October 22, 2015
It's a slow night and I can't be more relieved. There is only one lady in labor and delivery; triage is completely empty. The woman was barely contracting a couple of hours ago so I figure it won't be until 2 or 3 in the morning until she delivers. My oncologist calls me to follow up about getting in to see an endocrinologist. During that phone call, the delivery page goes off overhead. I start running down the hall while still talking about my own unknown health. I tell the doc I have to go. Emergency. I run in and the baby just came out. Fortunately, another doctor happened to be in the room while the woman started pushing. I massage her uterus and then start delivering the placenta, collecting cord blood, making sure she isn't bleeding, etc. We count up the sponges and we're one short. Shit. We can't find it. The only remaining place is the biohazardous trash. So while still fully gowned up I'm digging through the trash looking for a bloody sponge while my phone keeps going off as my oncologist is trying to call me back. Did I mention that the trash consisted mostly of feces laden pads as the lady began pushing too early? This is my life. I'm digging through a biohazard trash bin filled with shit while my oncologist is calling me about seeing an endocrinologist. I can't make these metaphors up.