The Splinting of My Fractured Soul: A Case Report

"Listen, this rotation is hell, and its soul destroying, and you just have to get through it."

Why?

I don't wanna play anymore.

The end of my string is slowly approaching. I've been doing 1 in 2 call. That means every second day you stay at work for 26 hours or so. Which means everyday you go to work and it doesn't end until tomorrow. Its exhausting. Draining. Yes, it drains my very soul. So I've started a soul account. Trick is, you have to pay in more than you pay out.

You forget who you were before you were a forceps, vacuum, and C-section machine. Did I have a personality? Was I interesting? Did I care about life? Was I passionate about anything? Doubtful.

There was a big deposit into my soul fund last week. A dear friend from medical school stumbled into the Ass Room (i.e. Assesment Room at labour and delivery). His wife and him were a source of profound inspiration to me in school and all-around make me believe that there is in fact hope for the poor and marginalized in the world. They are passionate advocates of oppressed people groups, from Sudan to Kurdistan to northern Alberta. Eloquently they speak out against soulless corporations and the injustices that happen in the interest of financial gain. And they do it all with such incredible optimism and humility, all the while affirming and challenging those around them, that it makes me giddy with hope. As if that isn't enough, they throw some pretty incredible Kurdish New Year's parties!

They delivered a skwocking hairy little miracle of a guy. Rarely have felt such privilege in delivering a child as I did with them that day. It was indescribable. The lump of emotion in my throat chocked me. To deliver a new being, warm, squirming, and slimy, who, along with his two sisters will undoubtedly change the face of the world made me remember a little piece of who I am and who I want to become. It felt good to feel again. No mindless numbing, just raw and real.

Dee-der-doo-der-dee. Dee-der-doo-der-dee.

And then my pager went off. So I ran downstairs to the rotational forceps delivery in the operating room of the woman I had only met once, which failed and we had to to a C-section anyway.

Shoot. Maybe six billion little miracles is enough.

Before they were discharged from hospital my friends came to find me down at the delivery suite to give me much needed hugs and invite me over that evening. It was lovely. The nurses and attending obstetrician who were around to witness this asked me in quiet voices afterwards.

"Sheona, do your patients usually invite you over on the way home?"

Oh yeah, and I say yes every time. No professional boundaries here.