When a Heart Stops

It was the summer of 1987 and the beginning of my last year of residency. Having easier rotations, I felt rested and wanted to earn some money. Northwest Emergency Physicians offered me a 24-hour shift at Moses Lake emergency room. It was a chance to earn good money and to travel to eastern Washington, the arid part of the state I had not seen since driving across the country 2 years earlier to begin my residency. Loving explorations, I accepted their offer.

The night before the journey my mind swam in excited and apprehensive thoughts as the minutes sped by. What cases would I see? Was I fully trained for my work? What were the people like in rural Washington? Finally, I dozed off. Three a.m. arrived before I knew it.

The lights of the city were low, and thick clouds covered the silent black Seattle sky. A cool breeze brushed my bare skin as I started my car and headed for the highway. I rolled the window down to wake up, rolled it up to warm up, and down again to feel alive and alert in the cold night air. After driving through mountain passes in total darkness, the soft rolling acres of farmland were a pleasant surprise in the morning light. Sprinklers filled the sky with a fine mist as cows grazed and tractors plowed. The Columbia River snaked through the countryside and I-90 stretched on forever.

I arrived at the small rural hospital just before 7 a.m. The staff greeted me warmly and gave a quick tour of the ER. They showed me their fully equipped treatment room, where the supplies were stored, and how to fill out billing slips. The nurse asked if I was tired from the drive and said, “It's usually quiet in the …