor bath, one of him running on the beach, playing ball in Cape Cod, and one of him laying in the sun. I hope all the staff and volunteers at Lollypop Farm feel so good about the job they do, knowing that you are able to provide these animals with another opportunity to find their forever home and brighten so many lives. Thank you so much!
Onnie, Bella and I will see you at Barktober Fest!
Sincerely,
Jennifer R.
A banner held aloft in memory of the 36th Ulster Division .
In the battle of the Somme the 36th (Ulster) Division was committed to the attack on the first day .
The 36th Division was commanded by Major-General Oliver Nugent from 1915 to 1918. The 36th was one of the few divisions to make significant gains on the first day on the Somme. It attacked between the Ancre and Thiepval against a position known as the Schwaben Redoubt. According to military historian Martin Middlebrook : -
The leading battalions (of the 36th (Ulster) Division) had been ordered out from the wood just before 7.30am and laid down near the German trenches ... At zero hour the British barrage lifted. Bugles blew the "Advance". Up sprang the Ulstermen and, without forming up in the waves adopted by other divisions, they rushed the German front line ..... By a combination of sensible tactics and Ulster dash, the prize that eluded so many, the capture of a long section of the German front line, had been accomplished.
They were among the few units to reach their objective, but reinforcements despatched into the carnage of no man's land never reached them, and eventually, isolated and surrounded they were forced to retreat.
Of the nine Victoria Crosses awarded on the day, three went to the Ulster Division - two of them posthumously.
The Division was relieved on 2 July having suffered more than 5,000 casualties - 2,069 of whom were killed.