Erin's Bio

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I walked, er, waddled into my final rotation fully expecting to hate it. All that I had ever heard about Internal Medicine was bad. Endless rounds, hateful residents and attendings. You name it, they had it. And I was starting out in what I had heard was the worst possible hospital at nearly 33 weeks of pregnancy. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to the next eight weeks, which ended with a shelf exam on my due date. The one saving grace was that I would spend the first month at the hospital where I will be a resident next year, and that two of my future colleagues from the program would be my interns for the month. I dragged my very round self to orientation and through the first week only to discover that I was very happy in Internal Medicine. And even went so far as to think that I was enjoying it. It was a pleasant surprise not only to feel comfortable but also to have my pregnancy very much accepted…we all rode the elevators together on rounds and I occasionally stole a seat while seeing patients. And nobody complained.

37 weeks hit and my second month began at a different location. 37 weeks hit like a ton of bricks, and the knowledge that I was term and that she would be healthy if she decided to come hit at the same time. Up until then I had been suppressing that thought, trying to be the good, overeager medical student that they tell us we should be. That part of me that wanted to be superhuman and go, go, go until the very last minute began to fail miserably. It was a bitter surprise to often find myself having to choose between being the student that everyone, myself included, expected me to be and taking care of the health of myself and my child. I still enjoyed Internal Medicine immensely, and found the same level of understanding from the people that I worked with, but the physical misery of being 5’2” with 40 extra pounds on and a belly full of baby began to take its toll. People stopped and stared when I walked by; once I even overheard a complete stranger nastily remark that she didn’t know how I could still walk. Most people were very kind, though, asking about the baby and when I was due. My patients all asked to rub my belly! Nothing, however, could take away my physical pain, and I was afraid to complain or ask for help out of the fear of being perceived as incapable. I called my husband on my last call night in tears, 6 weeks into the rotation, ready to have it all over with.

There were red roses on the counter when I got home at 1 AM, a rare and special gift from him.

Then came the pitting edema in my ankles.

And rising blood pressure that sent me to Labor and Delivery for fetal monitoring.

And then the decision to induce labor at 39 weeks because of it all.

And her decision not to wait.

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