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Authors: James Grippando
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The program director had promised that sick time wouldn’t be held against her, but the implied understanding was that eventually she’d more than make up the lost time. For any resident, securing free time was like dealing with a loan shark: borrow an hour now, but payback’s a bitch.
With her passkey Peyton entered the restricted neonatal intensive care unit. Peyton had no official rounds here, but it had been a week since she’d visited her favorite premie. Little Jacob Gordon had spent the first three months of his life in the NICU, a fulltrimester that should have been spent in his mother’s womb. Each day his mother came to feed him, hold him, rock him. Peyton had assisted the neonatalogist during Jacob’s first few hours on the planet and had cared for him daily till her NICU rotation ended two months ago. Each day thereafter she’d made a point of visiting him and his mother. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.
She scrubbed at the sink and opened the door. As many times as she’d done it, entering NICU still gave her an ominous sensation. The lighting was dim for the benefit of sleeping newborns. Around the unit were more than a dozen separate stations, tiny babies encased in clear plastic isolettes, many of them seriously premature and living on IVs, some jaundiced and sleeping under lamps, all of them connected to heart and respiratory monitors. She cut directly toward Jacob’s corner. The monitors were silent. His isolette and crib were empty. Her heart pounded as she feared the worst.
“He’s gone home,” said the nurse.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
Peyton smiled, heartened to think of Jacob finally at home. Every day his mother used to talk about how she couldn’t wait to take him to the park and show him off. Peyton had been careful to remind her that, as with any child, it would be a while before it was safe for him to venture outside. Like twenty or thirty years.
“That’s great news,” she said, though she was suddenly saddened. Seeing children come and go was part of the job, but not getting to say goodbye to one like Jacob was tougher than usual. Especially on the heels of her own loss.
“You don’t look happy,” said the nurse.
“I’m very happy.” She checked the clock and said, “Guess I’d better get back to work.”
The nurse helped her with the door as Peyton passed on crutches. She was halfway down the hall by the time she realized that, at this pace, her bladder simply didn’t have the patience forher to hobble across the building to the ladies’ room. She did a quick about-face and entered the ladies’ room across from the NICU, then stopped short upon hearing her name in conversation.
“Did you see Dr. Shields is back?” It was a woman’s voice coming from behind the closed door of a bathroom stall.
“Yeah,” came the reply from another stall.
Peyton recognized the voices echoing against the tiled walls and floors. It was two NICU nurses.
“She looks like hell, don’t you think?”
“Poor girl. She was so pretty.”
Peyton didn’t move. They were obviously unaware she had returned to use the NICU bathroom.
“I hear she miscarried.”
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”
“My sister works in the ER at Brigham and Women’s. She saw the chart.”
“What a shame. She would have been a good mother.”
“You really think so? How well do you know her?”
“Not well. But she sure seems to love children. She is a pediatrician.”
“If you ask me, she doesn’t really love kids.”
Peyton blinked hard, as if trying to comprehend. It was the worst blow since her mother had questioned whether she’d wanted her baby.
“How can you say that?” asked the other nurse. “Little Jacob wasn’t even her patient anymore, and she still came to visit him every day.”
“That’s my point. She loves sick kids. They’re like a science project for her. Put her in a room with a healthy baby and she wouldn’t have a
With her passkey Peyton entered the restricted neonatal intensive care unit. Peyton had no official rounds here, but it had been a week since she’d visited her favorite premie. Little Jacob Gordon had spent the first three months of his life in the NICU, a fulltrimester that should have been spent in his mother’s womb. Each day his mother came to feed him, hold him, rock him. Peyton had assisted the neonatalogist during Jacob’s first few hours on the planet and had cared for him daily till her NICU rotation ended two months ago. Each day thereafter she’d made a point of visiting him and his mother. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.
She scrubbed at the sink and opened the door. As many times as she’d done it, entering NICU still gave her an ominous sensation. The lighting was dim for the benefit of sleeping newborns. Around the unit were more than a dozen separate stations, tiny babies encased in clear plastic isolettes, many of them seriously premature and living on IVs, some jaundiced and sleeping under lamps, all of them connected to heart and respiratory monitors. She cut directly toward Jacob’s corner. The monitors were silent. His isolette and crib were empty. Her heart pounded as she feared the worst.
“He’s gone home,” said the nurse.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
Peyton smiled, heartened to think of Jacob finally at home. Every day his mother used to talk about how she couldn’t wait to take him to the park and show him off. Peyton had been careful to remind her that, as with any child, it would be a while before it was safe for him to venture outside. Like twenty or thirty years.
“That’s great news,” she said, though she was suddenly saddened. Seeing children come and go was part of the job, but not getting to say goodbye to one like Jacob was tougher than usual. Especially on the heels of her own loss.
“You don’t look happy,” said the nurse.
“I’m very happy.” She checked the clock and said, “Guess I’d better get back to work.”
The nurse helped her with the door as Peyton passed on crutches. She was halfway down the hall by the time she realized that, at this pace, her bladder simply didn’t have the patience forher to hobble across the building to the ladies’ room. She did a quick about-face and entered the ladies’ room across from the NICU, then stopped short upon hearing her name in conversation.
“Did you see Dr. Shields is back?” It was a woman’s voice coming from behind the closed door of a bathroom stall.
“Yeah,” came the reply from another stall.
Peyton recognized the voices echoing against the tiled walls and floors. It was two NICU nurses.
“She looks like hell, don’t you think?”
“Poor girl. She was so pretty.”
Peyton didn’t move. They were obviously unaware she had returned to use the NICU bathroom.
“I hear she miscarried.”
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”
“My sister works in the ER at Brigham and Women’s. She saw the chart.”
“What a shame. She would have been a good mother.”
“You really think so? How well do you know her?”
“Not well. But she sure seems to love children. She is a pediatrician.”
“If you ask me, she doesn’t really love kids.”
Peyton blinked hard, as if trying to comprehend. It was the worst blow since her mother had questioned whether she’d wanted her baby.
“How can you say that?” asked the other nurse. “Little Jacob wasn’t even her patient anymore, and she still came to visit him every day.”
“That’s my point. She loves sick kids. They’re like a science project for her. Put her in a room with a healthy baby and she wouldn’t have a
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