Love You More(25)
Psychiatry and Neurology were fascinating. I loved the patient interaction and the complexity of the cases, but I felt frustrated by how vague both specialties could be—like groping in the dark while patients limped along in pain.
My final block was Ob-Gyn. At that point, it had been Lesli’s favorite, and within days, I understood why. Childbirth was pure theater: a baby crowning, then emerging into the world, red-faced and wailing; a father cutting the umbilical cord before gently kissing his wife’s forehead; a mother cradling her child in that first tender skin-to-skin moment.
Of course, there were heartbreaking moments, too. One night, I was called to triage for a woman in excruciating pain at twenty-three weeks. Her cervix had dilated, her amniotic sac was bulging. Nothing we did could stop her labor. I stayed by her side, holding her hand as she delivered a one-pound micro-preemie. The baby’s skin was translucent, almost paper thin, his little limbs curled tight. A team of NICU nurses and doctors swarmed around him, their hands delicate but sure, moving with practiced urgency, checking his heart rate, placing a tiny mask over his face, sliding a minuscule tube for oxygen. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps. The incubator doors closed with a soft click before the team whisked him out of the room. I squeezed the mother’s hand. The baby didn’t survive the hour.
Even amid the chaos of labor and delivery, I was drawn to the intimacy—the way women let you into their lives and delivered their truth in small, careful sentences.
On the last day of my rotation, an eighteen-year-old girl came in for an abortion consult. She was alone, clinging to her purse, staring up at the attending as he ran through her options in a tone that felt too brisk for the moment.
When he left the room, I stayed, holding her hand. She looked up at me, eyes wide, and said, “What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head. “Have you talked to anyone? Your parents?”
She shook her head, explaining she was a freshman at NYU, far from her home in Montana. “They’d be devastated if they knew. They’ve sacrificed so much for me to be here.”
“They might be more devastated to know you didn’t tell them.”
She nodded, then said, “I’m so scared.”
“It’s going to be okay. Whatever you decide.”
She nodded, her shoulders dropping just a little. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, realizing that sometimes presence mattered as much as medical treatment.
In that quiet moment, I knew I’d found my place.
Chapter 13
After the whirlwind of third-year rotations, we were given a two-week break. I spent the first week holed up in my apartment, catching up on sleep. After that, I went back to Wisconsin for a few days, visiting friends and family. Mick crossed my mind often, but I had finally moved on—not with another guy, but with the quiet confidence that I was on my own path.
One night, Erin and I went out for drinks. After regaling me with her Match.com horror stories, she asked if I was interested in anyone.
I shook my head.
“Really? No McDreamys or McSteamys?”
“Trust me,” I said with a laugh. “It’s nothing like Grey’s Anatomy.”
“What about life outside the hospital? New York City has to be crawling with hot guys.”
“Sadly, other than dinner dates with Lesli, I don’t have much of a personal life.” I hesitated, then said, “Is Mick seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I doubt he’d tell me if he was.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like an unspoken rule that we don’t talk about you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “I don’t think he can bear to hear your name. He’s not over you.”
My stomach fluttered for a reason I couldn’t quite name.
* * *
— Back in New York, our fourth year was gearing up. It was time to start studying for Step 2 CK (Clinical Knowledge)—the next gatekeeper to residency. Between filling out applications and hitting up attendings for letters of recommendation, interview season was also in full swing. Lesli and I practiced questions with one another—Why Ob-Gyn? Why this program? Where do you see yourself in ten years? By the time on-campus interviews began, we were ready.
One morning, speaking with an older attending from Wake Forest School of Medicine, I deviated from my usual, polished answer.
Instead, I told the truth: “I like sitting with patients in the hardest moments of their lives. I like not looking away.”
Her pen stilled. She met my eyes and nodded.
* * *
— In January, the subinternship lottery opened for spring rotations. I submitted two preferences—Ob-Gyn and Internal Medicine—then began planning electives I hoped would shape my future: maternal-fetal medicine, gynecologic oncology, and reproductive endocrinology and infertility (REI).
In February, I finalized my Rank Order List for the Match. I included fourteen places, putting Columbia first and UW Health last.
Less than three weeks later, it was finally Match Day. We gathered in a lecture hall where we were each handed an envelope. Inside was the single piece of paper that would dictate where we’d spend the next three to seven years of our lives, depending on the specialty.