Acute DeliveranceIn the banal
exercise of third year medical rounds, an alarm sounded that my ears
were not attuned to. Our resident physician responded, and in a moment,
we realized that the patient that was crashing was one of ours.
Our resident ran, and we followed. I covered the pockets of my white
coat so that the contents wouldn't spill out. We hit the elevator, and
two minutes later, we were in the MRI suite. I moved to a chair, and
unsheathed my coat. I tucked my tie between the buttons of my shirt
while taking in the scenario of a gurney surrounded at variable
distances by about 20 people, all within feet.
Automatic pilot engaged, I gloved, and I offered to replace the woman
who was applying chest compressions.
CPR.
Before I took over, I heard counts to 15, but knew
that with assisted bag-breathing, a count of breaths-to-compressions was
moot. I felt the Xyphoid process, and began pressing. Others worked,
breathing, injecting drugs, feeling pulse, and I realized I was the one
providing that pulse.
I pressed like there was no tomorrow. For the first time in nearly ten years, I performed CPR on a patient.
However, her time was then.
