October has had a lot of losses for me. Don't get it twisted, I've had a ton of "wins" and fun times, too, so I'll start with those. Obviously you know that both sets of parents came to visit Tom and I. We got to explore New England even more and we shared wonderful food and memories.
I transitioned to the night shifts. I'm writing at 3:25 AM while Brianne Rowan is in town. My dear friend from medical school who is interviewing at Brown for Family Medicine (she is interviewing after me because she took the year to do her masters in public health while I was off and interviewing for residency). Her arrival in Providence warms my heart after what has proven to be a very difficult past 2-3 weeks.
It all started with fun and games on the night shift. I got to work with an incredible team of happy, brilliant colleagues as we rang in the nights with flare.
It was one of my co-residents birthdays and what better way to celebrate at 2 AM than to dance around the work room while she dons a happy birthday banner that was covered in dust up in the corner cupboard of the work room?
For some reason we also found ourselves listening to the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack. This made for the best soundtrack we could imagine to inspire our dance moves :). I'll let you guess which song we were dancing to!
I have performed nearly 20 c-sections already in my time on nights and I have a week and a half to go! I met a lot of beautiful babies, moms, dads, and grandparents. I've even had the chance to wait with my scalpel at the ready at the uterus for a dad that was on his way up to the OR, walking in the door just in time to meet his son as we delivered him.
I've also given news to moms that their pregnancy they had worked so hard for was never going to be.
I've congratulated exhausted but resilient women who have brought a new life, and a new adventure, into the world. And as such, I get to see a lot of beautiful images like this:
I've delivered a 17 week old infant in the bed in the ER to a woman who had nothing right going on in her life and she was clinging to this baby as the one piece of life that was going right. I can only provide so much comfort, the moment is so raw, so vulnerable.
I've seen a mother become critically ill, nearing death, because she didn't have access to a provider that could perform an evacuation of her uterus for an infant that died inside of her. No provider was qualified or no one felt justified to perform the procedure.
I do not want to get political. My perspectives as a physician caring for woman is a unique one. I feel empowered being surrounded by incredible physicians and I had hope on Tuesday night that some of the progress we made in health care and access to basic rights are going to continue.
In the wee hours I delivered an infant with the sound of Donald Trump announcing his victory in the election booming over my shoulder in the background on the TV. I choose the word "booming" because it felt incredibly loud in my ears, in my heart. Here I was in this beautiful moment, simultaneously feeling joyful as well as sorrowful and afraid of what is to come. Will this mom, that was able to carry this baby to term despite a long history of pre-term deliveries thanks to modern medicine and access to health insurance, be the exception or the rule in the future?
I know I made it very clear by wearing my pant suit to work that day who I was voting for.
And I was surrounded by brilliant, like minded physicians that night
As I stood in a crowd around the TV in the break room watching the election unfold, I was shocked by the sense of loss and fear I had as the night progressed.
The following night, my worst nightmare came true in a very unsettling loss of a full term baby. As I stepped into the sunshine the next morning, I wept. It's unfair. It's shocking. It's hurtful. But it's my job. Obstetrics is unpredictable. It's fast-paced. It often goes right, but sometimes it goes terribly wrong--just like the rest of life.
Like the news that Diana recently shared on facebook. She has lung cancer, metastatic to her spine and rib. A non-smoking, healthy woman with advanced cancer. What? How? Why? Life is unrpredictable.
Hold on to your loved ones. Cherish the beautiful moments, even the small things.
My heart is heavy this month. I hope you read this not as a sign that I'm doing poorly, but rather read it as a reminder that life presents challenges in ways you would never predict. You'll never be ready or prepared, but you can choose to take the great things in life and hold onto them, love them, enjoy them.
I'm sending you love from Providence, recognizing full well that all too often I don't reach out to tell you that. Be well! And be kind to one another!
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