They say you know the people who love you most by who is around you while you are dying.
A "Code Blue" was called again today, a cardiac alert, a sign that the patient that was coming in to the ER was in respiratory distress and their heart stopped at some point.
I assumed position as usual, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper for documenting the long code that was about to ensue, and followed the physician into the room to wait for the patient. I assumed my usual position at the back of the room, and my mind began to tune out the rest of my thoughts and leave them outside of the room.
The few minutes before an ambulance arrives are what I like to call a "quick hustle." Staff are moving around the room to gather equipment and necessary medications, EKG's are being given to the physician, various staff members are coming in and out of the room, and yet there is this hovering silence, the calm before the storm, the rush and nerves of the uncertainty of what is truly about to come in through those doors.
We could be the ones standing there when this person takes their last breath. Or we could be the ones there to see them recover without difficulty.
This will not be another post about how difficult it is to watch someone struggle to keep breathing, or how aggressive codes are on the human body.
About halfway through the code, the patient's family arrived in the ER and they were brought to see the patient. I prepared myself for the sorrow, the tears, the shock, but what happened next struck me more than that.
Two members of his family walked into the room and began to call onto God. The physician was explaining the situation to them, and they kept uttering under their breath prayers to God. It took me a minute to understand what they were saying before I was struck with emotion at the desperation in their voices.
Not once did they ask the physician to keep going, to keep fighting for their loved one. Instead, they listened to the physician's plan and kept calling to God to help him, Each response they gave to the physician about what measures they wanted done, they did so by saying a prayer.
I found myself saying prayers as well, caught off guard by their faithfulness.
By the time they called time of death, the family was surrounding him, tears down their faces, hands held tightly, still whispering God's name, still praising Him, still calling to him for strength, understanding, and patience.
They say you know the people who love you most by who is around you while you are dying. His family was there, but most importantly, they were calling on the One who has always been there, from the beginning until the end of his life, the One who loves him the most: his Creator.
A "Code Blue" was called again today, a cardiac alert, a sign that the patient that was coming in to the ER was in respiratory distress and their heart stopped at some point.
I assumed position as usual, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper for documenting the long code that was about to ensue, and followed the physician into the room to wait for the patient. I assumed my usual position at the back of the room, and my mind began to tune out the rest of my thoughts and leave them outside of the room.
The few minutes before an ambulance arrives are what I like to call a "quick hustle." Staff are moving around the room to gather equipment and necessary medications, EKG's are being given to the physician, various staff members are coming in and out of the room, and yet there is this hovering silence, the calm before the storm, the rush and nerves of the uncertainty of what is truly about to come in through those doors.
We could be the ones standing there when this person takes their last breath. Or we could be the ones there to see them recover without difficulty.
This will not be another post about how difficult it is to watch someone struggle to keep breathing, or how aggressive codes are on the human body.
About halfway through the code, the patient's family arrived in the ER and they were brought to see the patient. I prepared myself for the sorrow, the tears, the shock, but what happened next struck me more than that.
Two members of his family walked into the room and began to call onto God. The physician was explaining the situation to them, and they kept uttering under their breath prayers to God. It took me a minute to understand what they were saying before I was struck with emotion at the desperation in their voices.
Not once did they ask the physician to keep going, to keep fighting for their loved one. Instead, they listened to the physician's plan and kept calling to God to help him, Each response they gave to the physician about what measures they wanted done, they did so by saying a prayer.
I found myself saying prayers as well, caught off guard by their faithfulness.
By the time they called time of death, the family was surrounding him, tears down their faces, hands held tightly, still whispering God's name, still praising Him, still calling to him for strength, understanding, and patience.
They say you know the people who love you most by who is around you while you are dying. His family was there, but most importantly, they were calling on the One who has always been there, from the beginning until the end of his life, the One who loves him the most: his Creator.
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