Code Blue, Code Blue

A guy walks into a hospital

The helicopter took off at approximately 3:30 pm, airlifting me to Victoria Royal Jubilee hospital. This is the flight crew preparing me for the journey.

Grant and Jason, my caregivers for the flight prepared the chariot

It’s 7:30 am on Friday morning, January 20th, 2023. In exactly 30 seconds, I will lose consciousness at the house's back gate and awaken to a stranger leaning over me, asking if I am OK. There’s some slight disorientation as I attempt to get my bearings. This isn’t the first time it’s happened and with each passing week, there seems to be an increase in episodes.

I sit up, acknowledging the stranger’s presence. “Thanks for stopping,” I say, “what’s your name?” He responds with Colin and his calm demeanor offers comfort as I sit on the damp ground considering what will happen next. I look up to the top of the stairs and see my wife peek her head around the corner “are you OK?” she asks, heading down the stairs towards me.

I’m unsure how to answer because this feels different from the past attacks…

I come to for the second time, feeling even more disoriented. I am laying on my side, my wife now comforting me, trying her best not to look concerned. I feel like a wounded animal; helpless and confused.

“I have never seen him like this,” she said to Colin as she makes the call to 911. I can hear her off in the background, explaining what is happening and giving further directions. Another neighbor shows up to offer help. Within minutes, paramedics are attending to me, inquiring about the nature of my attack and asking about details while they attempt to assess for injuries. There is a gash at the back of my head, which is bleeding and they go through concussion protocols. I explain I had taken a knee just before I lost consciousness so the fall wasn’t from a great distance. After getting my vitals, it is decided they will help me to my feet and get me on the stretcher, which is set up about 10 feet away.

Success. They roll me up to the ambulance and within minutes (seemed like a lifetime for Christine) we are on our way to the hospital. At this point, I am starting to understand the gravity of the situation as I can feel the speed of the ambulance and the loud siren belting away. My heart is not fully functioning, now running in the low 30’s and anxiety has now replaced the confusion. “Am I dying?” I asked myself, while attempting to meditate and calm my nerves.

The doors to the ambulance opened and they wheeled me out. I surmised I was now in good hands as we were mere steps away from emergency care and all that came with it. The hospital was ready and immediately, I was ushered into the trauma unit. There was now plenty of staff attending to me, sticking IVs into my arms, cutting off my pants, and discussing the next steps with each other. A calm came over me, realizing there was nothing I could do to influence whatever was going to happen and a voice inside my head assured me everything would be OK. Perhaps it was the dose of Ketamine doing its magic.

This is shortly after arriving at Royal Jubilee..a selfie to document the occasion. Notice the tube in my neck? That’s the pacer doing its work and I still have defib pads just in case.

Like a weird, altered reality I slipped in and out of consciousness as the brutal impact of the defibrillator made me heave up and let out a primal UGGGGGGGGG. I could see lights and colors and at times felt outside my body, looking down as there would be another 5 or 6 brutal jolts of electricity coursing through my chest. The sensation felt like being punched in the chest from the inside. The noise, the confusion, the voices all felt dreamlike and as if a battle was going on to keep me from leaving my body.

“John, can you hear me?” came a voice from outside whatever was covering my face. I felt the hands on my chest, the compressions now replacing and adding a different kind of pain to the mix. I wanted it to end. It was like a waking nightmare and the drugs seemed to increase the angst rather than subdue… “John, we need you to breathe” the lady just outside my shroud calmly stated. In my state of mind, I remember saying “No tube!” with some emphasis and there was nervous laughter as they all seemed to acknowledge that I may have in fact not wanted - a breathing tube.

What seemed like minutes was actually an ordeal my wife would recount as an eternity. She knew immediately when the call came out for a code blue to trauma unit 1 that it was me. It was further confirmed when a social worker showed up to offer comfort and guidance. This is protocol when someone flatlines and stops breathing when there is uncertainty in a life prognosis. I remember an EMT once telling me that the second the defib comes out, his experience was not many survive.

It would seem I was winning at life.

Everything calmed down and I lay in the trauma room, sufficiently sedated to feel optimistic about the outcome. The nurses were comforting with warm smiles, seemingly as relieved as I was to still be here. They also advised me not to move around too much as I now had what’s known as a pacer inserted in my neck and a cable going through an artery directly to my heart. This was keeping me alive, ensuring my heart kept beating in rhythm. I would spend the next few hours in ICU recovering and, replaying the sensations of the defib machine jolting my heart - over and over again.

I was stable and the decision was made to airlift me to the Cardiac Care Unit at the Royal Jubilee Hospital where they have one of the top cardiac facilities in the country. It was my first helicopter ride and I enjoyed looking at the ceiling for the next hour as the tube in my neck would not permit me to have a view out the window. It was bumpy and loud, kind of like I would have expected but not nearly as thrilling as I imagined.

This made me think of all those ladies who always post holiday pictures of their legs…they put cuffs on me that expand and release to prevent blood clots. SEXY.

No sense in boring you with the next 4 days of events. Suffice it to say - my heart started working on its own which means I relied less on the pacer with each passing hour. Monday morning, I was taken to surgery where the very capable Dr. Novak did what is known as a routine procedure. Cutting a pocket out in my chest, a tiny computer about the size of a silver dollar was inserted and cables were attached to the upper and lower chambers of my heart.

What you may not know is they keep you awake and sedated for the procedure and local freezing keeps you from feeling pain. All that’s left is a sensation of pressure in the areas they work on. It was fascinating. I could carry on a conversation with the surgeon while he was working his magic - saving my life.

The final steps were to get the pacing and voltage right. It’s a strange sensation, the feeling of your heart increasing and lowering in beats per minute. In fact, I find it difficult to find adequate descriptors. The best I can relate it to is an anxiety attack but what I understand about those is it differs for everyone. So, this probably is less than satisfactory for those of you who may be curious.

After the successful surgery.

How does a pacemaker work?

In my case, it is set to jump in whenever the lower chamber of my heart decides to miss (which causes the fainting) and jolt it back to a “normal” rhythm. Currently, the unit in my chest has been working 0.4% of the time which means the shelf life of the battery will be about 15 years but with regular checkups, this will no doubt change.

A neat fact is a monitoring unit will reside in our home and the little computer in my chest will upload relevant data in the event that something goes wrong or there is an issue with the pacemaker, they will be able to let me know and get me into the clinic.

Today, I am officially bionic. I cannot run fast. I cannot jump further. My eyes still require glasses to read and one thing is certain, like everyone else, I am headed toward that mortal coil. Only not today. And maybe not tomorrow. For that I am thankful and if you have read this far, I am thankful for you sharing in my journey.

I especially want to thank Christine, my lovely wife, as she was a rock through one of the toughest stretches in our lives together. My neighbors, for jumping in and helping. The amazing EMTs in the Comox Valley, the nurses, and doctors at the Northland Island Hospital, the EMTs who took me up in the whirlybird and got me safely to my destination, the incredible love, and care from the nurses at the Royal Jubilee CCU unit who demonstrated compassion and humor during my stay, to Dr. Steve and Dr Novak and the whole surgical team for performing life-saving surgery, to the nurses for making sure I was comfortable in the CSS unit and finally to all the amazing nurses and student nurses in the 300 block, who through their professionalism and humor, showed me why this profession is one of the noblest in the world. If you know a nurse, hug her for me.

Give me a whiteboard and a marker…

Two tired puppies, ready to go home.