Code Blue

About five hours after Hayley’s surgery on Tuesday, which relocated a chunk of bone from her hip to her foot, the pain medication finally kicked in and she leaned back and nodded off. She had been agitated and in pain since emerging from her anesthesia fog and being wheeled to the orthopedic ward, so it was a relief to see her looking relaxed. Chuck took Julia, Hayley’s friend visiting from Kentucky, to grab a bite to eat, while I settled onto the couch in front of the window in her hospital room, scanning the sport’s page.

Several moments later, I heard a labored, deep-in-the-throat, sucking gasp. I rushed over and stuck my face close to Hayley’s, calling her name. No response. Her face and lips were greenish. I lightly smacked her cheek, which caused her head to roll to the side, and I yelled her name over and over. Her eyelids didn’t flutter. I detected no breath escaping from her nose or lips. “HAYLEY!”

I pushed the call button and blurted that I needed help. The voice at the other end said, “Yes? Can I help you? Is there anything you need?”

I ran to the hallway, saw that it was empty, and yelled, “HELP! I NEED HELP!” My voice boomed, and I knew I had been heard throughout the entire fifth floor. Immediately, Donald, the physical therapist, darted into view on my left and asked what was wrong. A young woman, presumably his assistant, shadowed him. “She’s not breathing,” I told them. Someone else sprinted up the hall from the opposite direction.

A lot of things flew through my mind at that moment. I was praying constantly. I feared that it was too late, that the gasp I’d heard had signified the end. I also thought that maybe I was wrong about everything, and that she really was just in a deep sleep. If I’m wrong, they’re going to have me committed. They’ll think I’ve lost it . . . Please, let them think that. Let me be wrong.

I returned to Hayley’s side, and seconds later, Donald told me he had found a weak pulse. She was still alive! I remember my knees shaking and my eyes watering as I stood praying. Donald’s assistant rubbed my back and repeatedly told me everything was going to be okay. More people charged through the door, and someone asked me what Hayley’s name was. I heard them calling her and telling her to wake up, and I knew she still wasn’t breathing.

More and more people swarmed into the room. They were still calling her name, but I could no longer see her through the multi-colored mass of scrubs and lab coats. The din increased. Someone asked me if this was her normal pallor. “No.”

Then I heard the Code Blue announcement over the hospital PA system. It was surreal to think that it was for my own child . . . and it confirmed that the situation was as dire as I had feared. People continued streaming into the room—a room that had seemed surprisingly spacious and bright when Hayley had first arrived. Now it felt small and cramped and hot.

“Mrs. Moore, would you mind stepping into the hallway?” I didn’t want to leave Hayley. But it was Donald, the physical therapist, who asked, and I trusted him enough to let him lead me out. Donald is one of those unflappable professionals you want on hand in a life or death situation. He had done his part, being first on the scene, and now he stood in the doorway watching the commotion inside the room, while reassuring me that she was going to be okay. “You did everything right,” he told me. I overheard him tell someone else, “The mom did everything right.”

When things are spinning out of control, it’s helpful to hear that you did everything right.

A woman in a white sweater put her arm around me and prayed. There were as many people congregating in the hallway as there were in the room. Others, out of breath, continued arriving in clumps of two and three. They never stopped coming. A man introduced himself as a hospital chaplain and shook my hand. I wondered why he was smiling and wanting to chitchat at a time like this. I don’t remember what we talked about, just that my eyes were fixed on Donald in the doorway. At some level, I knew the chaplain was trying to distract me; the smile, I later realized, was his natural demeanor.

Finally, I heard the happiest words in the English language: “She’s pinking up!” A moment later: “She’s awake!” And then: “‘Mom,’ you can come in and see her now.”

Hayley looked small and scared, but her face was beautifully flushed and she was breathing. Someone told me I could hold her hand, but when I tried to do that, she pulled away. You little pill, I thought. Later, she told me she remembered doing that but was confused at the time. Gradually, the heroes and helpers flowed from the room, like an outgoing tide, while a few lagged behind, scribbling reports. The nurse never left Hayley’s side until she was transported to the ICU for closer monitoring.

That morning I had read David’s words: I saw the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. That was the scripture I had turned over and over in my mind earlier in the day, while Hayley was in the operating room. During the Code Blue crisis, I was admittedly rattled and distressed, but not out-of-my-mind panicked. Instead, I prayed. I think it was that morning’s scripture, putting things in a proper perspective ahead of time, that kept me from completely falling apart when things got scary.

I also know that people were praying for Hayley like crazy that day, from a women’s Bible study in Virginia to family members in southern California, and many more in between, especially right here at home. All in all, from the two surgeons who worked on her foot and hip, to the quick-footed physical therapists and all of the other Code Blue responders, to every medical staff member who attended Hayley, and to those praying far and wide across the country—a whole lot of people did everything right.