The Community Hospital Strikes Again!

My shift started at midnight. As I'm walking toward the copy machine to photocopy some kid's insurance card (yes, I know, not my job, but hey, when you want something done...) I pass by traige and notice a pale, limp, bluish-grey infant breathing fast and grunting.

Oh ho, say I. What's this?

The lovely triage nurse replies that the patient had just checked in, but nothing else was known. We share a look. That look held all the knowledge and experience of all our previous shifts together. On a higher plane, we commune with the universe and come to a mutual, unspoken and instantaneous agreement.

Smoothly, we both move to the shock room. She sets up the pulse ox, I reach for oxygen. Our little baby is only getting 85% of the oxygen he needs. Orders are written. Without much ado, we get the IV. Wonderous. Fluids start, labs are sent. For once, everything flows like a river flows toward the ocean, smoothly and easily.

We decide to intubate. Medications appear, respiratory techs arrive. My resident easily slides the tube into the trachea. Glorious, glorious.

I have never had a code go so smoothly here at the Tub. I wonder how I'll be made to pay.