red-faced, huffing and puffing woman is lying with thighs wide open across her bed. She’s squeezing the life out of her husband’s hand, and he’s taking it like a champ. He wears the quiet smile of a man who’s done this before and knows better than to say a damn word.
Smart guy.
“I need to push, I need to push!” she pants, her words thick with desperate intensity. Our eyes meet, and she looks at me like I’m her hero, like I’m the only person in the entire world who can relieve her pain and safely deliver her of her condition.
I know it’s my job, but damn it feels good to be needed.
“Okay, Missy, the doctor’s here. I couldn’t reach Dr. Cardwell, but this is Dr. Pierce, he’s going to take good care of you, and we’re going to get that baby delivered,” the nurse says. She scoots a tray of tools next to me and pulls out a paper delivery gown to cover my scrubs.
“I need you to breath, Missy,” I say, eyeing the monitors. Each time she has a contraction, the baby’s heart dips slightly. I don’t want to alarm her. I don’t want to cause panic. If she can deliver this baby soon, all will be fine. It’s my job to keep her calm and to get this baby delivered safely. “We’re going to start pushing. Are you ready?”
“This is her fourth baby, doctor,” the nurse says. She’s talking to me, but she’s smiling at Missy. “She’s an old pro.”
“Oh, this won’t take long then.” I smile at her, my hands finding her vagina and massaging and stretching her perineum. The top of the baby’s head is coming down.
“Last one came in four pushes,” her husband says. It’s typically the woman who brags about those minor details, but he seems just as proud.
“All right, ten seconds of pushing, Missy. Here we go,” I say. The nurse pulls Missy’s leg back and her husband grabs the other. She pushes a few times and out slides a newborn baby girl with a full head of dark hair. I suction her nose and mouth, and the nurse takes her and cleans her up.
Missy is crying, happy tears of course, and her husband is cupping her cheek with his hand, his forehead pressed against hers.
The nurse swaddles the baby and hands her to the mother, laying her across her bare chest. Her father whispers, “She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Missy pulls her gaze off her baby for a second and looks at me. Her face, which was previously writhing in pain, is now softer, and her eyes are gentle and misty. “Dr. Pierce, would you mind taking a picture with us? You know, for the baby book?”
This is why I do this.
“Of course,” I say. I clean up and head to the side of her bed. Her husband hands one of the nurses their camera and we lean in, posing for a picture that will be cherished for the rest of their days.
“One, two, three!” the nurse declares with a heart-warmed grin before the flash goes off.
I lean away, placing my hand on her shoulder. “You did great, Missy. Really. You’re a pro.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you, Dr. Pierce,” she says.
I wave her comment away. “All I did was get here in time to catch. You did the hard part.”
“Dr. Pierce, if I could get your signature here,” the nurse pulls my attention away, holding a pen and pointing to the birth certificates and hospital records lined up along the counter. The room is hot now with the afternoon sun beating in through the window. I push up my sleeves and take the pen.
A second later, Missy and her husband laugh. When I look up, they’re smiling in my direction.
“That’s something you don’t see everyday,” Missy giggles.
“Excuse me?” I ask with a polite smile.
“I can’t wait to tell my sister that a tatted up doctor delivered her niece,” Missy laughs. “I’ve never seen a doctor with a whole sleeve of tats. You drive a motorcycle too?”
“No, no motorcycle,” I say. “Just a fan of ink.”
“You single, doctor?” Missy asks. One of her eyes squints, and she cocks her head
Smart guy.
“I need to push, I need to push!” she pants, her words thick with desperate intensity. Our eyes meet, and she looks at me like I’m her hero, like I’m the only person in the entire world who can relieve her pain and safely deliver her of her condition.
I know it’s my job, but damn it feels good to be needed.
“Okay, Missy, the doctor’s here. I couldn’t reach Dr. Cardwell, but this is Dr. Pierce, he’s going to take good care of you, and we’re going to get that baby delivered,” the nurse says. She scoots a tray of tools next to me and pulls out a paper delivery gown to cover my scrubs.
“I need you to breath, Missy,” I say, eyeing the monitors. Each time she has a contraction, the baby’s heart dips slightly. I don’t want to alarm her. I don’t want to cause panic. If she can deliver this baby soon, all will be fine. It’s my job to keep her calm and to get this baby delivered safely. “We’re going to start pushing. Are you ready?”
“This is her fourth baby, doctor,” the nurse says. She’s talking to me, but she’s smiling at Missy. “She’s an old pro.”
“Oh, this won’t take long then.” I smile at her, my hands finding her vagina and massaging and stretching her perineum. The top of the baby’s head is coming down.
“Last one came in four pushes,” her husband says. It’s typically the woman who brags about those minor details, but he seems just as proud.
“All right, ten seconds of pushing, Missy. Here we go,” I say. The nurse pulls Missy’s leg back and her husband grabs the other. She pushes a few times and out slides a newborn baby girl with a full head of dark hair. I suction her nose and mouth, and the nurse takes her and cleans her up.
Missy is crying, happy tears of course, and her husband is cupping her cheek with his hand, his forehead pressed against hers.
The nurse swaddles the baby and hands her to the mother, laying her across her bare chest. Her father whispers, “She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Missy pulls her gaze off her baby for a second and looks at me. Her face, which was previously writhing in pain, is now softer, and her eyes are gentle and misty. “Dr. Pierce, would you mind taking a picture with us? You know, for the baby book?”
This is why I do this.
“Of course,” I say. I clean up and head to the side of her bed. Her husband hands one of the nurses their camera and we lean in, posing for a picture that will be cherished for the rest of their days.
“One, two, three!” the nurse declares with a heart-warmed grin before the flash goes off.
I lean away, placing my hand on her shoulder. “You did great, Missy. Really. You’re a pro.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you, Dr. Pierce,” she says.
I wave her comment away. “All I did was get here in time to catch. You did the hard part.”
“Dr. Pierce, if I could get your signature here,” the nurse pulls my attention away, holding a pen and pointing to the birth certificates and hospital records lined up along the counter. The room is hot now with the afternoon sun beating in through the window. I push up my sleeves and take the pen.
A second later, Missy and her husband laugh. When I look up, they’re smiling in my direction.
“That’s something you don’t see everyday,” Missy giggles.
“Excuse me?” I ask with a polite smile.
“I can’t wait to tell my sister that a tatted up doctor delivered her niece,” Missy laughs. “I’ve never seen a doctor with a whole sleeve of tats. You drive a motorcycle too?”
“No, no motorcycle,” I say. “Just a fan of ink.”
“You single, doctor?” Missy asks. One of her eyes squints, and she cocks her head
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