The abdomen, my tummy
‘One interaction can have two very different perspectives’, says Grace Anees. Think of a caesarean birth - and the different perspectives the doctor and mother hold in that moment. Grace shares about how she got familiar with both sides - as a medical student and as a woman giving birth. Her reflection is written down in a powerful poem. Could we sometimes close the gap a little between professionals and parents, she wonders?
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About 7 months after my birth I saw someone post in a doctors group about how important it was to attend C-sections as a trainee so that you can ‘learn how to open and close the abdomen’. My stomach turned. A phrase that would have felt commonplace before, suddenly created a visceral response in me. Knowing, I suppose, what opening and closing the abdomen actually means to the person giving birth. The language suddenly felt so confronting and so I wrote this poem in response.
I thought back to when I was in medical school and we had weekly anatomy lessons. We had dissection classes with ‘cadavers.’ A cadaver is the term used for a persons body that has been preserved, this person chose to donate their body to medical science after they passed away. A cadaver. A person.
“We used pronouns like: the heart, the body, the eyes, as if they don’t belong to anyone”
I remember these anatomy lessons when we would stand around the body (their body?). We would be told to ‘open the ribs’, ‘look at the heart’ (their heart?). I’m only just now reflecting on the pronouns we used: the heart, the body, the ribs, the eyes. As if they don’t belong to anyone. Most of the time, it was about focussing on the anatomy and the science. But, every now and then, I would spot something on this persons body. I would see a freckle and wonder who had loved that very freckle. I would catch myself looking at their hands and wonder what hands it held. I would look at their eyes and wonder what they loved to see. Every now and then, I was reminded about the human behind ‘the cadaver’. There was room for this reflection, emotion and sensitivity. But I couldn't stay in that room for too long or I would get overwhelmed. To focus on learning the anatomy, I had to leave that room and walk into a different room full of science and logic and practicality.
This is to say that, detaching from the human is sometimes necessary to focus on the task in hand as a doctor. My intention is not to criticise the doctors for what may be a necessity that enables them to carry on and survive in an extremely difficult environment. For after all, behind every ‘doctor’ is a human too. My intention is to reflect on how one interaction can have two very different perspectives. Could we close the gap just a little?
The abdomen is my tummy
My tummy is a place in which my mama showers me with love. Kisses, strokes and raspberries. Talcum powder rubbed in after a warm bath. Will she have an innie or an outie?
A teddy clutched rightly to my tummy as I drift off to sleep
A shirt buttoned up over my tummy, a school uniform. Don’t I look smart?
There are pains in my tummy, a hot water bottle might help, my first period
Should I get a belly button piercing? And why is my tummy turning squishy??
The age of crop tops now, tummy out, dancing in nightclubs
My tummy becomes a magical place, I look at it and wonder whether one day it might be a home to someone
Soft white lace and tulle brush against my tummy as I walk down the aisle
My hands hold my tummy as I breathe through the pain of miscarriage
Two lines have told my tummy that it is once again occupied
My tummy is growing and moving with life. My tummy is keeping him safe and warm
35 weeks and my always an innie is now and outie
I fall asleep with my hand on my tummy, stroking and feeling him kick. When he feels my hand he pushes out into it.
I stare at my tummy as if it is a blank page onto which I imagine his face, his smile and his life. I sing to my tummy and he responds
My tummy has been his home and his whole world for 9 months and it’s time to meet him
I lie on the operating table (or is it ‘your’ operating table, doctor?) A curtain goes up in between us. I lie on one side holding all my hopes and dreams of him, feeling love and fear and excitement wash through me. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I feel him moving in my tummy and try to hold on to how it feels. Did you know, doctor, he had hiccups just before I lay down?
Behind the curtain, you start your second C-section of the day. There is an abdomen on the table. Routine. It’s so routine, a trainee has come along to learn how to ‘open and close the abdomen’. You wash the skin, and make the incision. You open the abdomen. You open the womb. You break the waters. You scoop out the baby.
My tummy, my womb, my waters and my son
This is your second C-section of the day
This is my childbirth