It was 10:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve when his pager went
off. As the OB/GYN on call for the
emergency department he had no choice but heave out of bed with a sigh and put
on his clothes in the dark. His wife
rolled over, murmured something indistinguishable and was still. He smiled fondly at her. It was ironic that they were childless, him
having delivered thousands of newborns to other, at times less deserving,
women. He shrugged into his white coat
as he dialed the phone to the E.D., glancing at the glowing Christmas tree,
surrounded by neatly wrapped gifts bound by perfect bows. As the phone purred on the other end he
randomly wondered why presents had to be wrapped at all? Tradition?
Asthetics? Why not just slide the
gift, still in its Amazon box, under the tree?
He chuckled at the image as an E.D. nurse answered curtly, “Main
Emergency, what can I help you with?”
“This is Dr. Winchester. I was
paged?” “Hi Doc, yeah, we have a 38-weeker,
8 cm dilated and crowning. She’s a
teenager, came in by POV, dumped at the front door. This is her first, no pre-natal
education.” “I’ll be there in 12 minutes
– have her draped and prepped for a block.”
He hung up, grabbed his bag and keys and hustled to his car through the
crystalline air.
The
E.D. was jammed with its usual flotsam as he strode through the lobby toward
the side door, waving his badge at the entry pad. The locks clicked back, the door swung
open. He raced past miserable, huddled ghouls
lining the hallways to bay 36, where he slid open the door and found the
familiar sight of knees akimbo, ready to introduce a new soul to the human
condition, for better or worse. The teen
mother was crying hard, terrified of the pain and the responsibility. He grabbed her chart and moved beyond the
drape to place a soothing palm on her forehead and gently instruct her on what
was about to transpire. The E.D.
physician entered and updated him on her progress - she was fully dilated -
delivery imminent. Dr. Winchester
pulled the rolling stool between the girl’s knees and with a gloved hand deftly
verified the dilation and crowning, breathing a quiet sigh of relief to feel
the fontanel, rather than a gluteal cleft.
He grabbed a thin needle from the bedside table and expertly placed
several numbing shots, blocking the nerves that were screaming from the
strain. After an initial reaction to the
needle sticks, the young girl visibly relaxed, legs no longer trembling.
At
12:01 Christmas morning a tiny, healthy human, covered in its waxy coat,
tumbled into the world with a gush. He smoothly caught it around the neck and
knees, thinking to himself “Vernix – nature’s wrapping paper!” Even nature, it seems, believes beautiful
things deserve to come wrapped.
The
grateful young mom agreed to an adoption. The following Christmas, Dr.
Winchester was not on call – he was
snuggling his smiling wife and bright-eyed son in front of a merrily crackling
fireplace hung with bulging stockings. In the corner, lit with a thousand twinkling
lights, stood a fragrant Frazier fir tree, proudly brooding over a neat mountain
of perfectly wrapped gifts. “It’s not
the present, or the wrapping, that matter,” he thought to himself –“it’s the
spirit behind it.” Nature had sloppily wrapped
his gift and in truth, barely assembled it, but the spirit that sent it was
pure Love.
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