Seeing the beginning of a new life is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Having to tell a mother that the new life she had been expecting is suddenly gone is the most gut-wrenching experience. I experienced both of these in the same day. Each has left an impression on me that will last for the rest of my life.
The day started out like any other Capstone experience. That particular day, I would be shadowing in the OB/GYN department. We started off with seeing a patient who was in labor. As the resident prepared for the delivery, the attending told me to hold the patient’s leg as she pushed. I excitedly did what was asked of me, and the mother started to push. Within a few minutes, a healthy baby boy had joined us. I had to hold back tears of joy when I peered over to the mother’s face and then to the face of her spouse. They both beamed with pride. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, and I was so thankful that I was able to be part of it.
Towards the end of the experience, I was sitting in the boardroom listening to the buzz of conversation about the various patients in triage. Alarm was raised over a mother who had not received prenatal care and had come in because she hadn’t felt the baby move in a day. My attending decided that we should do an ultrasound of her abdomen. As we enter a small area divided off by curtains, my eyes rest upon a woman who was obviously distraught. I honestly didn’t understand what I was seeing as we watched the ultrasound, but immediately, I knew that was not normal. There was no movement. Oh please, I thought, don’t let this be what I think it could be. My heart dropped when the words “No cardiac movement” were typed onto the ultrasound image. At that very moment, the patient’s gentle sobs became cries of complete soul-crushing agony. She knew what was happening, and she couldn’t stop the anguish she felt. The conversation about the ultrasound findings couldn’t happen in a public space, so work was quickly done to move her to a private room. I had to leave the curtained-off area for a second because I was crying myself. I turned around to see that I was followed by a resident and the attending, also with tears in their eyes.
As physicians in training, we will see a variety of situations that will both make us feel indescribable joy as well as agonizing pain. It was natural for us to share our joy as we congratulated the new parents that morning, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to grieve with the patient. If I held her hand, would she think that I was showing compassion, or would she become angry and think I was showing pity? I just wanted to hold her hand, but I didn’t know if that was the proper thing to do. I asked the residents, and they reminded me that sometimes we just need to grieve with them, and it would be okay if I held her hand. This experience I will take with me for the rest of my life. Medicine isn’t all good experiences. For every high, we will more than likely experience a low, and at those times, we are human just like the patients we serve.
Amber Edinoff is a medical student at The University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix, Class of 2018. She is originally from Enterprise, Alabama, but spent 11 years of her life in second hometown of Oakland, California. She received her BA in psychology from UC Berkeley. She enjoys writing and watching movies.