The Unfeeling Doctor
Betwixt Birthing Babies:
Poems About Love, Loss, and More Love
by Melissa Yuan-Innes, M.D.
Published by Olo Books
Smashwords Edition
In association with Windtree Press
Dedicated to my babies and my dad
Part I: Baby
38 weeks and 3 days Pregnant
Contractions,
Gentle squeezes,
Like my uterus is hugging the baby.
Probably Braxton-Hicks contractions.
And yet...
My eyes shoot open.
I check the alarm:
2 a.m.
I poke Matt,
Tell him,
Contractions.
He mutters, "Not yet,"
Pats my stomach
And rolls over to sleep.
I get up
And start making tabouleh.
If I'm in labour,
I'll need food.
Ready
I walk our dog, Olo,
Up and down our gravel road.
"You about ready yet?"
Calls one of my neighbours.
"Yup." I wave back
Without telling him,
Yes, I'm having contractions right now,
Under this Madonna T-shirt!
When I was the obstetrics resident on call,
For two months in a row,
I'd slide on a sterile glove
(there's only one glove per ob pack,
since you only need one hand)
and check the woman's cervix.
Only problem is,
Now that I'm the pregnant one,
I can't reach around my big belly
To properly assess myself.
I had asked Matt,
If I bring you
Sterile gloves and gel,
Would you check my cervix?
It might save us a trip to the hospital.
He declined.
"When it comes to that area,
I'm more of a tourist."
If you're not having enough contractions,
And your cervix is still thick and closed,
And you haven't broken your waters,
They either send you home
Or you roam the gloomy hospital halls,
Trying to make your uterus
Restart.
My contractions don't step up,
Even though I march up and down a hill,
So I tell Matt to go to work
While I head to my ob/gyn's office
For my weekly appointment.
My Appointment with Dr. K
He checks me and says, "Two to three centimetres.
Dr. G is on today for anaesthesia.
She is the best.
I can bring you in now and break your waters."
I laugh.
I assume he is joking.
My husband is in Montreal.
My dog is waiting for me to come home.
This can't be happening now.
He shakes his head and
Shows me the call schedule.
"This is who's doing anaesthesia on the weekend."
Neither of us recognizes the name.
It's a locum doctor covering,
A stranger who might shove a needle
Between my vertebrae
And inject freezing
Just outside my epidural sac.
Hmm.
But what if
I don't even need
An epidural?
I say nothing.
He says,
"If you were my wife,
I would bring you in today."
Man.
I'm not ready to be in labour.
I still have to buy dog food.
After Agreeing to Come Back at 6 p.m.
On the way home,
I buy the dog food and
Stop at my favourite full serve gas station.
The attendant says, "Soon, sweetie?"
I nod without telling him
That ever since that internal exam
In the doctor's office,
I'm having more contractions.
In fact, I'm having one
right now
While he's pumping ethanol
Into my minivan.
Hospital Prep
Matt gets my email and
Calls back right away.
My father calls from Ottawa.
He and my mother are supposed to dog-sit
But, even though I'd already warned them
About the contractions this morning,
My mother has turned off her cell phone
And he can't get a hold of her.
She is shopping,
Or sewing,
Or doing God-knows-what.
Dad laughs, "Well, probably nothing's going to happen today."
Really?
Because my doctor's about to break my waters.
Meh.
At least my husband
Leaves work at 2 p.m.
only stopping
to buy a new memory card
for the camera.
He is, first and foremost,
An engineer.
Fetal Heart Monitor
By 6:20 p.m.,
I'm in a gown
And hooked up to the machine.
I like seeing our baby's heartbeat
Clicking along
Mostly at 140 to 160.
Good numbers.
I like seeing my contractions
Even if they don't make
As impressive hills and valleys
As I think they should.
The nurse banishes Matt
to carry our luggage to our room
And turns the fetal monitor away from me.
I say, I was watching that.
She says, "It's not for you."
When she leaves the room,
I turn the monitor so I can see it again.
I Can Hear You
The nurse
Snatches my labour plans out of my hands.
"You won't be needing those."
She sniffs over them
Reading them out loud to the other nurses,
Clearly thinking
I'm some hoity-toity miss
With new-fangled "ideas."
But really, the only exciting things in there
Are that
a) I'll have an epidural if necessary,
But not necessarily an epidural, and
b) I want my husband to announce the baby's sex
Instead of the doctor.
That's what my friend Sev always suggested
If the parents didn't know the sex already
And I thought it was a good idea.
Dr. G arrives for the anaesthesia consult.
The nurse tells her,
Her condemnation ringing down the hallway,
"She doesn't want an epidural!
I warned her!"
Dr. G replies,
"I have a full caseload tomorrow.
I'm not coming back in the middle of the night."
When Dr. G comes in,
She regards me with wary eyes.
"I heard you want to do this naturally."
I'm not in too much pain right now,
I say, equally polite.
I don't want an epidural if I'm not having pain.
"I live out of town, so I won't be coming back in,"
she tells me.
That's fine. I won't call you then.
She leaves.
I turn up my music
And check over the equipment
At the incubator.
Resus Preparation
When Matt comes back
From putting away our luggage
And my tabouleh,
I point to the neonatal resuscitation guidelines
Posted on the wall
Above the incubator.
I meant to review
neonatal resuscitation!
We should practice now!
There's no Code Pink team here
And I've heard the ob/gyns don't run it.
I'd be the first doctor here!
Matt doesn't want to coach me,
So I mumble epinephrine doses
To myself.
Dr. K Breaks My Waters
It really does
Look like a knitting needle:
A plastic needle
With a small hook on the end.
Such a humble instrument
To make me flood the bed.
I'm Not in That Much Pain
My contractions pick up
After I lose that amniotic fluid.
The pain's not that bad.
I walk around,
Circling my small room,
Urging the baby forward.
But when my iTunes clicks over
To a continuing medical education lecture
About atrial fibrillation,
I groan.
When I'm in labour,
Even minor labour,
I deserve a study break.
Matt takes off all my medical lectures
And Christmas music
And the opera
I meant to listen to someday
So I can labour in peace.
The Funniest Song
Is the Killers
Singing
"Mr. Brightside"
Unplugged
And slightly out of tune.
The Pain
Won't let up now
I'm okay with pain
As in contractions
With a pause
In between bouts.
But this won't quit.
Baby, baby, baby
I moan,
Reminding myself why I'm doing this.
Bitch nurse comes to check me.
Ouch!
"Seven to eight centimetres."
Okay,
Now I'll take the Demerol.
Bitch Nurse Goes on Break
Another nurse comes in
Soft voice
Gentle hands
Tells me I'm doing great
She smells like onions but
I don't care
I wish she could stay.
So much better
Better than the horror show nurse
Better than
My silent, helpless husband
Better than
the
pain.
She asks how I am
I point at the Demerol and gasp,
THAT is doing DICK.
She checks.
Bitch nurse
Forgot
To turn the pump on.
After the Demerol Kicks In
Dizzy—
have
to
lie
down
Bitch nurse
Reaches inside me
Pain
Spikes
I snarl,
WHAT
Are
You
DOING?
"I'm pushing back
Your anterior lip!"
she says cheerily.
"Would you like me to do it again?"
NO.
And even bitch nurse
Looks scared.
Dr. K Comes In
Checks me,
Agrees I'm at ten centimetres,
Says,
"Take a break.
Stop pushing."
Why
would
I
do
that?
He tells bitch nurse,
"I'm going to watch TV."
30 minutes of pushing
I'm not tired.
Pushing
Push
Ing
Pushing!!!
Pushing
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
Push
It's Official
I will never have this baby
I will never hold
Him or her in my arms
It is stuck
And so am I.
Push
I See Matt's Agonized Face
Not helping me
I focus on
Ugly floral wallpaper
It morphs
Into
A
blur
Push
I Can Still Hear Them
Bitch nurse says to my face,
"You're a good pusher"
but to Dr. K, she says,
"She's a pretty good little pusher."
It's 2 a.m.
I'm beyond tired.
They're putting up Syntocin.
Dr. K comes in.
"We could push
for another half hour
or
do a C-section."
I look at him and say,
Push.
"The Head Is Right There," Says Dr. K
And then what?
"And then you push it out!"
I'm crying.
"Why are you crying?
You're an emergency doctor.
You are used to this."
Yes,
I say, still crying,
And in the emergency room,
Things happen FAST.
He just stares at me.
Really, I'm afraid
I will never have a live baby
That all this pain
Is for naught.
"I Can See the Head," Says Bitch Nurse
"Brown hair," she says.
"I was hoping for red,"
says Matt.
Well.
At least it has a head.
PUSH
"You Have a Tight Introitus," Says Dr. K
"An episiotomy would be better
for delivery
and for intercourse."
I shake my head.
I have not been impressed
By the literature
On episiotomies.
He stares at me.
"You want an episiotomy
or a tear?"
I am beyond tired,
But I know this.
Tear.
PUSH
PUSH
PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH
No thinking
Beyond pain
Beyond fatigue
PUSH
PUSH
PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH
Beyond music
Beyond Matt's agonized face
PUSH
PUSH
PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH
Baby's head is out
Then suddenly
Shoulders, and...
Baby is born.
They Put the Baby on My Stomach
Baby is awake.
Right away,
I look into wide open eyes.
I never thought
I'd have a baby with blue eyes.
The eyes
Are blue,
"but very dark," Max points out.
Like the ocean
On a cloudy day.
I look and right away,
I feel like we understand each other.
And I know the baby's name.
The Second Thing I Notice
He has a scrotum
Red and swollen.
So I know it's a boy
Before Matt announces it
But I smile anyway.
How strange.
I thought I was having a girl.
Baby Names
We hadn't decided.
We played baby name "Survivor,"
Proposing and crossing names off a card
On our refrigerator.
For boys,
We finally agreed
on Max
or Jasper.
"Jasper is nice,"
says Dr. K
as he sews up
my second degree tear.
"Now go, Daddy.
Take a picture of the baby
On the scale!" Dr. K commands Matt,
Probably to distract him from the tear.
I just lie there.
I can't believe it.
We have a baby.
Dr. K Is Smiling
"The baby was occiput posterior.
His face was pointing
Sunny side up.
That was why it took so long.
But in the end, he turned around
And came out."
I goggle at him.
But why didn't you tell me?
I've seen
(and delivered)
other babies
who were OP.
No wonder I was pushing
For three hours!
Oh, well.
I'm smiling too.
Latching
I've got to take advantage
Of our baby's wakefulness
Not just for pictures
But for our first
Attempt
At nursing.
Bitch nurse disappears.
A much nicer nurse #3
Helps me try to feed.
She coaches me,
Repositions him
As I bring my baby's mouth
Up to my breast.
He looks at it,
Opens his mouth, and—
Ouch!
Did he bite me?
He pulls back,
Looks at my breast,
Latches on again, and—
Yowsa!
Everyone says
Breastfeeding
Is not supposed to hurt!
To the Ward
Nice nurse wheels me to my room.
I'm not supposed to walk
For reasons that are unclear to me,
But they do say
I lost a lot of blood
So I guess it's all right.
She offers to keep
Our baby at the nursing station
So I can sleep
But I can't imagine
Letting him out of my sight.
Hark. It's a Baby!
He kind of honks
And yelps
when he sleeps
In a plastic bassinet.
The nurse says,
"Yes, we worked up another baby
who made a lot of noise.
He turned out to be
Just a noisy baby."
I Wake Up
And put my hands on my belly
To feel the baby move
To make sure it's alive
And then I remember
The baby is in a bassinet
Outside of me.
He is breathing.
Yay.
Pediatrician Wants to Examine Baby
So they wheel him out of the room.
I chase after them
Down the length of the hall.
Wait!
They say, "You run pretty good
For a woman who just had a baby."
The pediatrician hardly says a word,
But he writes the baby's length
(19 inches)
on a tongue depressor
and tells me
that my baby has a hydrocele
but his testes are otherwise normal.
Geez.
All I know about hydroceles
Is that you usually ignore them.
I'll have to read up.
By the Pricking of My Heels
Every baby
Get a blood test
To make sure
It doesn't have
Congenital thyroid
Or metabolic problems.
I want to be there.
The nurses are reluctant,
Afraid I might freak out
To see them puncture his heel
And squeeze the blood out.
But they make an exception
Because I'm a doctor
And I stroke his head
While he cries.
I have to say,
I wouldn't expect to pull rank
Just to stay beside
my newborn son,
But I'll do whatever I have to.
Matt Won't Pick a Baby Name
"You did all the work."
Let's flip a coin.
"No. You decide," he says.
No. It's cool.
Let's say heads it's Max,
Tails it's Jasper,
Okay?
He flips.
We look at the coin.
It's Max.
I knew it.
My Friends Tell Me Later
They like Max better
And Jasper
Is a dog's name.
Hmm.
I suspect that
If we'd named him Jasper
We'd hear different.
Our Dog
"They" say
our dog
might be jealous.
"They" say
to bring home a piece of baby clothing
and give the dog a treat
so that Olo will associate Max's smell
with good stuff.
In my mind,
This may make Olo associate Max
With food.
Anyway,
Matt's here with me.
He's not going to traipse home
(an 80-minute round trip drive)
With a used onesie
For fear of our dog.
My Parents Visit the Hospital that Evening
"Cutie."
"Cu-tie."
"Cu-tie."
"Cu-tie."
"Cu-tie."
"Cu-tie."
7 a.m. Rounds with Dr. K
I hear the nurses say,
"And room 2406 wants to leave
even though it's barely been 24 hours."
Since I just gave birth
Less than a day ago,
I don't get out of bed
But wave at Dr. K
Through the crack in the door.
He says,
"Oh, it's Melissa.
Sure, let her out."
At Home, My Parents Are Waiting
Flurry of food,
Of activity.
But mostly,
I hold on to Max.
I cradle him,
I nurse him.
He is mine.
"Wow, he really watches you,"
says my mother,
when she gets to hold him
in the kitchen.
"When you talk,
It doesn't matter who's got him,
He's looking at you."
I turn.
Sure enough,
Although he's nestled in
My mother's arms,
The eyes of my little bundled one
track me
as I move
to the south side kitchen counter.
Smart baby.
I don't want to take my eyes of him, either.
Olo's Reaction
I pat Olo.
I walk Olo.
He must be confused
At this tiny new bundle,
But he never snaps,
Never bites.
Good dog.
More Olo Fears
I'm not worried about Olo,
But everyone else is.
Our cleaner
Spends extra time
Sucking up dog hair.
She thinks
We will give Olo away
Because the baby will develop allergies
To our dog's long, golden hair.
When the coyotes howl
In the woods outside our house
(and, if you've never heard them yip and howl,
it is spine-chilling),
My mother blames Olo.
I go online,
Find articles on how coyotes
stay away from big dogs
so actually,
Olo is protecting us.
My mother won't even read it.
She still thinks Olo will eat our baby.
Oh, well.
The good news is,
Max doesn't sneeze
Despite the dog hair.
Our Friends Call
All my non-mother friends
And my few mother friends
Want to know
The gory details
Of my labour story.
I am happy to tell them.
The Spectre of SIDS
I want to watch Max
All the time.
I'm glad when he wakes up at night.
Sometimes, I'll lie there
Tense
Waiting
For him to cry.
If something happens,
I want to resuscitate him
Before he's down
For more than four minutes.
"But that means we have to watch him
all the time," objects Matt.
Yes, of course.
What's the problem?
Max Sleeps Better in Someone's Arms
Longer,
Deeper,
Cuddled up
Eyes slittled closed
(with his eyes closed,
he looks more Chinese,
and I love him even more).
Once, I try to sleep,
But I can hear my father
Blasting something on TV
Something with lots of guns.
How will this affect Max's baby hearing?
How healthy is it
For a newborn
to hear firearms?
I leap out of bed
To check
And Max isn't even in Dad's arms,
Just in his car seat.
Max's sleeping, but
I seize the remote control,
Turn down the volume,
And I'm almost crying.
You should be holding him!
He's only two days old!
"Okay, okay," says Dad.
"I was just trying to make it easier for you,
that he doesn't need to be held
all the time."
I am aware
That while some women warp into Bridezilla,
I didn't buy into the whole
"Princess La-Di-Da,
Cater to me, serfs
For I am to be wed" thing,
but
now
I
Am
Rocking
Momzilla.
Still,
when Dad unbuckles Max
And takes him gently into his arms,
I think Dad
Secretly
Likes
The excuse
To hold him.
So it's actually win-win.
Breastfeeding
Giant
Massive
Swollen
Porn star breasts.
But at least
My milk
Finally
Comes
In.
Breastfeeding More
I'm nursing right now,
I tell my friend Leah
On the phone.
"Really?
But didn't it hurt when he latched on?
Those first few times?"
Yup. I thought he'd bit me.
I still usually curl my toes,
Close my eyes
And pray for a second
During first letdown.
"And what about that weird tingling
When your milk comes in.
Did you get that?"
Yup.
Feels strange.
I imagine my fairy godmother
Waving her wand
Over my breasts.
It's so messy,
I tell her.
If he's in bed with me
And I nurse on one side,
The other side leaks all over the bed.
"I'd forgotten about that.
Your body figures it out
And stops leaking.
It doesn't hurt after a while, either"
But what about co-sleeping
And nursing?
If you nurse in bed,
using the side closest to the mattress
how do you switch to the other side?
You either have to roll him over you
To get to the other side,
Or you have to crawl over him!
"I usually roll my daughter," she says.
"They get used to it
and don't wake up."
Strange.
But when my other friends talk about
Cracked nipples
Or mastitis,
I'm so happy
To have escaped that madness.
What's This?
What do I behold in
The medial canthus
(middle corner)
of Max's eye?
Is it...pus?
OMG!
Eye infection in a newborn!
Not a joke!
Holy crap!
Bundle him up!
Let's get to the emergency room!
We need antibiotics!
My mother says,
"It looks like a blocked tear duct."
I ignore her, wave goodbye.
Double Take
The doctor who comes on
Does a double take
When he sees me holding a newborn,
Says, "I wondered why
You weren't on the schedule."
(I rarely work
at this hospital,
and I had a modest baby bump,
so he hadn't realized
I was expecting.)
He writes me a prescription,
But doesn't want to take a culture
For fear of poking my infant's eyeball.
I say,
"If you don't mind,
I'll do the swab."
The nurse helps me hold Max down
While I swab his eyeball.
My baby hardly fusses.
Done.
Dear Doctor
I e-mail a friend
Who does a lot of pediatric ER,
Feel compelled to tell him
That I've never had an STD,
But I'm scared for Max.
Newborn conjunctivitis,
Oh my...
Culture Comes Back
It's just white blood cells,
No bacterial growth.
I'm confused
Until the ophthalmologist
Tells me
It's a blocked tear duct
And I should massage it.
Grandma 1, new mom 0.
But, as my pediatric ER doc friend says,
THANK GOD.
Max's Road Trip
We are going to see Charlotte.
Not Charlotte,
South Carolina,
Although we've been there, too.
No, we are going to see Charlotte,
Matt's mother,
Who now lives in a nursing home.
Charlotte
Matt and I started dating in high school
After I asked him for a ride home
So I could study for my physics test.
I offered to take him out to lunch
As a thank you.
I managed to drive to his house in the country,
In the snow,
But turned too sharply
Into his driveway
And got stuck in the snowbank.
I rang the doorbell.
Matt's mother, Charlotte,
Smiled at me,
Introduced herself
Put on her boots,
Offered to dig me out
And spread kitty litter
(kitty litter? Huh?
Apparently it increases traction)
Under my wheels,
But eventually, it was Matt
Who freed my car
By rocking it back and forth
Until it spun its wheels free.
Right away, I liked Charlotte's eyes
And red hair
And how she didn't make fun of me,
The suburban girl who got stuck
And had to walk down a long, snowy driveway
While wearing suede shoes
(I know. Who wears suede shoes
in the show?
But I was eighteen years old
On a date,
So give me a break).
She was quick to laugh
And even though she obviously loved Matt to pieces
(she kissed him on the lips!),
she never made me feel bad
for basically taking him away.
Six years later,
Matt marries me
Wearing the kilt
Charlotte commissioned in Scotland.
About six years after that,
Her memory starts to fail.
She's eventually diagnosed
With Pick's disease.
Now she lives in a nursing home
On the Alzheimer's floor
Where you have to punch a code in
To escape.
The code is posted
By the buttons,
But no one on the floor
Can read any more.
Still, Charlotte walks
Up and down the hallways,
Still smiling,
Still beloved by staff,
But I wonder if
In the back of her mind,
She's like,
"Get me out of here."
First contact
Charlotte beams at Matt
And kisses him.
She doesn't really seem to see me
Any more.
That's fine.
I hold up baby Max.
He is asleep.
She takes hold of his foot
And won't let go.
We walk down the halls
And take pictures
With Charlotte
Clinging to Max's foot.
Max Smiles at Me
When he is five weeks old,
I am thunderstruck.
I roar,
"HE SMILED! HE JUST SMILED AT ME!"
Max's smile wavers
At the commotion
Before, tremulous,
He smiles again.
Max Doesn't Smile at Daddy
He doesn't really seem to notice him.
"I just change his diapers,"
Matt grumbles.
"Oh, he likes you," I say.
After all,
Matt takes 2.5 months
Of paternity leave
(because he actually gets benefits,
unlike
a self-employed
emergency doctor).
They've got to like each other.
But when Matt goes back to work,
The one day Max is still awake
When Daddy comes home,
Matt says,
"Max! Hello, Max. Helloooooo"
and Max just stares
kind of past his father's left ear,
oblivious.
Walking With My Dad
Baby Max in the stroller.
Our dog trots ahead,
Wagging his tail like a flag.
"I'm having trouble at work," Dad says.
My heart drops.
What do you mean?
"I'm so slow.
I do things, but it takes longer."
I'm on maternity leave
With my two-month-old son
But my emergency doctor instincts kick in
And I quiz him.
Headaches?
Vomiting?
Numbness?
Tingling?
"No, nothing."
You want me to scan your head?
"No. I'm going to my family doctor."
Are you sure?
"Yes."
I realize he wants me to be his daughter,
Not his doctor
So I drop it.
Well, I Sort of Drop It
I tell Matt.
He is not interested.
"Your father is fine.
He's more with it than your mother."
That is not difficult.
I call my brother.
Did you notice anything about Dad's memory?
No, why?
He's worried about his memory.
Can you keep an eye on dad?
He wasn't specific with me.
Can you tell me
if he does something
that worries you?
"Sure, Mel."
I hang up, semi-relieved.
Four Months Later
My brother calls
In a panic