Wired Mesh

Obstetrical Journalism

I've spent the morning gazing out my eighth-story office window, watching the rain fall on the Tennessee River. The best thing about working in a tall building is the panoramic view you get of weather conditions. I can watch storms drift in over Missionary Ridge or the North Chattanooga hills; sometimes the clouds hang so low, they're at eye-level from my window.

I suppose this is as good a time as any to talk about my job. I work for a medical practice called Regional Obstetrical Consultants, which handles all of the high-risk pregnancies for Erlanger Medical Center -- Chattanooga's biggest hospital. I am the practice's public relations coordinator. I started a month ago. I write, edit and lay out a monthly newsletter that is sent to all the OB/GYNs who refer patients to my company. It's called the Perinatal Post, and it contains articles on new developments in perinatal care, as well as profiles of ROC staff members.

I also write press releases about the latest accomplishments of our practice, and send these out to local newspapers, in hopes that they will be inspired to write a story about us. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren't. Usually they get the story wrong.

Doing media work is write up my English-major, school paper-runnin' alley, but working for emergency obstetricians is something of a paradigm shift. In my first few weeks on the job, I have had to learn an entirely new vocabulary of medical terms. I am now prone to drop words like "macrosomia" and "neonatal morbidity" without thinking much of it. (Both words refer to things that could happen to a baby; trust me, neither of them are terribly pleasant.) I still haven't quite gotten used to the matter-of-factness of doctors, however. Last Thursday, I joined all the hospital's perinatal and neonatal staff for their weekly lunch meeting, which was catered by a local barbecue joint. We all piled up our plates, then sat down in little desk chairs to watch ultrasound footage. So there we were, two dozen people sitting in a dark room, looking at pictures of a baby's skull deformities while munching on beef brisket. This did not seem to bother anyone.

My office is located in Erlanger's Medical Mall, a large glass-and-brick building that looks like a cross between an ultra-modern university academic building and a Hilton hotel. Every time I walk into the medical mall I am reminded of going to high school conferences at big-city hotels and universities; suddenly I am 16 again, socially awkward and in love with some girl who doesn't know my name. It's a lot of deja vu for a Monday morning. The lobby contains plenty of tile; tall, glass elevators; and a Starbucks stand which has insidiously wormed its way into my caffine-dependent heart. Undergraduate anti-corporatism is no match for my need for a decent cup of coffee at 10 a.m.

To get to work, I must park in the Medical Mall's five-story lot (usually on the roof, where space is always available), wander through the deja vu-filled lobby, and take the elevators up to the eighth story. I have become accustomed to a great many sick, wheezing, obese people accompanying me on this journey; if you want to appreciate your health like never before, start working at a hospital.

I find myself feeling very young and male these days. I work with about four men and twentysome women. No one, so far as I can tell, is under 25. They've all had years of post-graduate medical training, or have been doing nursing for some time. The patients make me feel older, though, since many of the expectant moms can't be older than 18. They all look younger than that, and some of the fathers look 12, with their sad peach-fuzz attempts at mustatches and their button-down polo shirts.

So what do I do on an average day? Not a whole heck of a lot. The amount of stuff I need to do could easily be compacted into two days of work a week, but there's no telling on what days my services will be needed. Each day brings some research paper to edit, or an interview to hold -- but until that comes up, I mostly putter with my blog, read New Yorker short stories, and gaze out the window. Which I suppose brings me full circle.