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OB Call... - Nobody wears a white coat any more...
...a tribute to becoming a doctor.
ayradyss
ayradyss
OB Call...
I'm not OB proctor again, she tells me, brows furrowed.  I was just proctor Monday.  I shrug.  "I just need someone to talk to about these patients so I can send them home."  Phone calls are made, and she sighs.
He said "But they really like you!"  Like that makes it better.
"Think of it this way.  At least I'm your resident.  And we'll have lots of fun."  She laughs, shaking her head. What've you got?

I walk out of the call room to check on patients.   The board has changed - from dilation-station-effacement-special notes to "#105".  Delivered.  Without me again.  Second one tonight.  I stop him as he comes out into the nurses station.  "Sneaky delivering babies behind my back!"  News flash - I don't need a proctor.  He says it with a smile, but it reminds me what it must be like to be an obstetrician here.  You don't get to deliver your own patients - there's always someone hanging over your shoulder.  And tonight, he's in a do-it-yourself mood.  I haven't gotten to do much at all.  Interestingly enough, the words don't sting.  I think they would have, not long ago.
Later on, in the C-section, I bring it up.  "So, if you promise to let me know if you're doing something interesting, I promise not to proctor you."  He nods.  Sounds like a deal.  It means I don't do his vaginal deliveries, but I've done 63 since August already.  And it means nobody's waking me up to push at 3 AM for his patients, too.

I'm having a good day, even if I was running steady until noon-plus.  I've sent two people home and when I presented my patient to the proctor I did so with a plan already in mind, called her, made some followup plans.  I took a little nap and fixed a pregnant woman's migraine with Reglan and Benadryl and IV fluids.  And I keep thinking about the fact that tomorrow night is spa night, and Sunday I'm not working for anyone at all.

Postcall on Tuesday night, feeling like someone had run me over.  I'd spent the day staring into space, more or less, and just about to go to bed when my pager goes off.  It's my partner, on OB.  "Your patient, multip, ruptured, four cm."  Which means back to the hospital.  She delivered at 3 AM and I made an executive decision to go home instead of sleeping there for a second night in a row, slept in until ten since there were no scheduled sections, and I think I might have actually gotten enough sleep because I'm feeling better already instead of sick for weeks and weeks.

All in all, it's a good day.
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