My first experience of death was as a medical student. It was my fourth and penultimate year and I was on an obstetric/gynaecology placement. I decided to shadow some midwives for the day, hoping to catch some births, literally and figuratively, as it was a logbook requirement we all had to complete by the end of fourth year. After being paired with a midwife and sheepishly asking for permission to observe and assist the first-time, prospective parents deliver their child, I patiently waited and assisted in whatever way I could. The soon-to-be-mother needed a drink of water; well then I helpfully got it for her. The midwife needed the portable blood pressure monitor, then off I went to fetch it. After a few “short” hours, and many, many contractions, the labor began to escalate. Things were seemingly going well and the midwife was telling all in the room it wouldn’t be too long now.

My vague understanding of ‘meconium’ as a medical student was simply that it was a baby’s first bowel motion. I saw it for the first time as the prospective mother began to push. Dark black and viscous, oozing out from the birth canal and staining the pad and towel underneath with an acid green. I didn’t know what this meant at the time, but I could tell it was not good. The midwife’s breezy manner was replaced with brusqueness and agitation. She asked me with terse politeness to find the CTG monitor – a cross between a rubber band and belt that would help determine the baby’s vitality. I found it and as I made my way back, I saw a resuscitation cot being wheeled into the room. “…Just a precaution…” I heard the midwife say with a strained smile as I entered. The hospital’s fluorescent ceiling panels now harshly illuminated the once ambiently lit room. Another midwife was preparing the cot - activating oxygen masks and suction tubes - as I passed the CTG monitor on and helped attach it to the mother's belly. After a few minutes of fiddling and adjusting, it became clear that the CTG was not achieving its purpose. The midwives tried putting another monitor on the baby’s scalp but this was also not achieved. Meanwhile the labor was aggressively and rapidly progressing.

The main critique on debriefing after the incident was that by this time, a paediatrician, obstetrician or both should’ve been called to review. Instead, what happened was more flustered attempts at obtaining monitoring until the baby was crowning. I was standing back, trying to keep out of everyone’s way – trusting that it would all be ok, as I’m sure the young couple were. Finally the baby was born. It was a he. He was blue. He was floppy. He wasn’t moving. Everything else seemed to happen in a blur. The emergency button was pressed and doctors, nurses and equipment came flying into the cramped room. Suction, CPR, IV access, fluid boluses, adrenaline, the works...

Twenty minutes later and everyone knew it was hopeless, but everyone kept going for twenty minutes more because the young couple needed us to.