On Watching a Former Student Help Deliver our Third Child
David hatem
What I remember most was her nervous high-pitched voice,
Her quick, even rapid speech, at times.
It began with hello,
In the hallway,
Then,
“I wondered if that was you when I saw the name,”
She said.
Later,
She joined me,
Walking down the same hall again,
Checking,
“Is it okay to have a resident involved?”
I said,
“It’s okay
With me.
I feel comfortable with you,
But please ask my wife.”
And she did,
Seeking clarity,
Defining roles,
Making certain,
In her nervousness.
Nervousness returned as she explained
The epidural,
Said it was okay,
Gave the thumbs up sign,
Maybe even giggled.
“I’ll be checking in,”
She said,
With flushed pink cheeks on a white face.
She kept returning,
Smiling, less calm than her superiors,
(Which I was thankful for);
Her superiors,
Who we saw less of,
Just her,
Constant,
Sweetly reassuring
Presence.
She was excited when the time came,
Voicing encouragement across the room,
To Michele, who she had first addressed
As Mrs.
“You’re doing such a good job of pushing,”
She said,
While I maintained my role,
Which was to count to ten,
Marking the time of each push with the contraction,
A task so rote,
And so simple,
That I joked
That our four-year-old would be better suited for it,
All the while thankful that I had some job.
And she encouraged,
Helped,
Cajoled the new life out,
Looked for and
Unwrapped the cord from
Around his neck,
Allowing the rest of our
Little person
(Is it a boy or is it a girl?)
To come out.
The cord,
Now released of its hold,
Allowed him to change,
From blue…
To blue!
I then became frozen,
Transported back to a time,
When I did the same,
Delivering a baby,
On my own,
A third year student,
Catching a baby,
Trying simply not to drop it,
As I saw a boy,
Or was it a girl,
Take a few weak breaths,
And gag.
And I froze,
Thinking,
What should I do now?
As I desperately reached for the bulb syringe,
Trying to suck his nose,
His throat,
His mouth,
Free of secretions,
And mucous,
That interfered with his full breath.
And I heard a voice telling me to
Hand over the baby,
To get the care he would need
From someone whose job it was
To know what to do,
And whose job I sometimes thought
Was to remind me that I
Did not know what to do.
I thought about the baby,
Who did fine,
By the way,
I thought about the baby,
Not because he did fine,
But because I wondered,
Whether I had delayed
Too long in handing him over
To those who knew.
I remember looking on,
Suctioning,
Wondering about what to do next
To prevent him from going from blue…
To blue.
And now,
Back in front of my eyes,
Our blue boy,
Was taken by our
Sometimes nervous,
Reassuring,
Encouraging,
Cheerful,
Former student,
Who knew what to do,
And handed him over,
To those who could make him pink,
And did.
– David Hatem, February 13, 2000, on the day Jonathan Harry Hatem was born
David Hatem is a General Internist here at UMass since 1988. Early in his practice he realized the personal value of reflecting on his day to day practice through writing. He and Emily Ferrara have been leading a Writing Elective for medical students since 1997. He has been involved in numerous Medical Humanities initiatives throughout his tenure at UMass Memorial Healthcare.
