Hannah May, a third-year Yale School of Medicine (YSM) MD student, had her poem “Cesarean,” and commentary on the poem, published in the Journal of Medical Humanities, as part of a collection of poems entitled, “Coming Apart/Becoming Whole: A Collection of Poems.” YSM Associate Professor of Obstetrics, Gynecology and Reproductive Sciences Sarah Cross, MD, wrote the introduction to the compilation.
“Cesarean”
They sliced me open to get you out.
I didn’t think about it.
I only knew—
it hurt to stand, to laugh—
it could burst me open.
What do they call that?
A nurse helped me into the shower,
my naked body like a popped balloon.
I ached, I ached, I ached.
I walked sluggishly to Central Park,
ashamed of myself.
I had to sit on the bench,
somehow I got back.
I leaked and bled,
I cried on the couch at midnight,
I was awake at two.
The whole world felt like liquid.
I think it sealed shut.
A year later, I sliced open a woman.
I didn’t think about it.
I only knew—
I could feel a pain in my wound,
and hers would hurt too.
Commentary on “Cesarean”
I had imagined the birth of my daughter as a beautiful, empowering moment. Instead, my water broke early — five weeks before my due date — and I was rushed to the operating room in what resembled a scene from a medical drama after, my daughter was found to be breech and had a terrifying episode of fetal bradycardia. I was strapped to an operating table, shaking uncontrollably, and literally coming apart as I was cut open and my daughter was pulled from me. I was frazzled by the unexpected turn of events, embarrassed I had needed a cesarean, and fumbling my way through the first few weeks of motherhood. Even as I become more confident as a mother, I continued to feel ashamed and disappointed that I had had a cesarean, my scar a daily reminder of the event. I felt an intense jealousy of woman who had vaginal births. My body, I thought, had failed me and robbed me of that experience. Over time, this ache dulled. In medical school, I came to understand how common cesareans are, the medical indications for them, and how they are not caused by any “fault” of the mother. One day, on an anesthesiology rotation on the labor floor, I saw a young woman crying as she came into the operating room for a planned cesarean. In her tears, I saw myself: scared, vulnerable, unsure. But this time, I was on the other side. There was no blame in the room. I was able to comfort her and congratulate her when her baby arrived. I wanted her to celebrate that moment. I had become whole again, just completed with a different part.
Citation: May, H., Williams, L., Fryburg, M. et al. Coming Apart/Becoming Whole: A Collection of Poems. J Med Humanit (2024). https://doi.org/10.1007/s10912-024-09876-8