Code Blue....

Let me start by saying that I'm happy with the national recognition that the company I work for got in the presidential address. I may have only worked there a year this next month, but I really can tell that it's a brilliant company and that their standards are set high. Sure, everyone has their bad experiences everywhere.... and there are those people that are the exception to the rule. Let's face it, they're everywhere. Seriously... I'm just trying to say the quality of care I've seen with this company has been amazing. And most people I know in the company love what they do.

I'm not just trying to talk about how awesome my job is with this post, (I love it still, by the way). I had a point.

One of my patients went on hospice today. For those that don't know, hospice is for patients that are terminally ill. Terminal as in, terminated. To qualify, they have to be expected to die within the 90 day limit. Three months. And there are people that end up going on hospice and end up living past that mark... Bla bla bla. Most of the time they have an expiration date, but things get used up before then.

Sorry to be so blunt about it... But I'm just trying to give some perspective. And it helps just to get the facts out there quick.

This patient, we'll call him G, is one of the sweetest guys I have ever met. He's older, and I'm not going to talk about what disease he has or any of that. All you need to know right now is that he has been sick for a long time... When I started my training, he was admitted. He has been on that floor for as long as I have. Every day, I have seen him walking the halls with his wife, IV pole, and one of his daughters or some other family member. Someone was almost always there. At night, I would sneak in and get his vital signs, make sure he was comfortable and okay, and tuck him back into bed and let him rest. Remember that dream I mentioned a patient having where I tried to kill him? This was him.

I was in another room, occupied with another patient, when I heard it over the intercom... "Code Blue, West 8, Room ***....."

I knew it was him. I tried to pay no attention to it, because there was nothing I could do at the moment... I heard footsteps running that direction, and I couldn't just leave my patient with what we were doing. He wasn't my patient today. I took a deep breath and continued my work.

I forgot all about it until I heard someone mention his name and that he was coming back and they were putting him on hospice. And I got worried.

His room new room was down by the other patients that I was caring for, so when his family came back up and waited for him, I recognized them. And when the door was closed I knew he had come back. I ran in as fast as I could and put my hand in his.

"Hi G, how are you? Are you feeling okay?"

"Mandy!" He smiled. His face mask kept him from using all of his muscles to stretch his smile all the way, and he gave my hand a squeeze. "I'm ready to die."

He said it so simply, using the same voice he had used to tell me that he didn't need anything else for the rest of the night.

I held his hand a little tighter as he looked into my eyes, and one of his daughters asked me to help set up the suction so he could clean out his mouth. I ran around, trying to find all of the pieces to set up suction for him, and was in and out of the room a lot. But every time I went in, the room was different.

There were more pictures of friends and family slowly being taped up around the room.

More people came in to make sure he was okay.

And more tears were in the eyes of those people.

I finally had the suction set up when he reached for my wrist again.

"What does that say?" He said, weakly, and he turned my wrist to see my tattoo.

"Love is not dead."

He smiled and closed his eyes.

"Sometimes I have to write things on myself so I don't forget them."

And he smiled a little more.

A daughter came and sat on his bed to talk to him, and I found something else to do in the room for a minute. The only part of the conversation I heard him have with her, was that he was ready... and he kept reassuring her that he wasn't scared anymore, and he knew that was his sign that it was time to go.

I found my way out of the room and snuck into a clean utility room so I could take a couple breaths and get myself straightened out before I did anything else. It's hard to disconnect and let it not effect you, but it does sometimes. Patients come in and out of the hospital all the time. I don't know why it hit me so hard.

I made sure to say goodbye to him one last time before I left that day, and told him to be there for me tomorrow so I could come take care of him. And he wouldn't let go of my hand. I couldn't help but smile at his little game. He was always really sweet and always smiled, even though he was in pain. Even though I woke him up through the night. No matter what was going on, he smiled. And he does it still. It amazed me.

During my drive home, the sunset looked brighter. The air smelled sweeter. Everything was more vivid, just like they tell you when you come close to death. Not that I was dying. Not that G is going any time soon... Seeing someone that smiles through extreme pain and sorrow just forces me to appreciate the things I already do a little more than normal.

I hope he's there for me to see tomorrow. He is someone I'll never forget.