“Asystole” is the name of this show, and I am the chosen director. Everyone knows the lines, music, and choreography. I ask the cast to freeze for a moment. We all stare at the monitor—a flat line. Asystole is the medical term for no activity from the heart. The treatment formula is epinephrine followed by atropine followed by epinephrine followed by atropine…all the time accompanied by frequent prayers.
I attempt to intubate on two occasions but each time I’m blinded by vomitus in spite of out efforts to suction. My friend’s pupils are dilated and don’t constrict when I shine a flashlight at them. Not a good sign. This indicates that the brain had most likely been without oxygen for at least 5-10 minutes. Even if we were to successfully stimulate this man’s heart to beat, there is scant chance that his mind could think.
We continue to follow recommended ACLS (Advance Cardiac Life Support) guidelines through two verses of the Epinephrine-atropine dirge. “Let’s stop and see what we’ve got,” I request. A flat line—asystole—we all glance from the monitor, to each other, to our lifeless patient. Then everyone’s eyes fix on me. “That’s enough,” I declare and glance at the clock. “Time of death, 9:35 p.m.”
There is a moment of silence, before we all downshift to our post-mortem gear. The man looks at peace.
The EMTs then gather their equipment. The nurses gently clean the man’s face and wipe the blood, from his I.V. puncture site. I inhale deeply and open the door to the hallway.

By this time the whole family has arrived and is anxiously awaiting a miracle. I’ve been on the other end of this scenario just one time. I was sitting in the surgery waiting room with Kathy, my brother Bob, and his wife Debbie after their 12-day-old daughter had undergone a futile heart surgery. You know what the doctor is going to say before he opens his mouth.
“I’m sorry, but he is dead,” I begin. The grieving process can now commence…a lot of tears, a lot of words, a lot of hugs. I explain the details of our efforts. His wife reconstructs and rehashes the last hour of her husband’s earthly existence. We all conclude that everyone did his or her best.
Within a blink, a family has to refocus from going to work and school the following day, to making funeral plans. Friends, family, and faith get you through the next days, weeks, months and years.
I would return to the hospital one more time during my 72 hours. The lady with the stroke admitted on Saturday mercifully died early Monday morning.
This sequel began with a lady in labor and concluded with a pair of deaths. I decided to name my movie after the theme song from The Lion King—“72 Hours Episode 2: The Circle of Life.” Until next week, good health!