Sweat fell from her forehead and fear spilled from her eyes. Her gaze darted from me to her husband to the nurse. Her arms flailed like snakes on Medusa’s head. Her legs pushed me away, pushing her up in the bed, as if she could push away her pain…at least, that is what she hoped for.

Her husband was crying and pale and shouting, “There is so much blood! So much blood!” He fell into his wife’s shoulder, crumbling. He didn’t know this is how women labor, how babies are born, he just saw his wife suffering.

Our muffled voices behind mask after mask after mask, hushed reassurances barely penetrating through each layer. It’s okay, you’re okay, your baby is almost here. This is all normal.

But is this normal? Our new normal?

Her labor moved so fast. The searing pain ripped through her abdomen.  Then the baby’s head pushed down into her birth canal with overwhelming pressure, stretching her vagina so fast it began to bleed. Although we stood next to her, supporting her, comforting her, our layers upon layers upon layers of masks, gowns, caps, face shields, gloves, booties to protect ourselves made us miles away.

All we had were our eyes and muted voices—they had to transmit everything we used to be able to communicate with our unhindered voices, our uncovered smile, our ungloved touch. You are doing great, your baby is coming soon, fast and furious, but all is well.

She looked at all of us again, barely registering who was who in the mass of blue. Somehow, she heard our callings, whispers floating in the air. She breathed in our strength and breathed out her fear. She breathed in fully and began to bear down.

Soon, wisps of baby’s hair peeked out when she pushed. A couple more pushes and the top of her baby’s head crowned. Her husband screamed at her side, “I see our baby, I see her!” With one last deep breath, one last contraction, and our collective push behind her, her baby popped out into the world. I put her on her mother’s belly. Skin to skin, still attached by the pulsing umbilical cord, mother and baby held on to each other, the only two in the room who could touch without any barrier.

We rejoiced with our new mother, our hero.

Behind our masks, we smiled. Behind our face shields, we cried. Behind our gowns, our hearts swelled. She was so brave and courageous and strong. She had no choice. Babies wait for no one, not even a virus.

Andrea Eisenberg has been a board-certified obstetrician/gynecologist in the Metro Detroit area for the past 27 years. Through her many years in women’s health, she has shared in countless intimate moments with her patients, their joys, heartaches, secrets, losses, and victories. In her writing, she captures the human side of medicine and what doctors think and feel in caring for patients. She has documented these stories on her blog, www.secretlifeofobgyn.com. She has been a contributor to Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, Pulse: Voices From the Heart of Medicine, The Examined Life Journal, ACOG District V Special Delivery, and LinkedIn #hardcases. Andrea is also a contributing author at BBN Times and a guest rotating blogger on KevinMD and Doximity, and participated in Doximity’s 2018–2019 Authors Program.