The Lady in Cubicle B: The discrepancy between the raw emotions of an overly sympathetic doctor taking care of a nulliparous woman and the joys of motherhood in defiance of the agonizing labor pains.

the lady in cubicle B is a

nullip.

i am the doctor, m.d.

she is the lady, in labor.

it ain’t no fun

sitting and waiting on nullips

in Braxton Hicks.

i got a c-section elsewhere

to oversee.

i try to slip by

her door

kept a quarter way open

by the compulsive chief nurse.

doctor! doctor!

see

you ain’t gonna slip by me.

what are doctors for?

i walk into cubicle B

gently;

eyes scanning the environment in its

entirety.

the monitor: early deceleration, good

variability…nothing to worry about.

beside records: good vital signs, normal

phase duration…good.

pelvic exam: as expected…couldn’t

be better.

a quick look at her face

all i see is

labor pains. i feel like

crying

but i can’t ‘cause she gives me

a sign

she is full of joy

going through the best experience

of her life.

i guess i’m inexperienced

in telling

what mona liza feels. but I know

the tension in those muscles.

I know

the vicious circle

of ferguson reflex.

i know

the bladder has joined the bowel

in a fight

against compression. Look lady

i’m gonna cry

‘cause I know more than you do.

it’s friday night doc,

she say.

all i gotta do is

ball

with my baby. it ain’t painful.

it’s something else, got me?

you have the theory, doc. i

the feeling.