37

“Something’s off,” Amy repeats stubbornly.

I roll my chair to the left so the bottom third of her face isn’t blocked by the computer screen. She’s wearing a pair of FIGS, the new color, forest green. I, on the other hand, am in no-size-fits-anyone wrinkled hospital scrubs. My own scrubs are sitting in a tied up trash bag and I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to wash them three times and see how they look or just throw them away. This is why I don’t buy expensive scrubs. 

I bring my tired night shift mind back to the problem at hand. “Has anything new happened?”

Amy sighs. “No.”

I like Amy, more than that I feel responsible for her, but she’s starting to get on my nerves. It’s been a night. We’ve been slammed with admissions. Our census is high and so is our acuity. Plus, one of our nurses called out sick, so I’m trying to help everyone, and stay on top of my charge nurse duties. I don’t have time to go over this again.

I pull my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose. I should dim the lights earlier next time, I note mentally. Maybe then I’ll get fewer headaches. “Look, I don’t know what else you want me to do. We’ve drawn a crap  ton of labs, we got an EKG, and we’re culturing every body fluid known to man. You even got Dr. Weston to come up and take a look at him.”

“Yeah, and now he thinks I’m an idiot.”

I glare at her. She knows this is my pet peeve. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just new, and it takes time to get a sense for what’s normal and what isn’t.”

“It’s not personal.” Stephanie chimes in. “He thinks everyone’s an idiot.” 

Heaven knows why she chooses to chart at the main nurses station on such a busy night, but I appreciate the moral support.

“But he keeps saying he doesn’t feel right,” Amy insists.” Every time I go in there. It’s not like I want there to be something wrong with him. But you told me on orientation never to ignore what a patient tells you.”

“Yes I did. But you didn’t ignore it. I would say you’ve gone above and beyond. Plus, he just had a heart attack. He probably doesn’t feel right.”

Bridget clatters by with her computer on wheels piled high with gauze and ABD pads. “Who’re you talking about, 37?”

I nod, not making eye contact. If you want to deal with this, by all means, I think, but I promise I’ve tried everything.

“Maybe he’s just being a drama queen. Have you tried giving him Xanax?”

I feel Amy stiffen. She’s over-protective of her patients, like a mother hen, or mother bear. Someday she would be ok with someone referring to them as a drama queen. Someday she would even do it herself. But she isn’t there yet.

“Xanax isn’t a bad idea,” I tell her. 

Amy wavers. “I’ll go check on him again, and then I’ll see.” 

I nod wearily. Amy walks off.  

“Hey Steph, can you help me with this dressing change?” Bridget asks, nodding towards the mountain of white. “I hate to ask, but this guy can’t hold his leg up himself.”

Stephanie nods. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Sure, no problem.” Bridget pushes her computer past us, grunting a little. “Why is this thing so stiff?”

Stephanie’s typing quickly. Must be a nurse’s note. For the first time that night, it’s quiet. I put my glasses back on so I can read the flickering time on my computer screen. 0217. I rest my head in my hands and just sit there, idly wondering if I should just give up on a lunch break. But I jerk upright as the overhead loudspeakers crackle. 

“Code Blue, 6 North, Code Blue, 6 North, Code Blue, 6 North.”

For a split second Stephanie and I stare at each other in sick horror. Then we leap to our feet, her running for the code cart, me racing down the hall.

Amy is doing compressions. “Roll the cart around to the other side,” I tell Stephanie. “Whose bagging? We need somebody to bag!”

“I got it,” June says, squeezing between Amy and the plastic-upholstered recliner. “Why can’t we have big rooms like the ICU?”

“I’m behind you to take over compressions when you need me to,” Dave says, his bulk towering over Amy.

“Oh, Dave’s here? I guess I can leave then,” Bill says, feinting towards the door. 

“Please don’t leave until the Code Team gets here,” I tell him. “Then yes, we’ll need the space more than we’ll need you.”

“Ouch!” Bill says, and somebody laughs. But I see Amy’s face as she moves to the back of the compression line, and I’m not laughing. Then the Code Team arrives, and Amy and I are filling in the doctor, pulling up the chart. 

“Do we have IV access?” he asks.

Amy nods. “One in each arm.”

“Then let’s give one of epi.”

I hand the epinephrine to the med nurse. “One of epi given,” he calls out.

We have two more minutes until we can give another epi. The recorder is watching the clock.

“Do we have recent labs?”

Amy stares at the computer screen. I recognize that frozen look. 

I take the mouse and open the labs section. “Looks like these are from four hours ago.”

“Well nothing much will have changed in four hours. Let’s get a gluc.”

Bill grabs the glucometer and check’s the patient’s blood sugar. Really, he’s the last to leave in any emergency. “109.”

“Maybe his stent reoccluded,” the doctor says to himself. “Where did you say it was, the LAD?”

“Yes, the LAD,” Amy answers.

“Well if we could get him back we could take him to the cath lab and fix it, but it’s not looking promising. I say we go for twenty minutes and then call it, unless anyone feels strongly otherwise. There’s a murmur of agreement.

The twenty minutes takes forever and yet is over quickly. The room empties, leaving the floor littered with trash and a body in the bed. I suddenly realize the TV is still on, playing reruns of some show I don’t recognize. No one thought to turn it off. I do it now.

“What happens now?” Amy asks.

“Well, they already called the family, so we don’t have to do that. There are a couple of forms to fill out, organ donation stuff…” I trail off. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what she means.

There are tears in Amy’s eyes as I hug her tight. Then I pull away, hands holding her shoulders, willing her to believe me. “You did everything you could.”

She looks back at me. “Is that supposed to be enough?”

“It has to be.”