Sometime shortly before the end of this month, we will deliver our last baby at Blue Hill Memorial Hospital (BHMH), and close down the OB unit. We will say goodbye to the babies, and to some of the staff, turn out the lights, and all head home heavy-hearted. I will not try to make the best of it, or to make those doctors, nurses, nurse midwives, patients, and others who put their hearts and souls into OB here feel better about it. At such times all the words of good cheer and chin up sound like, “Blah, blah, blah,” because some things just stink, pure and simple. Closing OB here is one such thing. That program will have paid the price for our troubles and our failures, sacrificed for the greater goal of saving this hospital. The best way to honor the patients, staff, and the program is to succeed in that goal; if we fail we will have wasted that sacrifice.

In my drive home on that last day at the end of May, I am going to focus on a few lessons I think we can take away from the closure of OB:
1. It does not matter to the rest of the world that we do wonderful things here at BHMH; so when it comes to saving this hospital we are on our own. If the state of Maine will let a great OB program fail in a small, rural hospital, it will also let a small, rural hospital fail. We alone are responsible for making sure the rest of BHMH does not go the way of our beloved OB program. If you do not feel that responsibility on a personal level, and reflect it in your work and willingness to change how we do business in order to survive, you are working at the wrong place;
2. Related, just because a patient service is wonderful does not mean we can afford to do it here at BHMH, or that our community cannot do without it. The future of any one program is not guaranteed when an entire hospital’s future is not guaranteed. Each of us, and each of our programs, must earn a future here every day. The world around us is changing at light speed, increased competition is around every corner, and the environment that enabled us to do something one day may be gone tomorrow. We will adapt to this changing world or we will not survive;
3. If we can survive the loss of OB, we can survive anything. Our OB program is a little like our kids; they grow up and leave us. The question is not whether their leaving changes our lives, but what we make of the changed life. We can be a vibrant hospital doing other wonderful things, or we can sit on the healthcare porch in retirement and wait for the end. I refuse to sit and wait, and so should you;
4. Related, some will think that the loss of OB, and our curtailment of some other services, means we are not a real hospital. That’s bull.  On any given day we and other hospitals without OB and some other services provide lifesaving, life-changing care all over America. We can lose OB without losing our role in the care of the people of the Blue Hill Peninsula.

So when you go home on that last day in May, take some time to think about our colleagues in OB. Say a word of thanks to all the babies and moms over the years who gave us the privilege of caring for them. Then come back to work the next day a little older, a little wiser, and more dedicated than ever to our patients and our future.