PJs Story

The OR lights were bright, and the steady hum of the machines blended with the rhythmic beeping of the monitor made Sarah nervous. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation, met mine. She had labored valiantly, but her body wasn’t cooperating.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “We'll get your babies out safely. The surgeons are moving quickly and we’re almost there.” I squeezed her hand, and she managed a faint smile. Peeking over the sterile drape, I watched as the surgeon made the final incision.

First came a boy with a small but firm cry of indignation. The room erupted with joyful cries from the nurses and his parents. A minute later, his sister—just a bit smaller—joined him with a cry of her own, adding her voice to the growing symphony. Sarah’s tears flowed, but now they were tears of relief and joy.

As I watched the exhausted yet elated parents gaze at their twins in the neonatal beds, I felt a profound sense of privilege. I’ve been part of moments likes these many times, yet still feel awe at the wonder of new life.

Back in the labor room with Sarah and her family, she told me they had originally planned to name their daughter Penny Jane. But after everything they had experienced tonight, they decided to call her PJ.

“Want to hold your girl?” she asked me, and her husband took a picture of me with PJ.

This remains the greatest gift of my career.