So, I work at a hospital. We see a lot of cases where they're putting in way, way, way too much work to save the patient. Like, if your eighty-year-old patient codes four times in one day, by the fourth time you bring them back, you have definitely crossed over the hard-to-define line that divides white magic from necromancy. You're not saving a life at that point, you're just temporarily resuscitating an increasingly battered corpse. That happened today, and the last code announced came as I was near a nurse on another unit. I asked her, "am I crazy, or are all of those for the same patient?" She shrugged and said some families just won't let go, and they can keep using up crash carts until either the family gives up or the doctor gets POed enough to say no. Then you get into things like quad-strength Levophed, which is basically an intravenous defibrillator. If you need that much norepinephrine, it's not that your heart is slow, it's just not working at all. Nor is your dead heart going to somehow figure out how to work on its own again if you keep chucking Levophed at it. It's a Frankenstein dose.
Running into all these--and billing for the unholy chunks of crash cart material they use up--has somewhat modified my perspective on things. With crash carts, it's not so bad, because they use mostly common things we have a plentiful supply of. It's just a PITA being in pharmacy and supplying all these meds for Weekend at Bernie's. And I can get what drives a family to hold on to hope well past the point of sanity. But healthcare resources are finite. Sometimes doing everything you can is just not the optimal approach, and it might be better if somebody could say, "look, we've given it a game try, it's time to let go." The question is, who gets to say no?
Running into all these--and billing for the unholy chunks of crash cart material they use up--has somewhat modified my perspective on things. With crash carts, it's not so bad, because they use mostly common things we have a plentiful supply of. It's just a PITA being in pharmacy and supplying all these meds for Weekend at Bernie's. And I can get what drives a family to hold on to hope well past the point of sanity. But healthcare resources are finite. Sometimes doing everything you can is just not the optimal approach, and it might be better if somebody could say, "look, we've given it a game try, it's time to let go." The question is, who gets to say no?
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