She lay on a bed, exhausted, lurching in and out of consciousness. The pain no longer came in waves with each contraction. Instead, it stayed with her, crippling her body.
Two hospital staff stood at her shoulders with their hands on the top of her pregnancy. They were pushing down on her stomach, trying to force the baby from Sabrine's body.
"They felt so heavy. They were leaning into me. They said they had to or my baby would die." She begins to cry.
Sabrine had been in labour for days trying to deliver her baby in a tent in the refugee camp, but as the hours dragged into days, she was taken to a Lebanese hospital where she begged them to help her.
"In Syria, I would have had a caesarean section but here, there is no money for that. My first daughter was born by caesarean. I knew I was in trouble." The hospital agreed to help Sabrine but told her they would not surgically intervene. It was an act of mercy by Lebanon's heavily-privatised health system, to a Syrian refugee on the brink of death.
It took some hours and Sabrine says she lost consciousness several times, but Ammouna was eventually born. She is now a month old but the emotional and physical cost to her mother is considerable.
"I am so damaged from the delivery. One month on and I am still in a lot of pain, still bleeding." I don't know what to say. I know the trauma of a bad birth sometimes never leaves a woman. Worse, Sabrine is just 20 years old, isolated and reliving her traumatic birth every day in an overcrowded refugee camp. I suspect she has post-natal depression.
I ask her what she needs.
"I don't know where to start. I cry a lot. Ammouna cries a lot too. I am sure she is starving. I don't know what to do. I am a new mother. I know I shouldn't feel like this." I tell her I am not a doctor but I think she is doing a great job. Ammouna looks happy and healthy to me.
"But I am sure I don't have enough milk. Our diet is poor, how can I produce enough milk for my baby?" She points to a baby's bottle by the wood stove. She is using part of her US$19 ($25.70) monthly food allowance to buy formula for Ammouna.
"I am trying to top-up my breast milk." The bottle is unwashed and there is cold formula inside. I quickly shake my head and say "no, no, no" and then immediately regret it.
"I know what you are thinking," she says.
"You think it should be sterilised. I try to put it in boiling water once a day but sometimes there is no wood for the fire. So do I feed her from this bottle or does she go hungry? Do you understand?" I don't understand. I can't begin to understand. I didn't flee a conflict. I don't live in a refugee camp. I didn't suffer the way Sabrine has in childbirth.
She is crying again and I know this time it is my fault.
I tell her I am sorry. I tell her she is doing an amazing job and I can't begin to imagine the challenges she is facing every day.
"I can't even keep my babies clean," she says.
"There is no privacy. We are sharing toilets. I am in pain. My baby is sick. We are trying to survive and who do I confide in? No one. I can't share my pain or suffering with anyone." I don't know what to say. I feel awful.
We sit in silence for a while and then I ask her why she thinks Ammouna is sick.
She says she is vomiting. She hands me a medicine bottle. I can't read the label but it looks like gripe water.
"Colic? Reflux?" I ask.
"I am unsure, but she vomits," she says.
I tell her I have no experience of colic or reflux and all I can suggest is that she keeps putting her baby to her breast.
She drops her head suddenly and grimaces. Tears roll down her face. Her body is cramping, she says. I don't know what to do. Again, I can't help her.
I tell her some women cramp for a month after childbirth. Perhaps it is that? I ask her if she has a fever. She doesn't. I worry she has an infection.
I have to go. I am being told we need to leave the camp. I tell Sabrine I am sorry I have to leave and I ask again if there is anything I can do.
She shakes her head.
"No. There is nothing. Please, just tell our story. Tell the story of the Syrians." I promise her I will.
I turn to leave the tent knowing that this is one of those interviews that will never my head.
"Wait," she says. "You have a child?"
"Yes," I reply. "I have a son." She smiles. It's the first time I have seen warmth in her face.
She places her hand across her heart. "God bless him," she says.
Syria campaign
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Goal:
To raise funds to support 12 million Syrians, including 5.6 million children, who have fled their homes to other parts of Syria and neighbouring countries since the Syrian civil war began four years ago.
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Partners:
The
New Zealand Herald
, broadcaster Rachel Smalley and World Vision, one of 21 non-government organisations (NGOs) working in a United Nations-led coalition in Syria and surrounding countries.
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The need:
The 21 NGOs said last week they needed US$8.4 billion ($11.4 billion) to respond to the crisis.
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The Auction:
Art auction for Syria, Gow Langsford Gallery, 26 Lorne St, Auckland, Wed March 18, 5.30pm,
gowlangsfordgallery.co.nz
How can I make a donation?
You can make online donations, phone donations and offline donations.
MAKE AN ONLINE DONATION HERE
Phone donations can be made on 0800 90 5000.
Offline donations can be made by printing off the form below and filling it out (app users tap here). Or look in the print edition of the Herald.
