My First Code and the Doctor Who Helped Me Survive It

It was day shift, early in my career as a nurse, January 2020. I was still a code blue virgin, hadn't even witnessed one yet. I was on our sister unit across the hall talking to someone about my timecard. Suddenly, it happened. My work phone gave off that chilling code blue ring that alarms on the whole unit when someone presses the code blue button on the wall. I looked at my phone. "CODE BLUE, RM 357". Of course I was all the way across the hall... So I went off running. Moments later, I heard the overhead bell and public announcement of a code blue on my unit. I ran faster.

As I entered the doors to the unit, the code blue alarm was blaring at the front desk, and I could hear phones going off everywhere. I headed for 357 and felt a rush of adrenaline when I saw my charge nurse on the floor doing compressions on a patient. He had gone unresponsive in his chair, so they slid him to the floor for CPR. To my surprise, I was one of the first ones there, so I took the role of recorder. Moments later, the ICU team appeared. The critical care doctor was in maroon scrubs and immediately started barking orders. A heavy-set, middle-aged Indian man, I felt slightly intimidated by his confident air. I was fresh off orientation, shy and anxious, but my skills kicked in automatically like someone flipped a switch. It seemed like a cut and dry code until respiratory arrived and intubated the patient. Immediately upon placing the tube in his airway, each compression expelled bright red blood everywhere. Horrified, I tried to stay focused on my role, writing down every action we took and announcing every time we reached 2 minutes of CPR so they could check for a pulse. Apparently an ulcer or something had ruptured, and the patient had been bleeding internally. There was very little we could do by then. After exhausting all our options, the doctor decided to call it.

We stopped for a debriefing, but honestly I wasn't listening anymore. My mind was in a frenzy as I looked at the carnage before me. Medical supplies were strewn about and blood was all over the floor. And then of course there was the dead person in the middle of it. I felt my emotions building inside of me, and apparently I wore it prominently on my face because suddenly I heard the doctor ask, "Are you okay?" I looked at him and we made eye contact. I nodded, trying to hold it together, but it was clear I was not going to be able to stay together for long. I turned and went quickly to the break room and burst into tears. This wasn't how I pictured my first code ending, and it didn't help that the adrenaline was still pumping.

I sat in the break room for a few minutes when, to my surprise, the critical care doctor appeared in the doorway. He looked sympathetic and took a seat next to me at the table. For a moment, he was quiet. Then he spoke.

"You did everything I needed you to do to be able to run a good code. It was just his time," the doctor said softly. I told him it was my first code, and he said I did it perfectly and should feel good about that. I nodded and thanked him and he left. Not long after, the respiratory therapist came in as well and told me that that particular doctor is usually an asshole, and I should feel good about the fact he wanted to make sure I was okay and was kind to me.

Years passed and I didn't see that doctor anymore, but I still thought of him from time to time. I wished I remembered his name and wondered if he still worked at the hospital.

One night, 4 years later, I was working night shift. At some point, we got an ICU downgrade, and a critical care doctor stopped by. A heavy-set, middle-aged Indian man. I saw him and blinked. Was this the same doctor after all this time? I got a good look at his face and felt confident enough that it was him that I decided to say something.

"Hey, do you remember me? After a code 4 years ago, you came and comforted me in the break room?" The doctor's face lit up.

"Yes! Oh, I'm so glad to see you here. I've seen so many young nurses burn out from experiences like that, and I was so scared that would happen to you. I'm so happy you stuck with it." He smiled warmly. We chatted a little and then went separate ways again, and I haven't seen him again since. But I assume he's still there. I'll never forget him for how he took the time to help me through that experience, and I'm so thankful I got to see him again down the road.

Moral of the story: If you see a nurse struggling with a traumatic experience, don't do nothing. Take 30 seconds to check on them, or tell the unit manager or charge nurse to check on them if you don't feel comfortable with it or don't have time. For a lot of people, that's all that's needed.

- Bella, RN