Code_at_riverside_methodist
  What happens during a "Code Blue" in a hospital? (photo from Riverside Methodist Hospital) Most laypeople know the drill because they’ve seen it all on television. But a provocative essay by Dr. Katharine Treadway in the New England Journal of Medicine (September 27, 2007) gives us a deeper insight into something critical that has been missing. The essay was brought to my attention by one of America’s great, caring nurses. Sarah Kaminski, R.N.,B.S.N., L.N.C, of Greenville, South Carolina, campaigns tirelessly for Radical Loving Care in health care. If you, as a caregiver, are seeking to understand more about the real meaning of medicine, read this essay by Dr. Treadway. (http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/full/357/13/1273)
   In it, this physician tells the story of attending one of her first "codes" as an intern. The senior resident took charge, she tells us, and he was a model of cool competence. But the patient died anyway and one doctor knew something else was wrong….

   "We all stopped what we were doing," Dr. Treadway reports, "and then, as though the whole
episode had been some minor distraction in our otherwise packed day,
we filed out of the room. We were no longer involved."
   Something was clearly missing, she thought. But what was it? In several subsequent codes, the same ritual Katharine_treadwaywas repeated. If the patient died, all of the caregivers, as if they had suddenly been fired from their jobs, wandered off to do other things. This abrupt detachment troubled Dr. Treadway (photo at left.) For several moments, a team of caregivers had been working frantically together to save a life. Upon "failing" the  team disbanded as if they’d been working on a broken car instead of working to save a human life. This disconnection left Dr. Treadway deeply disturbed. How could those who so dedicated to saving a life be so uncaring when the code was "called."
   To her enduring credit, Dr. Treadway persisted where so many thousands gave up. She determined to add something simple but powerful to the code experience. But what could it be? "How different might those codes have felt" Dr. Treadwell writes, "if, at the end, having
declared, ‘The code is called,’ the resident then said, ‘Let’s have a
moment of silence to honor this life.’"
   How humane. How revolutionary.
   When we wonder about the causes of caregiver burnout, we may need to look no further than this example. When caregiving is treated as a transaction, burnout will occur because transactions really don’t matter the most. It’s relationships that count. And Dr. Treadwell’s suggested ritual is a call to each caregiver to remember that caregiving is about human beings, not about technology and procedures. Systems are there to enable helping human life, not to crank out a transaction that will generate a bill.
   Dr. Treadway uses another line of her own when she is present at a patient’s passing. It is a line she recalls from her childhood: "May choirs of angels greet thee at they coming."
   It is people like Dr. Treadway who teach us the essence of sacred encounters. They show that there is no path to love. Love is the path.

   Can you help bring about this change in the code ritual at your hospital, nursing home or hospice? Let us know.

-Erie Chapman

 

3 responses to “Bringing Angels to “Codes””

  1. Tom Knowles-Bagwell Avatar
    Tom Knowles-Bagwell

    I believe I was fortunate to have finished all my academic courses by the end of my second year of Divinity School. Therefore, I was able to spend my third year engaged in Clinical Pastoral Education as a chaplain resident in a general hospital. At this particular hospital it was a part of the “code protocal” for the chaplain to be paged along with all the other required personnel.
    I can remember time and again standing in the corner of the room watching as the doctors and nurses went about their work. I remember feeling useless and in the way. If the patient had family present, my role was to be with them. Many times in the middle of the night my “job” did not begin until the family arrived an hour or so after the code was “called.”
    Now, in reflection, I think that hospital was rare in that the chaplain was seen as an essential part of the code team. But that was twenty five years ago. Things have changed since then, even in that hospital.
    But one thing seems not to have changed, Erie, as I read in your meditation for today. That is that hospitals and medical personnel don’t seem to see the need for tending to their own spiritual care in the midst of what they are about. I suspect that much of this is rooted in the culture that misses the sacredness of the work.
    I can imagine a place where not only is the chaplain seen as essential to the care team, but the role of the chaplain is understood to extend beyond “family grief management” to scantification of the moment for everyone — medical caregivers included.

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  2. liz Wessel RN, MS SJHS Home Health Network Avatar
    liz Wessel RN, MS SJHS Home Health Network

    Tom I appreciate the wisdom of your counsel today. How wondrous to consider the huge transforming impact of a small gesture when we pause to acknowledge and honor the sacredness of life and death. I can see where this would be very helpful for caregivers.
    I have heard that in some situations family members are now even present during a code and that this can be helpful as well. I would think making that determination requires allot of sensitivity.

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  3. Pat Lucken Avatar
    Pat Lucken

    What a lovely act to take a moment of silence to honor the deceased. Our spiritual care team is part of the code blue and rapid response teams at St Mary Medical Center. I have passed this article on to the rest of our team.
    I think sometimes sharing a handwritten note to the families home is a nice thought as well if appropriate. Over the years I have shared many personalized relections with those who have experienced the loss of a loved one.
    What a joy to later learn that your thoughts were able to help ease the suffering of a family member.
    Pat Lucken
    SMMC
    Apple Valley, CA

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