Post CPR

Later a woman introduced herself to me. She said she was the head nurse, that they had been able to revive him, that his vitals were returning, his color was back, and they were impressed. Aha! I thought. He has cheated death once more! She said they were going to clean him up and move him to a larger bay in the ER. I went out to the waiting room. Laura and Kyle were arriving. Kyle looked pretty rundown from his wild birthday party, and they had the baby with them. Carmi had called David, and her friend, Gail, was there as well. David arrived. The first of the known doctors to arrive was the cardiologist, the man who, no matter how old or incapacitated Dad had become, always treated him with the regard of a highly-esteemed colleague, the man who the ICU nurse had said had saved patient after patient from death from congestive heart failure, the man who my dad trusted far more than any other doctor. He found me and said, "This doesn't look good. This looks really, really bad. They spent almost twenty-five minutes reviving him. His lungs are full of crud. He has a raging infection and his body is in septic shock. He has about a one in a million chance of recovering from this. I've known your dad for thirty five years. He wouldn't want this for himself." "I know. You're right. I was really surprised last week when the doctor asked me to ask him if he wanted chest compressions, intubation and paddles, and he said yes. I think maybe it was fear. His health care directives say he doesn't want heroics. He even wrote that if he's in a reversible condition that he wanted to be let go gently and comfortably." "I'm going to write that if he goes into cardiac arrest again that they don't do CPR. He probably has a couple of broken ribs from this as it is. If he makes it through the night we'll put him on comfort care in the morning. We'll keep him out of pain. We'll stop the meds and put him on morphine." "Yes, I understand. I think you're right. He wouldn't want this again." I visited Dad over and over again in that ER bay. His eyes were half-open. His pupils were dilated. He was on a ventilator. I knew that look. That's how my mom looked. Non-responsive. Not really there. We all went in to see him. I held his hands. We all held his hands. David came out shaking his head. "It's no good. He's gone." By 8:30 p.m. they moved him up to the ICU. They were wonderfully attentive. In that unit each nurse has two patients: one in great need of attention, and the other in fairly good shape and ready to be moved to a less intense ward. Dad's nurse was a woman about my age with spiked platinum hair about an inch long and a slight hint of dark roots. She wasn't a punker; she had adopted this hairstyle to combat thinning hair. Good for her! Be courageous. Make a statement! Laura and I stayed in the room for a couple of hours. Kyle was unhappy. He needed to sleep. We left a little after ten.