Russian Silence

A pregnant 19 year-old girl goes into labour. Surrounded by a midwife, an obstetrician and a group of unknown students, contractions coming and going. Not a sound comes from her. She doesn't cry, she doesn't wail, she says nothing. The medical staff watch her in silence. She's young, it's her first time and she's all alone. No one waiting outside for her, no partner to hold her hand, no mother fussing about her. There is no chaos surrounding her, the medical staff quietly joke and laugh, occasionally petting her or touching her rounded stomach. They quietly ask her questions about herself, all the while watching and waiting for something to happen. Another contraction comes and the obstetrician decides it's time. Still no sound comes from the tiny waif of a girl.


Students stand around and try to figure this little girl out. Something must be wrong, no? She pushes; the baby's head becomes visible. It hurts, but she still says nothing. The obstetrician, at least 60 years old, casually leans on her inner thigh, still smiling with ungloved hands, holding the scissors, ready to do the epiostomy. The midwives quietly tell the little girl that she's magnificent, that she's a good girl, stroking her hair, petting her. Still not a peep from the girl. The only sign that she's in pain is seen in her eyes.

The doctor tells her to push, but it's not a command. It's a gentle request, telling her to try. She pushes, he makes the epiostome, out comes the baby’s head, but still the room is quiet, the only sound that can be heard is the movement coming from the midwives as they prepare bedding for the baby. "One more time, little girl." She pushes, out comes a small baby, with its umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, one small hand grasping it, trying to save itself. Still, it's all quiet. The doctor, uncoils the cord, nudges the baby's hand away from it.

A midwife comes along, sticking the suction tube into the baby's mouth. Still no sound, why is everyone so calm? So relaxed? Meanwhile, another nurse tells the new mother that she has a baby girl. She tells her that she did well, tells her that she was great, tells her that she was strong. They clamp the cord, they cut it. The sucking sound from the tube is far from comforting. Still no sound from the mother. The doctor takes out a mobile phone from his pocket and asks the 19 year old something, so quietly.

Then, as if it were a movie, the baby's scream shatters whatever silence there was. They take the baby, wipe her down a little and show her to her mother. She smiles, she's happy but she's still so quiet. The mother lays her hand on the baby, and looks as though all the pain in world was worth it. The baby is silently moved away, the doctor passes the phone to the little 19 year old. Calmly, she speaks into it, "Mother, it's a girl. It's a girl."

The doctor decides it's time for the placenta to come out, the little girl is weak, but she tries, not complaining, not whining, not crying, and not shouting. Someone from behind the students says "Oi, put on a pair of gloves, man." He moves to wash his hands and put on gloves. He comes back and starts tugging on the cord. Midwives start pressing her abdomen and coaxing the placenta out, she pushes, but it really is difficult. The doctor tugs harder, the midwife presses down on the abdomen harder, out comes the placenta, though it tears on the way out. The placenta is then placed on a plate to be inspected. The 19year-old is told once again that she did well, that she is good, that she was strong. The students are called out; the nurses tend to the baby.

There was never a moment of chaos, never a moment of surprise. The students later go through the case history. The mother had a cardiac septal defect; it was supposed to be a complicated pregnancy, a complicated birth.

This is how it's done in Russia. This is how the Russians handle things. No mistakes, no yelling or screaming, no complications. The silence was deafening, the calmness of such a situation discomforting. They were right; the little girl was truly magnificent.