sporadic thought bubbles

One thing about being in the ER all the freaking time is that you start to become numb to that particular word. In my third year as an ICC brimming with wholesome naivete, i would palpitate, convulse, and eventually lose consciousness upon hearing someone call a code, and thus BECOME a code myself. I was never in the vicinity of a code back then, hence my being alive today. In my fourth year, as an overworked but still code-less clerk, i managed to make myself scarce whenever a patient’s vitals began to drop, and was thus successful in avoiding codes for yet another year. But in my final year of medical school, as an intern with no excuses left in the book, i had no choice. Yes, i finally had to do chest compressions. I have finally, hesitatingly, with the tiniest voice possible, called codes myself. I have stared death in the face and said, DAMMIT, HE WILL LIVE! Of course they rarely do, but hell, i’ve always wanted to say that.

That’s mostly what they do at the ER, these patients, their hearts abruptly stop beating and they die. Or they are revived for a few more minutes, and then they die again. Back in the day, this would have fazed me– looking into the open eyes of a dead man, feeling his wrist for traces of a pulse, asking his loved ones whether resuscitation will be stopped or not. But now it’s all in a day’s work. I hear it left and right now, that urgent, tight-lipped call for "CODE!", and no longer freaks me out. It only makes me stand up from my pathetic little footstool, begrudgingly walk over to the patient, and participate. Wondering, hoping, asking God, if this is the one who’ll beat the odds.