Fuzzy Lines

The school year "began" on August 7. The first two weeks, however, were not spent in the lecture hall. Instead, we had two weeks of wards experience. Most people were assigned to a third or fourth year student and we followed them on their two-week rotation.

I was assigned to a fourth year student who happened to be doing a rotation through MICU/CCU. During the first week, our attending was a cardiologist and so the majority of our patients were on the CCU service; although there were times when we did venture out of the CCU.

On one of the mornings I came in and sat as the fourth year student I was assigned to wrote his notes. We were sitting at the nurses' station in the CCU. A nurse came and stood beside me. She looked like she was getting something at the printer. But then, another nurse called her for help and off she ran to a patient's room. Then the blue light above the doorway of that room began flashing and an alarm went off.

Chaos ensued. Nurses, medical students, and residents ran to do the room. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I follow? Should I stand at the nurses' station? Could I go watch? I ended standing near the doorway so as to peer in at what was unfolding.

The team grabbed the crash cart. Someone got the defibrilator ready. A loud voice yelled, "Clear!"

Nothing happened. They tried again. Still, nothing happened. They yelled for another machine. Someone rushed one over from down the hallway...

A couple other first-year students gathered with me outside the room. Someone yelled to page surgery because the patient was a surgery patient. Soon a surgical resident arrived and asked us (the first year students) who the resident was inside. He just looked inside and started working on his pager...

As we stood outside watching we saw a medical student (3rd or 4th year) get on the bed and begin chest compressions. He would trade off with another person every few minutes. I am not too sure what happened about using the defibrilator....

A nurse walks into the room and tells the team that the family has asked that they stop. The patient was coding for over 15 minutes. I heard the resident call the time of death...

I had always thought of the line between life and death as a solid line. One was either dead or alive, right (and please don't bring up Schrödinger's cat)? There is no in between. But for over a quarter of an hour, I watched as a patient lay on a bed with no change in condition. There was no breathing throughout that time, nor was there a heartbeat. But only when they declared the time of death was the patient "dead." If you ask me, that's a pretty fuzzy line...