Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The AftermathAndrea EisenbergThe cantor begins, humming softly, gently strumming her guitar. Soon the rabbi starts reading, his voice somber as he recites the traditional prayer on Yom Kippur."How many will pass away from this world, how many will be born into it;Who will live and who will die."I feel my eyes tearing up. I look down and take a breath, but I can't seem to stop the speeding train of memories."I'm sorry, we did everything we could….." My head was spinning. No, no, no, this can't be … this can't be really happening …I looked up at my patient. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her eyes searching the eyes staring back at her. The nurses, the neonatologist, her husband all surrounded her, reflecting back her shock and incomprehension.I stopped breathing. My hands felt cold. My fingers were tingling. No one was looking at me. It felt like there was no air in the room … I just needed air. Embarrassingly, I walked out of the room."Who will reach the ripeness of age, who will be taken before their time."It all began on an early spring night, the air fresh with new growth and possibilities. Heralding the warmer days ahead, the purple crocuses were just peeking out of the grass. As I walked to my car to make my way to the hospital, the crisp coolness of the melting winter brushed across my face, wiping away the warm touch of my baby's cheek moments earlier. Driving off, my heart tugged me home; my brain tugged me to work.The dusky sky accompanied me along the drive to work—the gradually fading light behind me, the darkness ahead. My mind began shifting from home to the woman in labor, starting her own motherhood journey. I imagined her excitement as well as her weariness of labor.The bright lights and the hustle and bustle of a busy labor and delivery department greeted me as I entered the unit. I found comfort in the dimly lit room of my patient. I could make out her blond hair flowing over the pillow and blankets overlaying her body. Her husband, sitting on the bench next to her, was lit up by the brightness of the phone screen he was intently looking at. The quiet beat of her baby's heart on the monitor was soothing in its cadence and reassuring to me.The rabbi then walks to the center of the bima with the cantor as the choir continues to sing. He begins to hit his chest gently with each line."Avinu Malkeninu1, sh'ma koleinu, chus v'racheim aleinu.Avinu Malkeinu, hear our voice, treat us with tender compassion."The cantor and choir respond back, their soulful voices splay open my heart even more.She was an incredibly strong pusher. But it was her first baby and the trail had not been blazed before. The baby was rocking back and forth in her pelvis, trying to get under the pubic bone and out. With time and effort, I began seeing the top of the baby's head with each push, but then it disappeared in between. [End Page E8]Without looking at the monitor, I could hear the baby's heart rate slow with each push, the heart responding to the head being compressed in the birth canal. "Stay strong," I told her as I saw her begin to tire. But the baby was tiring too, its heart not returning to its regular rate in between contractions."Avinu Malkeinu, Avinu Malkeinu" the choir chanted.Avinu Malkeinu, have compassion on us," the rabbi responded.After a few more pushes, I knew I couldn't watch this much longer, I knew the baby was really struggling, it's heart rate becoming more alarming. "I need you to stay strong and really push hard. I may need to help you if the baby isn't out soon," I told her."No, I can do this!" I could see the determination on her face.And there we were, my patient, pushing her heart out, wanting to do this "on her own," and me...