This episode of The Nocturness is sponsored by First Responderance First,

an initiative of Harvard-T-H-Chann School of Public Health, Thrive Global, and Creative Artists

Agency that takes a whole human approach to first responder and healthcare workforce well-being.

Learn more at first-responders-first.org.

Support for the Nocturness comes from the California Medical Association.

At the Nocturnist, we are careful to ensure that all stories comply with health care privacy

laws.

Details may have been changed to ensure patient confidentiality.

All views expressed are those of the person speaking and not their employer.

I'm in the early part of my second year of family medicine residency training,

and I'm sitting in the labor and delivery workroom,

watching the clock go by to get to the end of my long 24-hour shift.

It's always a little eerie or unsettling for it to be too quiet on a labor and delivery unit,

almost like you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop and all hell to break loose.

And it did.

I hear a lot of commotion on the other end of the hallway,

and I stick my head out the door and see a woman clearly in a lot of distress being quickly shuffled into a room.

And a minute later, the obstetrician sticks her head out the door and calls for me to come to the room to get involved in her care.

And I enter a room that is tense.

There are multiple nurses, there's an obstetrician, there's a pediatrics team,

and clearly there's something major going on.

And despite the chaos, it seems like everyone knows what they're doing, except for me.

...