It’s clear I’m one of the last to arrive. The room is packed with the code team and there’s a nurse inside who is pumping on Mrs. Jefferson’s chest, her massive body bouncing with each compression.
I race over, yelling, “She’s my patient! What happened?”
Naturally, nobody answers. And that’s when I see Thomas Jefferson, standing outside the room, wringing his hands together and tugging on his funny little beard.
“Dr. Jane,” he says quietly. His eyes are filled with fear.
I wince. I promised him less than 24 hours ago that his wife would be fine. Now I can see them preparing to intubate her. She’s so far from fine, it’s not even funny.
“What happened?” I ask him.
“I came to bring her a snack,” he says, holding up a brown paper sack. “And I couldn’t wake her up.”
“Still no pulse!” I hear someone yell from within the room.
Oh God. She’s going to die. Somehow at that moment, I know it with absolute certainty. I look over at Thomas Jefferson and I realize that he knows it too.
“Can you stop this, Dr. Jane?” he asks me. “Markie wouldn’t want all these people here. She’d just want to go quietly.”
I nod. “Is that what you want?”
Thomas Jefferson’s brow creases and I see the tears welling up in his eyes. “Yes, please.”
I close my eyes and brace myself as I walk into the room. The senior resident is attempting to intubate her, and she’s still flatline on the monitor. I walk over to the resident who seems to be running the code and tap him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” I say.
The resident barely glances at me. With a shaking hand, he’s holding up a cheat sheet of medications that can be used during a code. I’ve got an identical one in my pocket.
“What is it?” he asks in a distracted voice. “Her husband wants us to stop the code,” I say.
The resident turns back to me and I can see the relief flood his features.
“Oh, okay,” he says. He addresses the crowd surrounding Mrs. Jefferson, which is substantial. There are so many people doing so many things to her that her body still seems to be in motion. “I’m calling the code. Husband wants us to stop.”
And just like that, it’s over.
I leave the room with everyone else, my heart still pounding in my chest. I see the miniscule Thomas Jefferson watching everyone exit his wife’s room. He catches me before I can get past him.
“Thank you, Dr. Jane,” he says, although I don’t know what he’s thanking me for. I told him his wife was going to be all right and I was wrong. I let her die. I screwed up. I definitely don’t deserve to be thanked.
I don’t say any of that though. I just nod.
He glances into the room. “Can I hold her hand as she goes?”
“Go ahead,” I say, even though the reality is that she’s already gone. Mr. Thomas Jefferson goes back into the room and sits at his wife’s bedside. Her gown has been pulled down by the code team and he gently rights it for her. He picks her limp hand off the bed and strokes her smooth, unlined face with his other hand. With her eyes closed, she
seems so peaceful.
“It’s all over, Markie,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “All your suffering is finally over. You’re free.”
I watch for another moment before racing to the bathroom, where I collapse into tears.
Hours Awake: Oh, to hell with it all
