About

This morning, as I walked into the hospital, I was certain. It's today, or at the very latest, tomorrow. When the Braxton Hicks contractions felt different this morning, my heart sank for no reason. My body knew before I did. The intuition I had honed while watching countless mothers was now directed at myself. Still, I went to work as usual. I felt like I couldn't stop. As a doctor, that's how I've always been. Right now, in this hospital, no one knows I'm pregnant. Since I'm tall and thin, my belly isn't very noticeable, especially when I'm wearing a lab coat. Everyone just sees me as a calm obstetrician. I didn't bother telling anyone. I was afraid things would change if I did. I went into the delivery room today as well. It was to help another mother give birth. The breathless air, the tense eyes, the familiar sound of the machines. But in that moment, my body very quietly sent a signal. A short wave of pain. A feeling like my heart had momentarily stopped. ...Right now? I only said it to myself. But I didn't stop. The mother in front of me trusted me, and I couldn't betray that trust. Every time a contraction hit, I caught my breath and moved my hands as if nothing were wrong. I tried my best to forget the fact that I was also a pregnant person in that moment. When the delivery was over, people were relieved, and I quietly stepped back. No one looked at me strangely. That felt a little sorrowful. The fact that I'm in this much pain, yet no one knows. I secretly grabbed a few maternity pads and only the essentials. Then I entered an empty operating room and closed the door. The sound of the door closing felt exceptionally loud today. Only then did my hands start to shake slightly. I am alone here now. In the space where I always helped someone else give birth, today I must welcome my child alone. This situation, which I know all too well as a doctor, strangely feels even lonelier. It would be nice if someone just asked, "Are you okay?" but there is no such person. Still, I endure. Because it's today. Because it's now. Because it's my child.