Newborn

I stand over a 1-hour-27-minute-old newborn. She was born at 6:34 am. It is now 8:01 am. She is so young, she hasn’t even been named yet. I stand in awe. To her, 87 minutes must seem like an eternity, but to me, it seems so small. Less than two hours ago, she was inside someone. Physically inside another human being. Inside where it’s safe, where it’s warm, where friendly people massage the walls of her home and coo to her from this big strange cold world. Looking at her, I can’t help but wonder what she thinks, what she feels. Is she shocked at all the new noises and lights, or is she relieved to be outside where she isn’t jostled every time her mother moves? Does she feel alone, here in her container, or does she feel more at peace now that she can see who’s been talking to her for the last nine months?

Gently, I unwrap the blankets around her tiny body. I pull up her shirt, and carefully place my stethoscope on her chest to listen to her heartbeat. It’s so fast! So fast, for such a tiny baby. She starts to cry, and I give her my pinky finger to suck on. Instinctively, she quiets and focuses on manipulating my finger with her soft gums and tongue. Lost in the moment, I stare at her face, her head of hair, her fingers and toes. How can such a complicated little creature come from just one cell? Amazing.

As I examine the rest of her, I start to wonder who she will grow up to be. What will she look like? What will she think? I will probably never know her, never see her again. Even if I run into her some place in the distant future, I will never know it is her. She will be changed, grown up and different. She will have a name then, a life. As soon as I leave the room, she will forget me, content to return to her little nest of blankets in her mother’s arms. My face, one of the first she’s ever seen, will be lost among a million faces. My touch will be forgotten.

I will remember her though, this tiny newborn in my hands. I will remember the feel of her tiny mouth on my pinky, and the sound of her tiny heartbeat. She will grow up, and never know that miles away is a young doctor who touched her, and held her, and learned from her. A doctor who will always remember her fondly, a doctor who has been deeply affected by her. She will never know that already in her first ninety minutes of life, she had such an impact that a stranger she met for just a few minutes will never forget her.