One Resident’s First Code

A Code Leo was called overhead through the paging system, and the house supervisor started to run down the hall. Glad that I didn’t wear heels today, I quickly followed as we descended the stairwell. Code Leo Room 265. Translation: a patient was having a cardiac arrest and needed help stat. Medical personnel were everywhere, dashing into the room with equipment, calling orders, and paging doctors.

I saw a little space in the corner where I could tuck myself away, somewhat out of the pathway between the patient’s bed and the door. The curtain kept being pulled shut and opened, in an attempt of privacy for Mr. Todd who lay naked and vulnerable on his bed. A tall, burly, white-headed emergency physician was in the room at the patient’s side assessing his condition. Dr. Arrant, a tiny blonde internal medicine doctor was performing chest compressions, exhibiting masked strength in this dire time of need.

This experience was emotional. “First, do no harm” as the Hippocratic oath exonerates, and of course, “apply all measures which are required.” Nurses swarmed, doctors ordered, techs ran for medications, IV drips were hung, a PICC line was inserted, ventilators were hand pumped. A defibrillator sent shock waves through his body, and his limbs responded with a weak flail. The emotion from such an event was channeled to energy: energy to perform all of these necessary and critical tasks.

Time stopped. Dr. Nguyen asked the staff if there were any objections. When everyone shook their head no, they knew they were in agreement. After an hour, the death was called knowing all measures had been taken. Slowly, staff trickled out of the room, remembering there were other patients to care for. I hung back while the House Supervisor made final notes.

One nurse, Sandy, who had been a clear leader in this event was still in the room. She walked over to the head of the bed and, with her gentle hand, closed his eyes and held his face. It was then that I fought back the tears; seeing her compassion and heart for this patient deeply touched me. Dr. Nguyen called my name outside of the room. “Laura, what did you think? Was that your first code?” It was indeed my first code, and even though it wasn’t his first nor his last, he extended his hand to show me it still trembled from the significance of his work.

Such is healthcare and the work we do--caring for people in their most acute time of need. Certainly, it’s offering the pain medication or performing a diagnostic test. But equally, if not more importantly, it’s the hand we hold and the phone call we make with genuine concern and empathy.