The Human Touch 2013 - University of Colorado Denver

She Lost Me First [Continued]
“Do you feel anything?” Dr. C asks. I know at this moment she is taking one of
those big hemostats and pinching the crap out of my swollen skin.
“Nope, I don’t feel it.” Here we go.
I hear them as they get to work on opening me up. I can’t decide if it’s more
soothing to ignore them or to listen to what they are doing. The patient in me
tells me to think about the baby, the baby’s nursery, my husband holding my
hand… but the med student in me is curious. I vividly imagine the size of the
incision and the layer of my abdominal fascia on which they are working The
characteristic smell of the cautery reaches my nostrils and I shudder. Yep,
there’s the smell of my burning fl esh.
“Uterine incision,” I hear Dr. C exclaim. Ok, this is it! Time to meet the little boy!
I hear Dr. S gasp as a loud squirt of amniotic fl uid hits her mask. And then I
hear him. Before he is even out of the uterus he is crying loudly. “Nuchal cord,”
describes Dr. C to the pediatric doctor. Dr. S applies some fi rm pressure and
before I know it I’m looking at my angry, wet, beautiful baby boy lying on my chest.
I gaze steadily into those big baby blues momentarily forgetting the surrounding
action in the OR. At this moment my whole identity is this baby’s mother. After
months of kicking and squirming inside, he has fi nally made his appearance.
Welcome to the world baby boy!
After he leaves with my husband to get cleaned up in the nursery, I’m left in the OR
staring blankly once again at the blue drape inches from my face. My right shoulder
begins to hurt which I know is referral pain from my organs protesting at this
invasion. While I can’t see it, I know my uterus has been externalized and is sitting
on top of my abdomen getting a vigorous rub down and stitches from Dr. C. I turn
my head to the suction bucket. Wow, that’s a lot of red fl uid splashing around in
there! How much blood am I allowed to lose? I quiz myself.
“I’m going to give you some more pain medication,” interrupts the anesthesiologist.
“Ok, sounds good,” I reply.
As I turn back to stare at the vast blue drape I know I will never forget these
moments: the moment I was a patient, the moment I became a mother, the moment
I was on the other side of the curtain. •
King Protea Flower [Oswald Pfenninger]
PG 102
PG 103