A Prayer for the Baby

We didn’t talk much about religion in medical school. Rightly so, it seemed to me at the time. I didn’t know how or why it would fit in to my patient care other than respecting patients who used their faith as a coping strategy. I was not at all religious and didn’t like the thought of talking about such things with patients. And in my clinical experiences, it rarely came up.

When I got to my last year of school, I signed up to work for a month with an obstetrician–gynecologist in her outpatient clinic. I don’t recall how I met her but remember she was respected for her outpatient teaching so it seemed like it would be a good experience to work with her. (I’ll refer to her by a fictional name here.)

“Call me Maria,” she told new patients, enveloping them in a warm, supportive style. They did, and I adjusted to her caring approach, shadowing her as we saw patients during pregnancy, those with abnormal uterine bleeding, patients with pelvic pain, others needing pelvic surgeries. It was an odd experience for me, six months pregnant myself, to be seeing other patients during their own pregnancies.

One day, about a week in to my rotation, a couple came in together for an appointment two weeks after an early miscarriage. I watched Dr. Copeland (as a student I just couldn’t call my attending by her first name) give them a hug and we sat down. She asked how they were doing and they shared their story, tears flowing as the mother recounted her emotions over the last week and support from their friends. I had the impression that they attended the same church as Dr. Copeland from their conversation. At the end of the visit everyone stood up.

“Shall we pray?” Dr. Copeland asked, and they all took hands. I edged back, away from their small circle, uncertain what to do. I had never seen prayer in medical practice and certainly not initiated by the doctor. Not being religious myself, I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know the protocol. This was not a setting where I knew what to do. So I leaned quietly against the wall, trying to be unobtrusive, feeling my baby kicking while I watched. All of them bowed their heads and Dr. Copeland said a brief prayer. I watched the mother as her shoulders relaxed. They said “amen” and squeezed hands and hugged one last time. I thought about that interaction for weeks afterwards. I was uncomfortable, but clearly the patients were not. If there were a role for religion in medicine, I reflected, this might be a place for it. It had been accepted by the family without hesitation, so somehow Dr. Copeland knew it would be alright. It had been used in a healing way.

There were several other visits where Dr. Copeland prayed with patients. Sometimes she seemed to know them from her church; at other times, I wasn’t sure. But there never seemed to be a misstep—patients never seemed surprised or awkward with her approach. Did they choose her because of shared beliefs? Did she have a reputation of using faith in her practice and patients selected her for this reason? I wasn’t sure. But it was always the same. They would bow their heads and pray. I would stand back a little uncertainly, but the patients were always grateful and appreciative, thanking Maria by her first name as they left.

As I spent more time with her, I looked for other ways that faith might impact Dr. Copeland’s practice and asked questions when I thought there might be relevance. I knew from others that she was opposed to abortion, though I never heard her talk about it openly and I was unsure how this might be manifest in her practice. I watched her prescribe birth control (I knew some religious physicians who did not). I watched her send a patient with a second trimester fetal death to the hospital to be induced for delivery. I wondered if someone...