The Women of the Ward

My newborn daughter spent her one month birthday in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). After being taken by ambulance for pneumonia caused by a virus and a compounding feeding problem, I spent the next week keeping vigil at her bedside. Once stabilized, I sent my husband home to care for our other three children in my absence, while I camped out on a couch next to my daughter’s crib for the lonely haul.
In a hospital, the days and nights are not easily differentiated. Add a sick and restless newborn, and no hour of the day is sacred. In and out constantly, there wasn’t an hour that went by without a nurse, doctor, resident, fellow, nurse practitioner, or other medical staff in her room, examining and caring for her.
It was the third day when a doctor came in and introduced himself, when I realized that he was the first man I had seen since I said goodbye to my husband several days ago. From then on the pattern was the same, and I began to take notice and reflect, that the majority of specialized neonatal nurses and physicians were female. Each morning “The Team” made their rounds. In charge was the neonatalogist, her fellow, chief resident, and six or seven other residents, of which only two were male. From my corner of the world in the children’s hospital, I actually began to view men as a bit out of place.
When tests were done, and diagnoses made, the approach of the nurses was always different. Some were graceful and soft spoken. They sought to ease the blow with gentleness, as there were many receiving sad news in the NICU. Others were transparent and direct, letting information come unfiltered as it came, without the buffer of sensitivity. Then came the decision maker physician, commanding in demeanor. There was no question to her leadership or expertise; in an army, she would be a General.
All of these women were caring for babies, the tiniest and most fragile, and each was gifted with a set of skills beyond her medical training. Every woman was gifted with the maternal. Whether physically a mother or not, this highly trained staff used their instinct to nurture and protect those most helpless and innocent. Whether by the gentleness of their touch, the insistence that orders be followed precisely, or the intensity with which they provided care, I trusted them not by observing the letters behind their name, but by the level in which they took up my daughter’s cause as their own. And, while I was easy to spot by the dark circles under my eyes, in the moment of care, it would have been difficult to recognize which of us was the actual mother to my daughter.
Although a heartbreaking place to be for many families, watching these women care for children brought me faith in the goodness within our humanity. When necessary, who better to care for these tiny children than women naturally given the perfect balance of “Mama Bear;” unquestioned authority over babies, with the comforting gentleness that mothers are known for best.
Not to discredit the men within this profession, I believe the men who find themselves drawn to this field are remarkable. Still, I see it as no accident that women are found among the halls of the very young. Naturally possessing the perfect balance of ferocious protection and demonstrative nurturing, the Women of the Ward are a great gift to concerned and suffering parents. Their precious babies are in hands made for them.