Code Pink

Every job has it's own "you just don't get it" aspects to it. The parts of your job where no matter how well you explain it to anyone, unless you are truly involved and a part of it, the common person just doesn't get it - they can't possibly understand. You can watch every episode of ER, Grey's Anatomy, Nurse Jackie, etc. and not really have any concept at all of what being in and working in an ER is all about. You can even be married to someone who works in an ER and not get it. I'm so fortunate to work in a department where we are a second family...as dysfunctional as it may be. So when you have those difficult moments, you know that you are not only working with others who "get it", but that they actually care how you are feeling after those moments.

Tonight we had the worst possible scenario that anyone working in the ER can face - a code pink. (A code blue for kids). Just hearing it makes your stomach churn, makes your heart race, makes you get yourself into the highest gear possible to save this life. I wish with all my heart that I could say it turned out ok, but I'm not sitting here getting teary because the smell of c-diff is wafting down the hall. It's the first code pink I've been in since becoming a mom. To hear the anguished cry of a mother is more than anyone can bear. To look into the beautiful face of an angel as you desperately push up and down on their chest, just willing to make their heart start beating again is unimaginable. To put an oxygen mask over their face, forcing their anoxic lungs to accept the life saving air and see it failing is overwhelming. And then when it's all over, to look into the faces of those who are your second family and feel comfortable to share your feelings, a couple of tears and words of "good job" and other encouragements is so satisfying. Those are the people who "get it".