The hardest phone call i've ever had to make

I wish I could only blog funny things, but the truth is, more times than not, our job isn't always humorous.  The reason I am sharing this story with you is because it has been on my mind the last few days. 
I am on night float now.  I work every night starting at 7PM till the next morning around 8 AM.  I then try to sleep for most of the day to just come back that same night at 7PM and do it again.  Yes my schedule may be all out of whack and I don't get to see my husband or my new adorable puppies, but working nights has its perks...you don't have to deal with social work bullshit i.e patient placement, nursing home paperwork, transportation forms, etc; you don't have to write patient notes, or admit patients.  On night float I just deal with any acute complaints or emergencies pertaining to the patients I am covering overnight. 

Just a little background: every night when I come to the hospital I get checkout, which is a list of the patients and their active medical problems, medications, and things that need to be checked or followed up on overnight.  Some nights the checkout will say "watch this guy closely, he looks sick, he could die."  Or if the primary team thinks a patient is close to death they write the top 3 most likely causes of death on their checkout as to help facilitate my filling out of the death summary.  Most patients are just fine and getting routine medical treatment and the checkout says NTD (nothing to do), meaning they are stable and the team doesn't forsee any acute events happening overnight.  That was the case for this particular patient on this particular night. 

The patient had just been admitted earlier that day for pneumonia.  His checkout said, patient recieving IV antibiotics, breathing treatments, and steroids, but most importantly there was NTD.  At about 12 am my pager goes off, "code 99" (meaning patient was unresponsive/cardiac arrest and requiring CPR).  I run up to the 6th floor to find this patient being coded, with a nurse above his chest applying chest compressions, the other doctors and I frantically yet methodically clinically evaluating him, ordering meds, and assessing his cardiac rhythm.  Only problem, there wasn't one. Shortly after the code, I physically examined the patients cold and lifeless body and pronounced him dead. As I walked back to the resident work room, I had a profound all consuming sadness in my heart because I knew what had to happen next...contact the family.  At this point it was 12:30 AM and I was getting ready to make the hardest phone call of my life, I had to call his wife. Before picking up the phone and dialing the 10-digits that would soon change this woman's life I burst into tears.  I could not imagine being on the other end of that phone call.  Just that morning she had dropped off her husband for what she thought was a simple case of pneumonia, not realizing that when she left for the night that would be the last time she saw her husband alive.  I took a deep breath and brushed aside my own personal anxiety and trepidations and called the wife.  As soon as her and her daughter made it into the hospital, the daughter asked me in tears, "I bet this was the hardest phone call you have ever had to make?"  Indeed it was.  I then too began to cry alongside the family.  The daughter then said, "You doctors are human too." Another truth.

Bottom line: Events like this help put life back into perspective by reminding you what truly is important.   To me it is family and loved ones.  You forget about all the petty shit...the stain on the carpet, the laundry, the bills, the roof leak, the studying, the disagreement with a loved one...and refocus on the things that really matter to you.  So, appreciate your family, your friends, and no matter how tired, how mad, or how overworked you may be feeling, make every effort to be there for them and always tell them how much you love them!  If you are reading this blog you are probably a family member or a close friend and I want you to know that I love you!