You've got to be strong, to be able to let go.

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I was in Clinic today, and I've got to say that antenatal clinics are usually very happy. Cause everyone's expecting and excited, awaiting the arrival of a new young member to the family. I absolutely, completely love Antenatal clinic, because I've got a great consultant, who's ever so willing to teach, although really hardcore. Her clinic runs from 8.30 till 2.00 whereas most of the other consultants will take a break for lunch, or a quite bite at least.

Clinic was on today, and as usual, I get to do everything from the blood pressure to symphyseal fundal height, presentation and lie, doppler, and if I'm lucky, I get to do Pap smears too! (if they're due for one). Oh, did lotsa VE's today as well! *Don't be jealous, haha*

But somehow, something was different today. The resident knocked on the door, asking for a consult from my mentor. And so we headed to her consultation room, and we were told that she couldn't find the fetal heart on the doppler. So we did a proper Ultrasound... and we saw the 36 weeks' fetus in her uterus. The fetus looked like it was growing fine. But we couldn't see the beating heart. She turned her probe another way, and another way, and another... and for a good 5 mins, my mentor was trying her best scanning... and at the same time, eliciting a history from her.

My heart took a dip. It wasn't good. How likely it is to be unable to find a fetal heart at 36 weeks? Even I could have found it. My mentor's face changed. She couldn't help but look a little worried, and sad... The patient couldn't contain her tears anymore. She was just tearing... and not long after, she was really sobbing.

I found myself speechless. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't say anything. I was at a loss for words. All I did, was handed her a box of tissue... and sat by her. I gave her a pat on her back, and she said to me "Could you call my mom in please?"

My consultant then, talked to her, and whisked her off urgently for a proper colour flow doppler at Perinatal, to obtain a proper flow assessment. Even if the heartbeat was sluggish, they would have been able to pick it up.

We then got a call, confirming that it was FDIU (fetal death in utero). I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sadness rising from within me. At 37 weeks, asymptomatic, with no apparent cause. She was the 1 in a 1000. She was the unlucky one. She was the chosen one, to face this hardship in life. Life is unfair... truly is to her.

After speaking to her, she wanted the fetus taken out via Caesarean. She couldn't go through labour, seeing her precious baby, born still. But my mentor counselled her, and advised her again, for the Caesarean will leave long term complications. And her words... I found therapeutic, still lingers in my head.

"Not seeing the baby doesn't take away any of the sadness. The pain will still be there, and you'll have a scar to recover from. And the scar remains there for the rest of your life. Often, seeing the baby really helps. People always imagine the worst of how the baby looks, and often, seeing a normal baby helps. Sometimes, holding the baby gives you closure. It is not your fault this happened. There was nothing you can do, nothing you could have done to prevent it. I'm truly sorry for your loss. I feel your pain, and I don't want to give you another scar to add to your pain. Doing the Caesarean doesn't take anything away, except the chance for you to have a last look at your baby."

She did it so naturally. So humane. So empathetic. As hardcore as she is, my perception of my mentor has totally changed. I feel that she's the best consultant in the world! For she not only counselled the patient, but she told me that it was okay to cry, to be sad for the patient... for I'm only human. And crying, doesn't make me a bad doctor. In fact, she's sure that I'll make a good one.

People always say, that you've got to hold on to be strong. At that very moment, I realised that to be strong, you sometimes have to let go. I let go of my strong upfront, and teared. My patient... unfortunately, had to let go of something much more dearer... wayyy dearer.

Tomorrow evening, she'll be coming in for induction of labour. To say goodbye, to properly part with a part of her. Her own flesh and blood, who's been growing in her for the past 37 weeks. Doesn't it make you wonder, just how frail life is. You were the lucky one, who made it past 40 weeks, and got out of your mother, alive.

And to her,
"I'm truly sorry for your loss."

p.s: To all, I'm sorry about the medical jargons. I just really needed to get this outta me.