On call for code blue

I'm on call this week.
That means I carry around a cell phone, and during the weekends and evenings, if there's an emergency at the Hospital, they call me in. Some of the things I've seen are, well, amazing. Some are great, and some are awful.

I wrote the following after a particularly bad day on call, kind of as an outlet. Some years later I found it and submitted it to the National Post, and to my surprise, they bought it from me.

On call for code blue
'Today will be the kind of day that makes life forever different'

Randall E. Friesen
National Post
I wake this morning to the sound of my pager, beeping me out of a deep sleep.
I'm the clergy on call at the city hospital this week, and when it beeps, it means that someone is in crisis. Code blue means that somebody is fighting for their life. This morning it's a code blue.
I dress quickly and make my way to the car. As I rush out, I think about what it could be. An elderly lady losing her fight with cancer? A retired man whose heart has had all it can take? I'm not ready for what it is. A 49-year-old mother -- and her family is on their way to the hospital.
She came in two days ago, complaining of flu-like symptoms. Now she lies dying of liver failure. The nurses I speak with don't give her much chance. I go to watch for the family.
The older son arrives with a frantic look in his eyes. I lead him to a quiet waiting room where the nurse and I tell him what has happened -- and that it doesn't look hopeful. He dissolves into a sobbing, shuddering, lost little boy. The nurse holds him as he weeps.
Moments later, a man enters the waiting area with two girls who look like my daughters' ages, 12 and 11. They are quietly weeping. I tell them the news and watch as the man sinks into the couch, the girls beside him.
He stares off into the distance, trying to make sense of it all, holding on to the girls.
We wait for news in silence.
The girls alternate between weeping and blowing their noses. One moment, their child-like hope tells them it will be OK; the next moment, they are confronted with the bizarre reality they have awoken to on this grey morning.
There will be no normal routine for these people today. No going off to work. No running to school with classmates. No lunches with friends. No favourite TV programs. This is the kind of day that makes the rest of life forever different.
I can almost hear the screech as their world comes to a halt. I wish I could wake them from a very bad dream. But I can't. I sit with them. And ache for them.
I ask the girls what schools they go to, and they reply with the names of the schools my daughters attend. I ask them their grades, and they respond with the same grades my daughters are in. The younger girl sits right behind my youngest daughter, in the same class.
I ache again. Differently this time.
As more family arrives, I assure them of my availability and my prayers throughout the day, then slip out into the cold world where my routines continue.
Throughout the day, I think of them and the hurt they are enduring. I pray for them, but it's hard because I have so little faith today. I listen closely to my sons and daughters. I watch them more intently, drinking in as much of them as I can, not wanting to forget a detail of their expressions, their looks. I take snapshots of them in my mind -- playing, running, doing homework. I don't want the future to surprise me the way this family has been surprised. I call my mom and dad.
My workday draws to a close, and I go back to the hospital to see what the day has brought this broken family. As I enter the waiting room, there they all are, just as I left them.
They look tired and drained, lost and hopeless. The father is staring, seeing nothing. The three children are crying their eyes out into the tissues they hold. Nobody speaks.
I try to express to them how sorry I am for their pain and loss. Someone tells me that the children's mother passed away about 40 minutes ago. I tell them that I am available if they need me at any time throughout the next days.
They thank me.
And off I go, into my blessed existence, thanking God for Life.