The white sheet of hope

When I saw his face I knew it was too late. He was unresponsive with agonal respirations. He was blue. The kinda blue that you would find in a crayola box and not on a person. As I was intubating him I could see his young son standing in front of me. It was too soon for him to understand I could see it in his face. They never really get it until your wheeling their loved one away doing CPR. I hoped he could not see the sadness in my face. I stick to the protocols and stay straight faced but it still hurts to see pain in someones eyes. His dad was a fighter. All day he had been having indigestion. Or so that is what he thought. It proved to be something much more when he collapsed in the bathroom. The widow maker. A heart attack. His family pulled him out and began CPR. We worked him for the longest time. The entire trip to the hospital. Switching between shocking and medicating. I was his breath and the fireman his pulse. I think he was gone then. Once at the ER they worked him for over an hour and despite the fact he was a fighter (per the doppler because the pulse was weak) the doctor decided it wasn't enough. She called him. It was over. The sad part is is he still had what we call guppy breathing. Which means he looks like he is trying to breath on his own but its really just a reflex. Im not so sure but its not my choice. She said she didn't want the family to see it and and grabbed a sheet. I stared at that white sheet for an eternity. I hoped for some kind of movement. I secretly felt for a pulse....I knew it was too late. I guess I did not want to give up hope. I felt I owed the family that much.