The one thing that topped off my duty for day 7 was a memorable thing for me.
But not in a good way.
For the operator to page an announcement at 5am meant something different:
It was a code.
I rushed down to the ER with my duty mates and saw somebody being resuscitated back to life. All of the guys who were there, including me, were given the chance to pump the patient’s chest.
The moment I started pumping, the feeling became quite unreal for me. To perform a procedure that I’ve been doing on dummies during Red Cross trainings back in college and med school was just unforgettable. I pumped and pumped, until my body grew tired. I called for a sub, then I waited 3 turns before I went for it again.
After we were relieved of the resuscitations, I went back to my station to finish my vital sign totals. Almost 30 minutes later, the operator called another code. I rushed back to the ER and started another round of pumping.
It’s hard to describe that feeling when you’re pumping somebody back to life. As the heel of my palm (tama?) was on the patient’s chest, it felt like I was pushing against a board. Due to the prolonged pumping, as I was doing it, I felt a snap under my palms. It rushed into my mind that the patient’s sternum gave way already. It signalled that the patient was nearing flatline, despite the vigorous pumping.
Later, the resident called off the resuscitation, and we just waited for the heart to stop.
The ECG strip read 3 faint, distant beats…
…then 2 beats…
The time of death was called, the relatives of the deceased couldn’t help but grieve, and I was in silence - deep silence.
It was the first time that I saw somebody die right in front of me, and it was just plain sad.
May God grant peace onto that person.