My journey as an emergency physician took a profound turn when my son, Oliver, was born between my second and third years of residency in emergency medicine. After just six weeks of maternity leave, I returned to the demanding world of medicine, still grappling with my emotions towards this tiny being who kept me awake but also melted my heart during those precious moments of snuggling.
When asked about my son, I would beam with pride, yet found it difficult to fully embrace the title of “mother.” Oliver felt like a stranger to me, and I wrestled with guilt over these feelings, pushing through as many do in the medical field. It wasn’t until several months later that I began to understand that a nine-month pregnancy does not guarantee an instant bond. I needed time to connect, but medicine offers little in terms of understanding individual needs.
As I juggled the demands of my profession—pumping during night shifts, managing critical care cases, and attempting to bond with my child—I felt like I could endure anything. But then, the impact of COVID-19 hit, changing everything.
Oliver had just begun to recognize me with joy when the pandemic struck, and I faced the harrowing decision of whether to send him away for his safety. The reality was stark: how could I risk exposing him to a disease we scarcely understood? As frontline workers were dubbed heroes, I felt anything but. My fears for my family and myself grew, and the connection I once had with patients felt stripped away as we donned protective gear, distancing ourselves both physically and emotionally.
Patients arrived in distressing conditions, their oxygen levels alarmingly low. It was surreal to witness individuals who, in the past, would have been admitted in critical condition but were now conversing with us, albeit with the grim knowledge that many would not recover. This unsettling reality haunted my thoughts at night. I felt selfish for potentially endangering my son. What kind of mother would expose her child to such risks?
Despite my youthful health, I considered quitting, a notion that broke my heart. My identity as a physician is deeply intertwined with who I am, and leaving would mean losing a part of myself. After many sleepless nights, my husband and I chose to stay together as a family, keeping Oliver close while implementing every precaution we could.
The medical landscape shifted dramatically; masks became scarce, and we were told not to wear them, as it frightened patients. As we grappled with the increasing number of COVID-19 cases, we fought for access to N-95 masks, the standard for treating infectious diseases. Some days, I arrived at work only to find that the protective gear I needed was unavailable.
Two months into the crisis, my approach to motherhood transformed. I became hyper-vigilant about cleanliness, rushing to shower after shifts to avoid any potential contamination. We eliminated outside help, isolating ourselves to just my husband, Oliver, and me.
Gradually, my fear began to subside. I remembered my calling to heal. I returned to my patients’ sides, providing comfort and connection, even in the most challenging circumstances. I still grapple with the fear of infecting my family, bundling up in layers of protective gear each shift.
Despite the chaos, I find gratitude for my role as a physician and the growth I’ve experienced. The loving glances from Oliver mirror the appreciation I see in patients when I hold their hands in moments of vulnerability. My dual roles as a mother and a doctor have become more intertwined, creating a silver lining amidst the challenges—a reminder of why I chose this path.
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Summary:
As an emergency physician and mother, Emily Carter navigates the complex balance between her dedication to medicine and her family’s safety during the COVID-19 pandemic. She reflects on her emotional journey of bonding with her son while facing the fears and challenges of frontline healthcare work.