In a hospital, a “code blue” means there is an emergency with a patient who has stopped breathing. The name, an obvious reference to the face when the body cannot breathe, can sometimes be heard over a hospital public address system. Something like: “Code blue, code blue, ER Room 152, Code blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 2.”
It happened to me once. It was just after midnight, and my mom had called to say she thinks my dad had a heart attack, and that they were headed to the hospital. We drove to meet the ambulance. It’s a strange feeling when you are stopped at red light, and an ambulance approaches from the opposite direction to overtake all the other cars in priority; and, you know that inside is your dead or dying father. All you can think is: “I hope everything is ok.”
In the hospital waiting area, no one is around. Also, you can hear over the public-address system: “Code blue, code blue, ER Room 2, Code Blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 2.”
And you know it’s for your father, or someone’s father, or son, or daughter. And your heart is an anchor searching for the floor of Marianna’s trench. And the air is too thin to breathe. And then blur and blurriness. Waiting rooms. Waiting to see. To know. And then to see, and to know. And to grieve. And grieve. And grieve.
And life is like Jenga. Each peg a person, all providing support for the tower, yourself. And as you pull the threads, pull the pegs, pull the people out of the tower - sometimes the whole thing comes crashing down.
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“Code blue, code blue, ER ROOM 5, Code Blue, code blue... all available doctors and nurses ER Room 5”, could be heard over the hospital public address system. Sorcha was hysterical. She had driven like a maniac to the hospital. Grace had been admitted immediately based on her condition. And now Sorcha was waiting. Pacing. Jeff was also there. But he was wearing a tuxedo, for some reason.
Every time a doctor or nurse would walk by, Jeff and Sorcha would trap them and try to get answers about what was happening. But each one only said, “Only both of you can go back now.”
When Jeff and Sorcha backed into the wall, a secret door opened, then rotated, and put them back in the waiting room. And Sorcha waited. And paced. And Jeff still had the tuxedo, but with a regular tie that had mathematical equations written all over it. And a doctor walks by. And Jeff asks: “What is going on?”. And the doctor says: “We’ve cured her infection, she just needs this cream.” And they are home. And Jeff is trying to apply the cream, but her body keeps shaking so much, the cream is just flying off.
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In her ears, or maybe it was her mind, all Grace could hear was the empathetic and stoic guitar of David Roback, and the mellow voice of Hope Sandoval singing “... I could possibly be fading, or have something more to gain ...”. She wasn’t sure if she was in a dream, or in a strange waking state. The world around her seemed real enough. But it was like her eyes were closed, but she could still see. Her father, Jeff, felt near - though she could only sense him. He was like a ghost, or like someone observing her from behind a wall or tent. She could make out his body and his head... but his head seemed to be covered in sackcloth, hiding all features of his face. She felt he might be trying to communicate, but she couldn’t hear any words from him, and though she tried to ask him what was going on, her own voice was reluctant to make sounds. This didn’t startle her, though. As she wondered what was happening, a burning sensation encased her entire body. Normally, this would motivate her to scream. But in this instance, she felt that she was transforming from a human form into something more ethereal, and more substantial. She felt she was turning into dust.