“Code Blue in 126! Code Blue in 126!”
We hear calls for the code team many times every day. When did we last notice long enough to be reminded that a profound drama is unfolding somewhere in the hospital? When did we last pause long enough to recall our own experiences with such crises from the perspective of the patient? . . . or the family members and friends? . . . or the nurses, therapists, physicians who have been caring for the patient? . . . or the code team members?
“Code Blue in 126!” echoed through the hallways of the 54-bed community hospital that serves the rural/poor population living in the
I am making rounds at the hospital one morning when the overhead speakers blare out the alarm. Remembering our practice has a patient in room 126, I rush down the hall. Several anxious nurses have already gathered around the patient when the code team arrives. The patient is lying on the floor. She is not wearing a hospital gown. The patient in distress is one of our nursing assistants.
“She simply collapsed without warning!” Her co-workers do not know of any significant medical problems or recent symptoms. She is in cardiopulmonary arrest – no pulse, no respirations. The defibrillator monitor confirms the assessment. The code team responds quickly, professionally, and according to protocol. But we are not very hopeful. We know CPR and Advanced Cardiac Life Support are rarely successful. But this time is different. Chest compressions, assisted ventilation, IV medications, two shocks . . . and her heart begins beating normally. She regains consciousness.
While giving her time to stabilize in the ICU, we arrange for her to be flown by helicopter to the referral medical center sixty miles away where her critical coronary artery stenosis is diagnosed. They treat the blockage with angioplasty. She returns home and eventually to work at our hospital. Two years later, I beam from ear-to-ear as I have my picture made with her while holding her newborn grandson whom I have just delivered.
Every time I see her, I remember why I wanted to practice medicine.
“Why medicine?”
For more than twenty-five years, I have been asking this question in conversations with medical students, nursing students, social workers, chaplains, therapists, nurses, physicians, medical educators, support staff members, administrators, et al. With very few exceptions, I have heard – usually early in the conversation -- some variation on “to make a difference”.
The “Code Blue in 126!” story illustrates a cherished but too infrequent series of patient encounters – i.e., our ‘I made a difference’ stories.
Why do we tell these stories? to whom? where? How do we view/present the patients when we tell these stories?
Think about it. Perhaps talk to a coworker.
