November 22nd, 2004

White Coat

They make it hard.

I am at a bar, pretending with admirable (to me) intensity to be listening to the woman halfway down the long table. She is talking about Zoloft. She is, while not an employee of Pfizer inc, who are paying for the table, the food, and the drinks, at least a bed-buddy with them. I cannot hear her. I sip a Sam Adams and watch the diagonal length of the table, because I can see - also pretending to be listening - a Medicine Intern I have previously raved about in these pages. N, who plays Magic and thinks I'm a goddess for being in the World of Warcraft beta and is still working on getting together a chance to have a drug company pay for an all-night Halo 2 party. He winked at me when I came in and sat down.
K, who is the intern on OB-Gyn and who has taken me under her wing this month, stops by my seat. "Good, you're here. I was going to page you." She details tomorrow's OB schedule, stressing that I am in no way obligated to come to the 0645 lecture on forceps deliveries and then asks, "You are coming to clinic in the morning, right?" I stammer. Sure. "Good, because it's going to be busy, and we need your help. You're so independent, it really helps."
I am not independent, O Best Beloved. I am clinging and dependent and scared motherloving spitless of new situations. But I am even more afraid of being thought to be lazy, and I carry with me the memory of overhearing a group of residents talking: "You should've seen S. We were done early, short-staffed and everything." I have the fortune of being fond of S, and knowing that he is a nice guy, not a gunner, and completely devoted to his work, and I want what is said behind his back to be said behind mine. I am also my father's daughter, and when something frightens me I throw myself at it in a frantic attempt to discern why. And so I have thrown myself at OB clinic and deliveries and today I threw myself at a C-section and sure, I didn't do much but I did it by myself and K was quite impressed.
I threw myself at a circumcision Friday and I did well, according to my supervising resident. I am feeling almost comfortable doing colposcopy, and I think if someone were to suddenly deliver a baby in the middle of Marshall Fields I could probably catch it in all the right ways.

I am going to OB clinic tomorrow morning because they want me to be there. That feeling warms me so much more than the Sam Adams (which isn't a bad beer).

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I hear the birthing center has to undergo an institutional review because of these women. Good. I want it to be a safe place to have babies.

Speaking of having babies, I did perform a delivery on Friday, and into my hands with almost no assistance from staff was delivered a 7# baby boy. No tears. He was beautiful. I love this work.
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