I work at a local hospital. We do so much good work but we can't save them all. That is a hard, sad fact we all have to accept while working there. Many days are a mixture of sadness and joy. When a lullaby is played on the overhead speakers it means a new life has been brought into the world. Fun fact: when more than one lullaby is played consecutively it means there were multiple babies born (twins, triplets, etc). It is a happy sound. Baby! Baby! Baby!
Alternatively, when an announcement is made overhead "Code Blue" followed by a location, it means there is a patient crashing and in a life or death situation. All available personnel, no matter their role, will run as fast as they can to the aforementioned location to try to help save this life. Some will grab emergency airway boxes containing necessary items to intubate a patient and help them breathe. Some will grab oxygen tanks on the way. Some will run the crash carts into the rooms containing all manner of medications and devices to help jumpstart a heart or other system that is going down fast. Others will run to the location empty handed, just there to help in any way they possibly can.
This is the part where we can't save them all. We try our best, but we simply can't. I watched one of our nurse practitioners perform CPR for seven straight minutes at a code once. We lost the patient. It is never easy. It always tugs at our heartstrings. We are always sad. And we always grieve.
At work we have six or more red emergency crash carts lined up by the door. Anytime a Code Blue is called, a pharmacy staff member runs a new cart to the code site to replace the one being used. We never want any department or area without a complete code cart. It would be very bad if a code cart was being used for one patient and a patient two beds down also crashed and also needed a code cart. That is not something we ever want to happen. Ever. They are not intended to be shared.
Since I started this job a little over five years ago, I have come to see life from a different perspective. When someone asks "Did you have a good day at work?" the answer almost always depends on how many carts were by the door. The more there are, the less codes that day. I.e. There were fourteen lullabies and only one Code Blue today. It was a good day. Or today was hard, we used five code carts.
It isn't hard for me in the sense I am the patient in distress. Simply knowing every time a code is called someone we are caring for is in distress is wearing. Healthcare is a calling. It takes a special heart to care for your fellow human, in any capacity. I am not in bedside care, but I still get attached to my patients and know it is super important to keep my work sterile and correct. I know if it were my mom or my child or my husband receiving the medications I compound I would want them to be sterile and correct. And every patient I care for is someone's someone. And they deserve the same care I would provide my own. I enjoy what I do. I truly feel like I do good work that matters.
All that to say, my hope for you is your code cart row always be full and your heart thankful.
Be well y'all.
Want to make a donation in honor of a caregiver? There are many great organizations out there to choose. The Ascension St Thomas system here in middle Tennessee is one. They can be reached at: https://give.stthomas.org/campaign/donate-to-the-ascension-saint-thomas-foundation/c273471