“There was no midwife, no health worker; only the support of my mother-in-law and my endurance,” 18-year-old Ghuncha recalled, her voice trembling with the weight of her experience. The day she went into labour was not just a moment of joy; it was a test of survival dictated by family tradition and community norms that left little room for unprofessional medical intervention.
In the dim lights of their traditional home, Ghuncha’s mother-in-law guided her to a small room, the air thick with anticipation and anxiety. Hours turned into an agonizing wait as the pregnant Ghuncha laboured on a mat, the only sounds being her heavy breathing and the quiet encouragement from her mother-in-law.
In their village, seeking antenatal care was not customary. “Pregnancy is not something you ask your family to take you to a hospital for,” Ghuncha shared quietly. “Childbirth is very indecent, and except for a few elderly women, we never talk about it with anyone else in the family.”
As the hours stretched on, Ghuncha felt the weight of isolation. There were no medical professionals to guide her through the process, no comforting voices to reassure her that everything would be alright. This was her first birth, and with every contraction, the fear of the unknown loomed larger.
Two days later, Ghuncha’s condition deteriorated. The pain became unbearable, and she was rushed to the nearby Family Heath House (FHH) as severe complications set in. Norina, a midwife at the FHH, vividly remembers that fateful day. “When she arrived, she was in a bad state,” Norina recalled. “She had suffered vaginal laceration during childbirth, and by the time she came to us, she had developed an infection. On top of that, she was anemic and had dangerously low blood pressure.”
The situation was dire, but thanks to the immediate care she received at the FHH, Ghuncha’s life was saved. Norina quickly stabilized her condition, treating the laceration and providing antibiotics for the infection. “I explained to her that all of these complications could have been avoided,” Norina said, concern etched on her face. “If only she had come for regular checkups during her pregnancy and on the day of her delivery.”
Realizing the importance of health education, Norina took time to speak with Ghuncha’s family. She emphasized the necessity of having a skilled birth attendant present during delivery and outlined the risks associated with giving birth without proper medical support. “They understood the risks,” Norina reflected. “And they promised to become regular visitors to the health facility from now on.”
After a period of recovery at the FHH, Ghuncha and her family left with a commitment to prioritize healthcare visits. The promise they made echoed with hope—a hope that could save lives.
For women like Ghuncha, who once felt alone in their journey, the FHH, supported by UNFPA with funding from the European Union, represents more than just a healthcare facility; it embodies a future where childbirth can be celebrated rather than feared. As Ghuncha looks ahead, she carries with her not only the scars of her experience but also a promise—a promise to advocate for herself and others in her community so that no woman has to face pregnancy and childbirth challenges alone again.
