The Watonga Story: A Tale of Ovulation, Rural Medicine, and Perfectly Timed Parenthood

So there I was, minding my own business, living the glamorous life of an assistant professor in the Department of Family and Preventive Medicine at the University of Oklahoma College of Medicine. My days were filled with the thrilling tasks of overseeing resident education, attending clinics, and supervising inpatient duties at University Hospital. Truly, the pinnacle of excitement for an academic physician.

Enter Myrna, a fourth-year medical student at OU College of Medicine, who happens to be my wife. She was knee-deep in her rotations and had been assigned to a preceptorship in Watonga, Oklahoma—a bustling metropolis located in rural Oklahoma, 71 miles west of the medical school campus. 

Watonga, as the 1980 US Census proudly declared, was home to a staggering 4,139 people. The hospital, in a stroke of generosity, had provided their rotating medical students with an apartment, so she wouldn’t have to endure the daily 71-mile commute. 

How thoughtful.

The purpose of this rural preceptorship was to show medical students the joys of practicing in rural Oklahoma. For most students, it was less “joy” and more “oh no, I’m in the middle of nowhere with no supervision.” 

Enter Curtis Schenck M.D., the lone physician in Watonga for years, an excellent clinician and a man dedicated to the care of his community. He served on the school board, he taught Sunday School and he taught medical students and resident physicians.

Now, let’s set the scene: It’s August 26, 1982, around 3:30 PM. I’m in my academic office, probably doing something incredibly important like writing next week’s Power Point presentation on Congestive Heart Failure or the role of Family Systems in understanding disease.  

The phone rings. On the other end? Myrna.

“You need to come to Watonga tonight,” she says.  No hello, no how are you, just straight to the point.  If you knew her this approach would not surprise you.

I, being the reasonable human being that I am, reply, “You’re going to be home for the weekend starting Friday. I’ll see you then.”

But no. She’s not having it. “No, you need to come to Watonga tonight…I am ovulating,” she declares, as casually as if she were telling me she’d run out of milk.

I pause. “Myrna, why is this an issue? You’ve ovulated lots of times before…” I say, because apparently, I thought this was a logical response.

She hits me with the big guns: “Mike, I have calculated that this is the ovulation cycle in which I need to get pregnant…so I can deliver in the six-week window between graduation from medical school and starting my internship on July 1.”

Did she just say calculated?

There’s a pause. I’m mentally listing all the reasons NOT to drive to Watonga, America, on a Thursday night. But she’s not done. “This way, I can still walk for graduation, and it won’t really show,” she adds, as if this is the most normal conversation in the world.

Being the dutiful and loving husband that I am, I had “nothing”.

Fast forward to mid May 1983. Jessica Michaela makes her grand entrance into the world, three days after medical school graduation and a cool 45 days before the start of her internship. 

Perfect timing, really.

And now, whenever a patient tells me that she can’t plan her pregnancy, I just smile knowingly. Because, my friends, I’ve seen the Watonga Story unfold before my eyes. And let me tell you, when a determined medical student with a calculator and a plan sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her. Not even a 71-mile drive.

J.Michael Pontious M.D.

February 2025