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FEATURE
















































                                                  By: Robert G. Johnson, MD


          Okay. I get it. There are medical emergencies. If you’re not  an honest-to-god true story: It was a quiet evening on the ward. My
        breathing or your ticker crumps, get off the couch, put down the  two-day post-op patient had an uneventful day — swallowed his over-
        day-old lemon Danish from the surgeon’s lounge and run like —  salted broth without gagging, stood at the bedside, sucked on the in-
        #*!!! I preferred the old terminology of Code Blue. Sounded mys-  centive spirometer like he loved it. All was well — until 2304h (that’s
        terious, important, like something you’d hear on ER or Grey’s  11:04 at night). At four minutes past the hour the door to my patient’s
        Anatomy. To be followed by a stampede of smoking hot, perfectly  room is breached. Not sure if they used explosives or just a good
        coiffed,  gleaming-toothed,  freshly  starched  lab  coats.  And,  of  kick. In floods a SWAT team of white coats and blue scrubs and RT’s
        course, over chest compressions and barked instructions for calcium  and MD’s and even a few PhD’s. My patient is overwhelmed. Nobody
        and epinephrine, McSteamy is flirting with McGorgeous, and before  explains the reason behind the ambush. He somehow manages to
        normal sinus rhythm is restored has secured a date and reservations  ring up his wife in New Braunfels and sputter: “I’m being transferred
        at a dark corner table for later that same evening. Today, the drama  to the ICU”. His wife, understandably frantic, races into the hospital
        has been down-graded to a watery “Medical Alert,” or “Rapid Re-  at breakneck speed (a 45-minute drive). She eventually gets to see her
        sponse Team,” with regular folk in stained scrubs and bad-hair days.   husband and was given some half-baked story about sepsis. Managing
          So… I guess the ID and wound care and guys who lance boils or  a grin, her comment to me later was: “I felt his face. It was neither
        drain pus got to feeling left out. Why should the cardiologists and  hot nor room temperature.” (She figured it out without the ten years
        pulmonary docs have all the fun? Share the drama. Pass around the  of medical training.) The next day I visit him in the ICU, sitting up,
        “We’re Important Too” casserole. Announce us over loud speakers  eating bacon and eggs. He quips: “I’m still above ground.” I ask the
        so all will perk up, cock an ear, and clear the path.   nurse in the unit why the patient was transferred. He shrugged.
          Enter — ta-daaa — Sepsis Alert. Really? Hearing sepsis alert over-  “D***ed if I know.” After less than twelve hours in the unit he was
        head is right up there with the green Chevrolet that’s left its lights on.  sent back to the ward. It took that long for his family’s collective heart
        Alright. To be fair, true sepsis is a serious medical problem. Here is  rate to return to double digits.

         34  San Antonio Medicine   •  January  2019
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