AFTER I WOKE up from my nap I felt my neck hurt. And my arms, too.
The code, which lasted for 20 minutes or so in the early morning, had me do the chest compressions with the Pediatrics resident. The patient was a 16-year old girl with a malignant tumor. The family had long known the prognosis—a dire one—but her mother kept wailing in the corner, crying out for help, while her father looked dazed, as if hypnotized, wondering if it was all just a dream.
O, if it only were.
But like all jokes it is half-meant. The other half consists of grief and pain: at seeing death, which leaves us powerless at some point. One never gets used to it.