Code

"Station 2, unresponsive patient."
The tones drop for another county, interrupting my dream. Frustrated, I roll over in the bed as I hear station 2 and central dispatch corresponding.
"Medic 2 is en route."
"10-4."
"Medic 2 has arrived on scene."
"10-4."
"Central, show that we have a working code."
"10-4."
In my dream, I wonder about how little central dispatch ever seems to say. I hear the door creak open as light streams in the room. Someone pushes my foot over and sits down on the bed.
"Sam. Sam, wake up." Chris pokes me, and I close my eyes tighter; I am not getting up for him, no way, no how.
"Sam, get the hell up!"
"What do you waaaant," I moan as I pull the covers over my head.
"There's a code." I'm up like a shot, tying my boots as I run awkwardly down the hall. I push the hair out of my face, tying it in an unkempt bun as I climb into the medic.
"Why are we going to this," I ask, "it's not our call."
"If this is truly a working code, they'll need manpower," he answers as I attempt to fix my hair once more. We're screaming down the road, going faster than I ever recall; I buckle my seatbelt as I wrestle a pair of gloves on my hands.
We nearly pass the house, but pull in behind another medic and two police cars. I jump out and walk towards the door; I'm not sure if I'm supposed to run in, or if that's reserved for the movies.
I can't even get in the door. She's right there, in the foyer. I shimmy to the side, and stand oddly, looking on. I have no idea if I should offer to help or stay out of the way.
And there it is. There's the bright yellow oral airway jutting out from her mouth. There's the Bag-Valve Mask and someone to squeeze it. There's the heart monitor, showing a flat line running across the screen mockingly. There is the technician doing chest compressions as she wipes her forehead with her upper arm.
I push myself further into the wall, hoping to blend in, hoping no one notices my anxiety. I feel the color draining out of my cheeks, but I know I'm keeping my composure, keeping my face flat and unchanging. The woman lying on the ground is in her forties, and she's wearing a terribly leopard-print dress. I can see the velvet of the garment sticking in different directions after the technician's hands interrupted its fluidity. I see her clunky black heels, and her formerly coiffed hair.
There's a tech showing another how rigor has set in, how it's useless. There's a police officer asking me questions, but I have no idea what they are; I just grasp the wall tighter.
It's done, she's dead. The technician stops compressions, and I notice how she takes special care to modestly arrange that awful dress so that she looks put together. I see one of our medics go to the family member and break the news. All I hear is a scream, and I head out the door. I can't take this.
I have a brief flashback to when they told me about so many of my loved ones. I remember the guttural noise I screamed, and the way the sobs choked their way up my throat. I take a moment to breathe, and Chris is heading out the door.
"Alright kid, let's go. You okay?"
"Yep," I say as I manage a rather convincing smile.
As we drive back, I hear the medics talking about the call, and as I sit alone in the back, I realize I need to talk to someone too. I open my cell phone and call my dad, the only person I know will understand.
"Hey dad, I just got done with a code."
"Oh wow, how was it?"
"Really...real."
"Are you okay, Sam?" I hear his voice falter, and I steady my own.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. It was just so real, you know Dad?"
"Yeah, I know."
"I mean, she was wearing this disgusting leopard-print dress, and there was this woman like...like pushing on her chest, you know? It wasn't glamorous or anything like that. There was a woman lying next to a stain of her own emesis as an EMT pushed on her chest!"
"Yeah, I know kiddo." The tears well up behind my eyes, and I make up an excuse.
"Well I've got to go; we're pulling into the station. Just thought I'd let you know."
"Thanks. Take care, okay? Love you."
"Love you too."
I bolt out of the back as soon as the truck is in the bay, and I mumble something about needing to use the bathroom. I slide down the cold cinder block wall and put my head in between my knees. I let myself cry for a few minutes, and then I'm back with everyone, laughing and eating breakfast.
"Station 1, shortness of breath."
"Medic 1 is en route," and we're off again.