Code 3
“CODE 3, ICU…CODE 3, ICU!”
Doctor Smith arrived in less than thirty seconds.
“Congestive heart failure, 60-year-old male.”
A flurry of activity. A well-trained team now doubles in size and even more are on the way. A quick look at the monitors confirms the patient’s heart has stopped beating. As the precious seconds pass, Smith knows every second brings his patient inevitably closer to the end.
“Clear!”
The jolt of 50 joules jerks the body, almost levitating it off the table.
Flatline.
The team battles to save their patient, with fading hopes also flatlining. One of the male nurses stubbornly continues chest compressions with vigorous strokes attempting to provide circulation.
“How long has he been on the ventilator?”
“Three days, Doctor.”
“That’s not good…”
“No, Doctor. CO2 levels had been creeping up despite oxygenation during the last twelve hours.”
“Clear!”
The second shock is 100 joules. A flat line continues fleeing away from its last peak. The EKG registers no change. Smith squints at the graph. Now it has been beyond five minutes. A third one would be the last. The hurried activity has dwindled to a somber stillness.
“Clear!”
Even the tone of the doctor's warning is dropping off, announcing the end of the end.
200 joules. The crowd slowly disperses.
Even after decades of hospital scenes like this, Smith feels sadness. His patient, Manuel Garcia, 60 years old, was a simple man. Smith took care of him for the last few months as his patient slowly declined. He learned that Manuel was a self-employed gardener, hard-working, and honest. He had a single year of education, as he was needed at age eight to take care of his mother and his brother and sister. A good man did not deserve to go this way.
At ten minutes since his last heartbeat, minutes after chest compression was abandoned, Mr. Garcia’s EKG began to blip. Then blip. Then blip again, and again.
The team now swarms around Mr. Garcia, energized and unexpectedly back on the job.
One of the nurses exclaims, “It’s a miracle!”
Miracles? During his many decades in medicine, Smith has seen it all. A man of science, he knows from experience that once in a while for some unknown reason, the heart decides for itself. An optimist, he believes that as many good things happen as bad things. But he has to shake his head a little bit on this good thing, and as a pessimist expects that Mr. Garcia will be back in the ICU—sooner than later.
To his surprise, a week later he is standing beside Mr. Garcia’s hospital bed. No ventilator. Normal EKG. Just finished breakfast.
“How are you feeling, Manuel?”
“Alive. I can’t think of anything better.”
“Do you remember what you felt when you woke up?”
“Doctor Smith, I remember everything.”
“Tell me what you remember, please.” Smith sat down next to him.
“It was like this, Doctor Smith. I think it was when my heart stopped beating. I remember floating up to the ceiling and looking down — looking down at myself, my body lying on the table. All of you doctors and nurses were running around and worried, trying and trying to save me. Or at least my body, because up above somewhere I was looking down at all of you.
“Then I saw a tunnel of light above me, and I knew I was supposed to enter the tunnel and follow the light. The next thing I know is I am going faster and faster across space, like in outer space. I had no idea there were so many planets, so many stars! I kept going faster and faster, but I was not afraid— I just saw how huge and wonderful things were.
“Then I saw this beautiful, shining gate that was open, and I knew it was Heaven. I know that because I passed through the gate and there I found my family. It was the greatest, happiest moment in my life, to hug my mother and father and aunts and uncles and even grandpas and grandmothers who I never even met. It was so wonderful. I wanted to stay there forever.”
Smith was studying Mr. Garcia’s face intently. He perceived nothing but an honest simplicity as his patient continued his story.
“Then Jesus comes to me, opens his arms, and hugs me. I am so happy because I know I am home. Then Jesus says, ‘Manuel, you must go back home.’ I told him I just want to stay where I am, right here with you and all my family. ‘Don’t worry, Manuel,’ says Jesus, ‘because the time will come for you to come back home here. You’ll be back in a little while, but you still have some things to accomplish before you return to your home here.’
Mr. Garcia looked at Dr. Smith. Smith could see that Manuel was sincere in what he was saying, as fantastic as the story seemed.
“The next thing I remember, I wake up in the hospital bed.”
“Well, Manuel, I’m glad you are back. It sounds like you had quite a ride. Please let me know if you figure out why you were sent back.”
As Smith walked to the parking garage at the end of his rounds, he recalled the many, many instances of patients speaking of how it felt like they hovered above a hospital bed, and saw the light and the tunnel before returning to their bodies. The older nurses could tell you scores and scores of such experiences. As a man of science, Smith had no valid tests or studies to confirm or deny Manuel’s story.
Could it be, he conjectured, that his story was Manuel’s mission?
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