Requiem for an OB/GYN

This is what you get for putting off your annual exam and for missing the obituary column for a day. My friend calls with news; I think it's the new job she's been looking for. But instead she tells me that the OB/GYN that we both go to, who delivered our children 15 years ago and only a few months apart, has died. He was only 60, prostate cancer.

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I had been going to a family doctor who didn't do deliveries, and he referred me to an OB/GYN who was on the verge of retirement and cranky. He thought of me as an "older mother" (I was in my early 30's), and I'm sure he thought I was going to be the jinx that destroyed his countdown to Palm Beach and freedom. He never smiled or called me by my first name. He had a gloomy bedside manner and a tendency to treat me like I was carrying a load of nitroglycerine rather than a baby. That feeling of stress carried through the pregnancy and the birth, and probably helped to make me a less confident first-time mom.

Several years went by, and I knew I wanted another baby, as did my husband, but stepping over that cliff had some negative memories attached to it. I needed to make it a little more fun this time.

So I did what a mature woman does. I entered into a pact with my girlfriend from work who was contemplating having her first. "I will if you will!" Like it was going on a diet or talking to a cute guy at a bar. But this time I decided it was going to be different. As stressful as it was before, I was going to do it easy this time. So when she told me she loved her OB/GYN, I said great! I'm going to him, too!

Fortunately, because he was a very good and very busy doctor, he was able to take me as a patient. And from the first appointment when he pulled out a chart showing the odds for having birth defects at my age (I was no longer in my early 30's) versus the odds of miscarrying while testing for birth defects, I appreciated his open, no-nonsense, but very We Are Doing This Together attitude.

Close to the end, but not really close enough, I started to have trouble with blood pressure and was hospitalized. The doctor wanted to be sure the baby's lungs were fully enough developed before he induced labor and/or performed a c-section. He wanted to keep me on bed rest as long as possible, but then toxemia set in. He tried to schedule an amnio, but discovered there wasn't enough amniotic fluid for the test. Then one day he came in and in his loose-jointed, goofy way, he threw up his arms and said, "She's breech!" Through all of these uncertain days, his cheerful and open attitude let me know that, while things were not quite normal, they were being handled and all was well.

The next day we had the c-section, and even though I was awake and could hear some conversation between the doctor and his assistant about some trouble in closing the wound (as in my entire midsection, I gathered!) the baby was delivered. And they assured me that it was perfectly all right that she was born folded in half, and her legs would come down in a few days (!!).

When the doctor came to visit me after recovery, he gave me some wise advice: "I don't think you should do this anymore!" I took that wise man's advice, but continued to see him for the next 15 years.

A few months ago, another friend was raving to me about the doctor she had just "discovered" - his manner, the confident way he explained the procedures. From the description she gave, I had to ask, "Is his name..." and she was flabbergasted that I knew exactly who she was talking about. And we live in a very large metropolitan area, not a town with three OB/GYN's to choose from.

This is a time when we're dealing with aging parents, and those diseases and conditions that used to only pertain to other people are now effecting our own friends and family...yet here's a goodbye I don't think we've ever been prepared for.

I guess with HMO's and specialists that you see once and move on, and you don't spend enough time with a doctor to build a relationship, there won't be so much of this. But when you've shared childbirth with a doctor, and then years of awkward exams and tests, and maybe some times when he brings you through a crisis, you feel a loss when that person is suddenly gone. Even if you can only say that the awkwardness and discomfort were kept to a minimum, that was a gift. And now you start over, finding and breaking in a new doctor. And odds are, this one will be younger than you. Maybe that matters to you and maybe it doesn't, but I know I'll never be looked at as a young mom to any other doctor again.

When my daughter was 10 years old, we celebrated with dinner at a restaurant. I pointed out to her that the doctor who delivered her was there, by coincidence. By then, he was also chief of staff for the hospital and was obviously having a business dinner. My daughter bolted over to introduce herself and tell him it was her birthday (shyness has never been a problem). She returned to us, he waved, and when he was finished with his meal, he came over and spent several minutes talking to her and catching up on the last ten years. He was very sweet and she'll always remember that night.

Goodbye, Dr. B. Thanks for everything.