In a jail hospital room, a woman was giving delivery when the midwife came to check her out and let out a horrified cry.
It was quieter than normal in the jail hospital ward that morning. There were no typical yells or slammed doors in the hallway. It was disturbing enough that everything was too quiet.
The duty nurse tossed the crumpled inmate cards across the table and asked, “Who are we having on the list today?”
The midwife, an elderly woman with weary eyes who had been dealing with challenging situations for a long time, hardly looked up. She had witnessed many tragedies that no one discussed after they happened, women giving birth in handcuffs, and broken moms throughout her years of employment at the prison. However, she felt a slight uneasiness about today.
“Inmate number 1462,” the nurse answered. “Work might begin at any moment. A month ago, she was moved from the east block. There is no family, no paperwork, and no medical history. She doesn’t say much.
“Hardly ever speaks?” The midwife arched an eyebrow. “Not at all?”
She merely makes monosyllabic nods. doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. She seems to be closed up from the inside out.
The hefty door made a creaking sound. A pregnant woman lay on the small metal bed in the room, which had more of the appearance of a cell. She gazed at the ground while holding her hands on her enormous belly. Her hair was disheveled and her face looked pallid. Her silence, however, had an odd quality—not anguish or terror, but rather a sort of resignation.
The midwife came over.
“Hello,” she murmured. “Until the baby is born, I’ll be with you.” Allow me to inspect you.
The woman gave a small nod.
The midwife shrieked in terror as she leaned in to inspect her.
“Call a priest right now!”
There was a terrifying void where the steady pounding of a small heart should have been. The physician shifted her position, applied more pressure, and held her breath. but nothing.
She turned pale.
She said, “I can’t hear a heartbeat.”
The tension in the room was felt as the guards looked at one another.
There was no time for deep reflection because labor began abruptly. With her lips squeezed together, the midwife yelled:
“Call a priest right now! The infant must depart in prayer rather than in quiet if he is born dead.
There was no word from the woman on the bed. She simply gripped the sheet tightly.
The midwife then heard a sound once more. A little stronger at first, then faint, like a whisper in the distance. After all, the heart was beating. It was beating, but weakly and erratically.
“Alive,” she blew out. “It’s alive.”
The battle for every minute started. The woman wailed, the contractions became more intense, the midwife tried everything she could to rescue mother and child, and the soldiers held her by the hands and shoulders. In the cell, time seemed to have stopped.
A small squeak finally broke the excruciating hours of silence. Hardly audible at first, then stronger and louder. A boy. Weak, little, bluish-skinned, but living.
He was stroked till his respiration deepened and swiftly put on oxygen. And suddenly the newborn’s loud, frantic cries filled the room.
Wiping perspiration off her forehead, the midwife closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Lord.”
The prisoner raised her eyes and grinned for the first time.
