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"Attempted suicide by hanging," an EMT called out.
I followed them into exam room one. Full code blue protocols began immediately. I stayed close in case I was needed.
An EMT had secured an IV line into the patient's left arm en route to the hospital. A nurse administered medications into it. An ER tech inserted a second line into the right arm. He began a flow of normal saline solution.
Donovan stood at the head of the bed. He introduced a clear-plastic endotracheal tube into the patient's mouth and slid it down his throat. Even a semi-alert person would have gagged.This patient didn't so much as twitch.
A respiratory tech opened a green valve on the wall; life-giving oxygen flowed through the tube and into the patient's lungs. We watched his chest expand.
A second nurse relieved the fireman of his CPR duty. The electronic monitor beeped out a rhythmic tune to the artificial pulse she supplied. A low blood pressure alarm provided a background beat, while EKG paper piled up on the floor like a roll of toilet paper run amuck. It was chaos. Orchestrated chaos. This classical piece of human drama played out often in the ER. Each member of the ensemble knew their particular instrument, their part in the composition, but still followed the maestro-doctor's instruction.
It's a messy business, too. Body fluids routinely spill to the floor where they mix with clear saline and solids such as rubber gloves and plastic syringes. There, they stir together to form a grotesque soup. Sure beats a desk job.
Donovan spoke to the EMT. "How long between the act and the time you arrived on scene?"
"A neighbor found him hanging from a rafter in the garage and immediately called us. We're guessing he was up there at least twenty minutes."
"Stop compressions, please," Donovan said. He placed two fingers alongside the patient's neck, feeling for a carotid pulse. He noticed, but didn't mention, the braided necklace of bruised skin.
A nurse spoke. "Nothing on the EKG monitor, doctor."
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