Maternity
Wrinkled tiny fingers from a fist the size of an acorn grip almost all the way around my thumb.
Eyes of deep blue inquiry stare up at me from within the incubator.
Welcome to a broken world little one.
Glancing over at the incubator’s display, I see the power levels right where they need to be, the temperature a little low, and humidity high.
As my right hand moves to adjust these levels the ground violently throws my feet into the air a fraction of a second before the sound of shattering glass breaks the rhythmic pulse of the heart monitors.
Pure black darkness envelopes everything as my body crashes down on the hard linoleum floor of the pre-natal intensive care unit.
What just happened?
The sounds of shattering glass are replaced by screams from every direction. Women’s screams. Children’s screams. Men’s screams.
Everyone is screaming!
I feel around my prone body gingerly, hoping to touch something for orientation.
My left front is on the ground, so my back must be up.
As my right hand sweeps the hard surface before me, I remember my left hand had just been connected to the premature baby in the incubator, Julia.
Where is this dear child now?
How can I make sure she’s safe?
I stop sweeping with my right hand so the left can search for Julia.
Where are you sweetheart?
Where could she be?
I can’t see a thing in this pitch blackness.
“SOMEONE, BRING A LIGHT!” I yell, hoping to be heard above the all the other screaming.
I know Lara was just out in the hall, maybe she’ll hear me.
Raising myself to my knees, I’m able to sweep with both hands. As they glide across the cold floor I touch thrown instruments, tissue boxes, and other detritus, until I contact a downed cart.
There were three in the room, only one was occupied.
Please be Julia’s!
Rubbing up the leg of the cart, I can feel the cold metal of its solid construction give way to the plastic, which encases the not-yet-ready for the real world baby.
Please be in this one Julia!
The left access hole had been opened allowing me to reach in to interact with her, so I feel for the hole.
As my hand brushes for the access hole, I come across a large crack in the casing, scratching myself on its jagged edge.
This can’t be good, this poor child. If it’s cracked, she could have been thrown out.
Just then more screaming in the hall interrupts my thoughts of the child.
I don’t want to think about what’s happening out there.
All that matters right now is what’s in here!
Luckily, the crack is small, coming to an end quickly as my hand continues across the surface in search of the access hole.
I find it, tenderly reaching in to feel for Julia.
As I reach further into the tiny, enclosed chamber, I come across soft tissue.
Could this be you sweetheart?
Please be you!
Before I have the chance to see, a bright light shines in from the right of me.
“We have to get out of here!” a stern female voice declares.
Who is that?
Where is Lara?
Is this the child?
Blinded by the light, I keep feeling for the child.
Is there movement?
Is there warmth?
THERE IS!
WARMTH!
IT IS JULIA!
As my eyes adjust, I see before me in a beam of light, the premature baby, encased in the upright cart, staring up at me with those deep blue eyes of her own.
“You are a lucky dear!” I softly murmur.
“What was that?” the person holding the light asks.
“I found the child, help me bring the incubator out of this room” I demand.
I can’t see the holder of the light.
Who is holding the light?
The beam begins changing angles from up to down, left to right, as its holder makes her way toward me.
As she approaches, I can see her face.
Do I know you?
She is close enough now the light beam illuminates our shared space with Julia.
I see her face, and she mine.
Why are you looking at me like you see a ghost?
Could this be Lara?
The woman’s face, shoulders, and torso are covered in blood. Her neck seems off somehow.
She looks down at the child, “Let’s get her out of here.” She offers.
“Yes, please lead the way” I respond, still touching the child’s warm flesh.
I look down one more time, Julia’s eyes are shifting back and forth between me and the woman with the light.
You’ll be ok dear.
We just need to follow the woman with the light.
“We will all be alright.” The woman says sternly.
“Yes, we will all be alright.” I respond, while pushing the incubator cart forward toward the light.
On Wednesday, March 9, 2022 the Russian Air Force bombed Maternity Hospital #3 in Mariupol, Ukraine during an agreed cease-fire meant to allow civilians safe-passage out of the besieged city. The three buildings of the complex: a Maternity Hospital, a Children’s Hospital, and a Children’s Therapy building, were all destroyed in the blast, killing four, injuring 16 and leading to one still-birth. A massive bomb had blasted out all of the windows, shattered walls, and left a crater in the central courtyard deeper than two full-grown men. Russia claimed the hospital was a legitimate target because they thought military forces were using it as a shelter. An investigation conducted by the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE)in April of that year concluded the hospital was clearly identifiable and operational, and that the Russian forces therefore perpetrated a war crime. The investigative team’s statement declared:
"The Mission therefore concludes that the hospital was destroyed by a Russian attack. Based upon Russian explanations, the attack must have been deliberate. No effective warning was given and no time-limit set. This attack therefore constitutes a clear violation of IHL (International Humanitarian Law) and those responsible for it have committed a war crime."
OSCE, April 13, 2022, pp. 46–47.
During the Syrian Civil War, Russian and Syrian government forces used the same tactic in their campaign against anti-government forces, focusing on the destruction of hospitals, medical facilities, and other civilian infrastructure in areas not under the control of the Syrian government. Human Rights Watch,October 15, 2020; Aljazeera, June 7, 2022; The New York Times, October 13, 2019; Time, March 3, 2021.