Having a baby in residency

It was July 1^st of my intern year. I had just finished my first thirty-hour call. I was exhausted, and my confidence level was at an all-time low. Two ICU transfers, three bedside rounds and fifteen admissions later, I realized how much more I had left to learn to be an effective physician. As I staggered back home, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, I crawled into my empty bed relieved to have survived my first day of residency. Meanwhile, my husband had just started his first overnight call at the hospital and so would begin our first of many “ships passing through the night” escapades.

Several hours later, I jolted up from a deep sleep, suspicious that I was pregnant. Call it intuition or a premonition, but I just knew. I rushed to the local pharmacy, picked up a pregnancy test, rushed back home and stared at the positive results in utter shock. I felt disoriented and groggy in a mixture of surprise, elation and excitement. But fear immediately took over.

A baby?

Now?

We just started residency. I have thirty-hour shifts every fourth day for the next three years. We have no family here, no support, no acquaintances and we are barely able to make minimum payments on our monstrous student loans.

How was this going to work?

Also…… how far along am I?

Amid the fog that inhabited my thoughts, I called the OBGYN department at my hospital and made a same-day appointment. Two hours later, I was sitting in stirrups waiting patiently for confirmation of my pregnancy.  So much for sleep. (A common theme in a physician’s life, by the way).

And then, there she was. The sonogram revealed I was indeed pregnant and further along than I had thought. I walked out of the office with the first picture of our baby girl and headed home. Exhausted, I put the picture on my husband’s pillow and finally went to sleep, knowing my next shift would start in just a few short hours.

Soon after, my husband came home and crawled into bed. I opened one eye and asked him if he’d seen the sonogram picture I had placed on his pillow. His reply:

“Oh yes. Did you do your first ultrasound at work yesterday? That’s a great picture.”

“No,” I told him. “That’s our baby”.

He sat up immediately and stared at me with the same expression of happiness and surprise I had worn myself several hours ago. Once our elation had faded, we were left with so many questions and so much uncertainty.

How would we do it? Could we even do it?

Would we ever get to see our baby?

Would someone else have to raise her?

Would we even be effective parents?

The next few months were a whirlwind of morning sickness, exhausting hospital rounds, extensive reading and apologies to others for being pregnant in the first place. Upon hearing that I was pregnant, my husband’s program coordinator said, “Oh. We hate it when that happens”.

On one hand, we had to ask strangers to cover our future shifts, wrap our brains around five weeks of maternity leave and figure out how we were going to “do it all”. On the other hand, we were welcomed into a community of many other physician parents who had paved the road before us. Their advice, support and input were priceless.

Ten years and two children later, we made it. There wasn’t a single easy step along the way and we often still wonder how we even did it. The fog and chaos continues to surround us in what we label “our normal”. There were many firsts, many milestones and many tears along the way, but we wouldn’t trade our experience for the world.

Looking back now, I remember what the OBGYN told me the day of my daughter’s first ultrasound. “There is never a perfect time for children. Don’t listen to what anyone says and focus on your family.”

Those are exactly the words we continue to live by.