Everyone is talking about the Olympics.
It’s on in every patient’s room I go into, and it’s all anyone is gabbing about in the break rooms. I don’t know what is different about me, but frankly, I couldn’t give a crap less what’s been going on in London.
I feel like I’m in an Olympics of my own, The L&D Olympics. And I think my Olympics is way more interesting than somebody hopping around on a trampoline (??) or splashing across a swimming pool at inordinate speeds.
I *may* be slightly biased.
I was really nervous to start this L&D rotation. I’d been observing the goings on around the unit from afar, I’d spent one (hellacious) night there, and I was seriously concerned about my ability to keep up with the warp speed pace while contending with the (by all accounts) Sourpuss Senior Resident.
Turns out the worry was all for naught, because I friggin’ LOVE L&D.
I’m not even sure how to explain it. It is incredibly fast-paced, but after my first few days of catching onto the routines and rhythms of the floor, I find the days flying by as I fly from task to task, with a huge smile I can’t seem to contain.
One grumpily laboring patient asked me as I breezed into her room, “Why, do you look so happy all the time?” I replied that I was just so glad to see her (which I was). She shook her head, but couldn’t repress a grudging grin behind her O2 mask as she geared up for another push.
I am currently on Day 8 of a 12 day L&D Olympic Marathon. Yeah, I’m a little worn out, a little run down, and (apparently) slightly out of touch (What do you mean Bella cheated on Edward??). But all I think about is the nurse who was hassling me at the beginning of a shift last week, who ended up giving me a hug on my way out the door at the end of the day after we handled a scary pre-term delivery together, or the lady who mouthed “thank you” to me as she held her new baby skin to skin as she was being wheeled out of the OR after a crash section, or the woman who only spoke three words of English “thank you doctor” after I, still kneeling on the bed between her feet after her precipitous delivery, handed her her baby, or all the patients whose hands I’ve held in the last three weeks, looking them in the eyes, and telling them “I am here, I am going to help you, and it’s going to be okay.” And those patients closing their eyes and relaxing, maybe just for a second, because they know I mean it.
I am a little worn out, and I have a lot to learn, but my heart is FULL. And all the gold medals in the world are meaningless compared to the experiences I am gifted with on a daily basis on this rotation.
But, like I said, I *may* be biased.