Easy come, easy go

This morning I was looking out Robin's door and down the hall where I could see a group of about eight folks (mostly in white coats) standing outside one of the rooms. I asked Robin if they ever had rounds here where a bunch of residents come into the room. She said "no" and I said either they're doing it today, or someone was in big trouble.

I left a minute later to get coffee and as I walked down the hall I noticed that not everyone was in white coats. There were a couple folks in scrubs and a maintenance guy in the group, and everyone had on gloves. Several folks leaned against the wall, waiting with what look like feigned disinterest and just the slightest sign of stress on their faces. A few of the younger looking folks in white coats stood by the door and peered into the room. It turns out it was the code team in the room and as I walked by I could see them doing vigorous CPR on a naked body which was bouncing up and down like a rag doll. Robin always told me that real CPR didn’t look like the TV version! At least I could only see the patient from the waist down. I just kept walking, but at the elevator I turned around and I could read the name tag on the room. I just acted like everyone in the silent hallway did, like nothing much was happening.

I started to get teary eyed as I crossed the street outside and I finally started to think about the scene upstairs. I wondered if the guy knew it was coming, or was it a complete surprise? Was he being treated for something and expecting to go home, or had he been deteriorating over the last few days? Did his family know what was happening in the room at this very minute? Had they left him last night saying they'll be back tonight for another visit?

On the way back to Robin's room I get off the elevator and think about going the long way around but I figure I'll face up to it and walk by the room again. Hmmm....no more name tag on the door just a blank spot where the name had been - that's not a good sign good. The hallway is empty now except for a few workers from the floor scurrying in and out of the room, moving equipment out to the hallway. As I pass by I look in - oops, the bed is still there, the bottom half of the patient still visible protruding from behind the curtain, but now the legs are covered by a blanket. The blanket covered legs looking strangely relaxed compared to earlier.

I wonder if it's easier to know that you're going to go soon, or easier just to be gone one day unexpectedly?