Sydney Brown

During my first year of anesthesia training I was called to open an emergency airway for a patient struggling to breathe in the Medical ICU. When I arrived amid a flurry of activity and billowing yellow isolation gowns, the monitor was crying DING DING DING to alert us that the patient’s oxygen saturation was hovering in the mid-80s–dangerously low. The patient’s small face was obscured by the oxygen mask, his frail body covered by a hospital gown.

The patient was too confused to follow any instructions, and the loud noises of the ICU machines didn’t make things any easier. I tried to communicate: “I’m from anesthesia and I’m going to put in a tube to help you with your breathing.” A nod. I positioned myself at the head of the bed and quickly checked to make sure we had everything we needed: suction, laryngoscope, styletted endotracheal tube and a clear view of the monitors. Check.

“We’ll take good care of you, Sir,” I said as my senior resident started pushing the drugs that would render the patient unconscious and immobile.