A glimpse into the future

I almost watched a life leave this world last week. And it hit hard because this time next year the life of others will gradually become my responsibility. It was my first day of a desperately needed break, I was headed out to a night on the town. As I stepped off one bus and waited for another, I watched the commotion across the street as numerous firemen and paramedics struggled to save a life. One of the paramedics was vigorously performing CPR while another was attaching the defibrillator. They all stepped back as the machine did its thing and CPR was resumed. This repeated itself until a viable rhythm was restored and they began to load the patient into the ambulance. People around me also waiting for the bus watched with worried eyes and fidgety fingers. As we got on the bus, people turned to their phones and back to their own worlds but I could not.

Bit by bit, I can feel myself starting to assume that doctor role and all of the challenges that come with it. I have always been someone who has always appreciated the 9-5 routine; being able to turn off your brain as soon as you leave the door and go back to your personal life. That doesn't exist in medicine. Life and death wait for no one. Medicine isn't just a career, it is like a spouse. You gradually learn more about each other, grow together, fight together, cry together. You have duties to uphold 24/7. In the same way you make yourself available to your partner, you accept being on call and all that comes with it because the return is entirely worth what you put in, but that doesn't make it much easier. I can't even begin to imagine how I will feel in a year from now, but I feel like I'll be ready. 

The Miracle of Life

Earlier this week I had the privilege of being present for a C-section. It was probably one of the most existential moments I have ever had because I was a C-section baby and I was finally going to understand how I came into this world. As I stood in my scrubs and gown pretending to look important, I felt as if there was a blending of time and that there was no past present or future. Only heartbeats. When I shook the husband's hand I saw for a brief moment my father in his eyes. In his shifting stance and unsettled gaze, I pictured my own parents 26 years ago; what they must have been thinking and feeling.

The first and only time I had ever witnessed a birth prior to this experience was about 13 years ago, when I was at sleep away camp. As the free-spirited nature enthusiast I was, I ran away into the woods to escape the company of my fellow human counterparts. As I sat down by a tree, I noticed a deer approaching. The animal hopped around, haphazardly, with seemingly little coordination or purpose. I noticed a brown bulge emerging just under the animals tail and thought to myself jeez constipation in the wild is rough. As the bulge grew, my expression changed from amusement to awe as this once thought to be bowel movement took the shape of deer. This deer, a mere 15 feet away acknowledged my presence and continued delivering her baby. It almost felt like she wanted me to be there. I sat motionless, watching as mother nature unfolded her secrets to me. After a few minutes of straining, the fawn fell into the grass, the amniotic sac broke, and the small little creature uncertainly began moving, trying to stand. The mother licked the fawn gently until the little one finally made it to its feet and they both walked off into the forest like nothing had even happened. It was incredible. We as humans make such a fuss about having children, and this was just so natural and humble. The whole thing took about 15 minutes. I never thought I could find the same sense of peace in our man made world but much to my surprise, I had a similar experience standing in the OR that day.

"Alright we're starting," said the doctor to the team as the first incision was made. The room was calm, but not silent. Everyone was tending to their specified tasks, talking merrily as they went. I knew we were getting close when I was finally able to see tufts of black hair and with one good pull the head was completely exposed and shortly thereafter the baby was out. The climax of the event was when they removed the surfactant and the baby (and mother) began to cry. The baby was rushed off to be assessed, cord blood was taken, the placenta was weighed, and an inventory of all medical supplies was taken to make sure nothing was forgotten inside the patient. Surprisingly, it all felt so natural. I know we have been indoctrinated from such an early age that birth is a medicalized act (and almost all elements of society really). But amidst all the gowns and gloves and forceps and harsh lighting, the beauty of nature still came through. The miracle of life was no less incredible.

Surprisingly, the longest part of the procedure was suturing the mom back up, which again felt unusually natural and serene. Obviously this experience was a best case scenario and not all births go this smoothly. But as I stared into this tiny little face that had only been in the world a few minutes, I just found it so mind-boggling that life even exists in the first place. That we are here. That I am here. In the wild, I would never have made it for at least 20 different reasons, and yet here I am. And that one day, I will be reunited with the miracle of life when I have a child of my own.