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She fluffs a pair of slacks in the air before laying them on the bed to fold. “I want you to ask out that handsome doctor. I may be old, dear, but I’m not blind, and I’m certainly not stupid. I know you like him.”
I slap my hand across my mouth to muffle the surprised squeal. “Elda, you stinker! I didn’t realize you played matchmaker. It’s not like that between us. I respect him a lot, for sure. And he’s a friend. But we work together—”
“Oh, shush. Don’t give me thatdritt.I know two people with feelings for each other when I see it.”
I let my professional guard down a little, glancing to make sure no one was outside the room. “Okay, I will admit I think he’s cute. And he’s a wonderful doctor, but that’s pretty much where it ends.” Besides the fact that we’ve now made out three times. And I like him. Ireallylike him.
She waltzes over to reach for my hand, squeezing it firmly. “You deserve to be happy. Let me know if you need me to put in a good word for you,” she says with a wink.“I’ve been known to be very persuasive.”
I finish up my assessment and administer medications to Elda, all the while thinking about her crazy suggestion and about seventy years with the same person. Lord knows the amount of stress a relationship sees in seventy years. In a good life, the stress would be limited to money or career changes. That can be draining enough, let alone the possibility of cancer or disease or unexpected losses that would wreak havoc on a relationship. The foundation must have to be out of this world to survive disasters.That, or the stubborn willingness of two people refusing to live without each other.
I round on my other patients, administer morning medications, finishing off my coffee from Ryan in the process. I finally sit at a computer to lose myself in Elda’s discharge paperwork when a loud boom overhead draws my attention.
CODE BLUE, ROOM 422.
My body is up, and my feet are in motion before it hits me.
422 …That’s Elda.
I race down the hall, whipping around the corner to the room to find an aide at the bedside, leaning over an unresponsive Elda, who is slumped over the bed. Her tan slacks have fallen to the floor, puddled at her feet. “Elda, Elda, can you hear me?”
I rush to her side and my gut fills with dread as I feel her cool, pale skin, looking for a pulse but not finding one. Instinct takes over and I immediately lay her on her back, lowering the head of the bed to start chest compressions. The room fills with the code team, the crash cart arrives, and everyone assumes their roles. I focus my sole attention on compressions as the rest of the room becomes a fog around me.
Check blood pressure.
Roll her on the count of three to place the backboard.
Apply defibrillator.
Continue compressions.
Ryan enters as the hospitalist running the code, and I continue compressions until I feel my arms getting weak and sloppy.
“Can someone take over?” I ask in between pumps.
“I’m right behind you,” says Meg, a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Swap at next rhythm check.”
We pause to see if there is a shockable rhythm on the monitor. I step out of the way while Meg gets in position and back myself into the corner by the recliner as people continue to gather around the bedside.
Sometimes codes feel like you’re in a haze. People all around, orders being given for medications, controlled chaos—check blood pressure, check rhythm,do we have a pulse?
Through the commotion, I look over and Ryan has his eyes locked on me as he calls out orders. We stare at each other, no need to speak our shared feelings. As bleak and shitty as it is, we both know that she probably won’t survive. Even if we get a viable heartbeat and she breathes on her own, the damaging effects of the chest compressions on her tiny frame will be too much for her. She will most likely pass a few months down the road.
That’s one of the hardest parts of being a nurse. We meet a lot of people throughout our careers; hell, we meet a lot of people on any given shift. Some, you can’t remember their name, while others you remember exactly what they looked like, the sound of their voice, and you wonder what they’ve done with their lives. Elda will be one of those patients for me.
~
Forty-five minutes of medications and compressions have passed, and we never obtained a shockable rhythm. With frustration in his eyes, Ryan calls time of death. I want to cry, but I won’t. Not at work, not in front of anyone. Maybe in the parking lot, or on the drive home tonight. This is the last thing I expected during an already shitty week.
After the chaos of the code ends, the questions fill my brain. What could we have done differently? Is there something I missed? She most likely had cardiac arrest, possibly a bleed from a ruptured artery, maybe a blood clot. Vascular surgeries carry that risk, but she had been doing fine.
If I hadn’t been so busy …
If I wasn’t so exhausted …
If I had been there sooner …
