One Hell of a Night 

After things calmed down and the PLEX was done, I got ready for bed. I was typing out a post for a social media update. My first couple of lines were, ‘Today was relatively quiet, but I think it’s just before the storm. I feel tomorrow is going to be a rough one.’ I only made a couple more sentences when the monitor alarm went off. That’s not uncommon, I guess I’m desensitized and paid no mind to it. Within the next 30 seconds, there was a whole team in here, lights thrown on, doors slung open, crash cart flying in, doctor screaming, defibrillator hooked up with a nurse at the button ready, all eyes were glued to the monitor, her rate was nearly 170 V tach. As the attending doctor looked at the monitor, he wanted to see if she’d level off on her own and was screaming, ‘Get the defib off auto now!’ It was like a scene from Grey’s Anatomy or another medical show. I stood off to the side as I looked on in horror. I was numb and so scared and crying out to God, screaming on the inside. I didn’t cry at all until I just recounted that right now; I’m bawling. It was terrifying to watch on helpless.

They didn’t need to shock her after all, but if it had been left to auto, the way the attending was screaming, I’m sure it would have. They were waiting, all eyes glued to the monitor. Amiodarone, an antiarrhythmic, was screamed for by the attending, and nurses went running. Two came back with a double supply; they ran two small boluses, then started a drip of the same. Before they got he medication running, her heart took off again, 160s again. Everyone is at the ready, the attending steadying the troops. He grabbed the pacemaker and shut everything off in case it was a pacer issue. They took a minute, then she leveled off in the 80s, but junctional, an irregular rate, for a bit. There was a question whether she had a P wave, which initiates a typical beat, after that, and an EKG was ordered. It came back inconclusive with the P wave; they were still questioning the junctional rhythm.

From there, it was a bedside differential diagnosis, the attending leaning on the foot of the bed. He ran down everything, this is good, that is good, this is borderline, that wouldn’t cause this, this wouldn’t cause that. Like a robot recalling his medical training, he just kept rattling things off. After some time, they settle for not knowing what it was, blaming rejection, as a way to grasp at straws. The attending left, then the PA stepped over to talk with me. I had been standing like a statue for the whole ordeal, but had migrated to the bed to sit down. She explained things a bit. I was too stunned to take it all in; I was processing and praying hard.

Amanda was out through the whole ordeal. After that, everyone but the nurse left. I needed a minute. With my head on my head and knees to my chest, I laid in bed. I began to listen to Psalm 23 being read over and over and over on repeat. I prayed and prayed, crying out to God, “Don’t take her,” until I finally said, “Your will be done.” I was a wreck, I was tired and fading, then would pop back with the thought of what had taken place. I passed out, exhausted, and still listening to the Psalm on repeat and praying.

I woke up not too long after in the early morning to her choking and the nurse helping her as she vomited with the tube still in. It was one of the worst bedside days I’ve ever had. It hasn’t gotten much better throughout the morning. The rest of the morning is another post. I’m exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.