Peace

My watch told me that I had less than 2 hours before the next shift arrived.
My clip board told me that there was still at least three hours of work to be done. There were several IV medications that needed to be started, blood samples that needed to be collected and send to the lab, not to mention all the paperwork which at this point was woefully behind. However, I was still calm, “No need to panic yet” I thought, “I just need to pick up the pace a little bit – I can still make it.”

It was then that the overhead pager crackled and rudely blurted out those two dreaded words: “CODE BLUE” Those words make everyone stop. A nurse’s priorities automatically change at the announcement of those words. Someone is dying - everything else can wait - even the next shift.

I didn’t know his name but I could tell from the minute that I ran down the stairs and into his room that the outcome would probably not be good. He was an elderly white man who had obviously been sick for awhile. His pale limp body showed the marks of years of sincere but futile medical intervention.

I don’t want to be morbid here, but you must understand that CPR is not pretty. It is very violent. Ribs break, fluids fly.….you get the picture. The room turns into a battle zone. There are doctors yelling, nurses running, equipment banging, and monitors alarming – it is controlled chaos.

With that much energy and intensity flowing stopping is not easy. Giving up is never pleasant. But, the family had decided that it was best. It was time to let go and accept the inevitable. So we stopped. The room which only seconds ago was literally erupting, was now quiet and still.

This is something that I have experienced many times. I used to try and remember and keep track of all the souls that I watched slip off into eternity, but the number and faces just became too large. But this one I will remember.

When the doctor said stop, I stopped. I stopped compressing a now soft and broken chest. I was by default the closest one to the patient. At this point in most cases (every other case I have ever seen) the patient’s eyes are dull, fixed, and glazed - but not this time. I had been watching the monitor. As the last few blips were fading away I looked down at the patient’s face. He was looking at me. His eyes were bright and focused very much alive.

I don’t know how I knew, I just did. I could see it. His eyes were not filled with desperation or fear or pain. They were filled with softness and peace. I heard it plainly – as plainly as if the words had actually been spoken. He told me he was ok. He was ready to go. He appreciated my gallant efforts but the angels were there now and they were waiting. He told me that he would see me again someday soon.
I told him that I was looking forward to it. Then I closed his eyes.

Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.