The 3 a.m. code blue ended with a flatline. The team stood in silence, then scattered as if nothing had happened.
In the locker room, the doctor on case whispered, “I froze. I couldn’t push the epinephrine.” Immediately: “You’re a doctor, get over it,” and “We’ve all been there.” No acknowledgement of the trembling hands, the replaying of those last seconds, the guilt.
In medical culture, trauma is frowned upon. Doctors are expected to be numb, unshakable, bulletproof. To admit you’re haunted by a death, a mistake, or a night that won’t leave you is to risk being labelled “unfit,” “weak,” or “not cut out for this.”
So you swallow it. You keep working. You become the person who never shows cracks, while quietly, inside, you’re still in that room.
The irony is no one notices until someone finally breaks.
What are your thoughts on this ?
MBH/PS