For three or four minutes, today, time stood still.
It was the end of our shift, and I was at the front nurses' station instead of the back, talking to Alex, and they called the med-team to 2126.
So we walked to the back to see what was going on. It seemed like everyone from all over the hospital were there. The phlebotomist, the respiratory therapist, the pharmacist, nurses and doctors. They all crowded into the tiny little room. They told Ashley to call the code and Rebekah started doing CPR. Rebekah, who I talk to at lunch. A normal woman.
Colleen the charge nurse came out holding the hand of 26's son. Her voice was cracking.
Alex and I just stared into the room. I felt like this whole thing was a joke. This whole job, of working at a hospital. War is hell, they say. A hospital is also hell, I think.
"2:54," the doctor says, and walks out of the room. The med team leaves.
2:54. Does he mean time of death?

Friday night, I came into work, and I was actually really happy to be there. To take my mind off of things. I had a few really grumpy patients, but I also had 2126. I helped him to the bathroom. I laughed at his jokes, and I teased him back when he was teasing me. I sat on the edge of the counter, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I told my grandson, the best part of being in this hospital is that beautiful women take me to the bathroom," he said, and I laughed and blushed, "And then I told him that the worst part of being in this hospital is that beautiful women are taking me to the bathroom." Then I laughed again. I sat with him and talked, even though my vitals were going to be late, maybe. John and Lisa wouldn't notice.
"It's people like you that make this bearable," he told me when I walked out of his room that night. I told him he was going to be fine. I would say that 95% of people leave the hospital alive. Maybe even 99% by the time they are discharged from Acute Care. So the odds were that he would be fine.

"What happened Rebekah?" Alex asked.
"He died," she said. Easily. While she was rubbing her hands with hand sanitizer. Her face was red. I could never tell what Rebekah was thinking. She always looked the same. "Now wasn't that exciting?" She said picking up her clip board. But this time, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she was being sarcastic.
The only thing I could think was that I wished I'd talked to him about Jesus that night. I wished I'd stayed for five more minutes, and asked him what he thought about life after death.
"Today is a good day to die," Don said, referring to the sunny weather, making toast in the kitchen. At first I was mad at him when he said it, but it reminded me of that Dave Matthews song where he says that every day should be a good day to die.

Life is short, and there's one thing you can't do in Heaven. I hope I do it here.