When a trauma/code patient gets a full body CT, the scan starts with the head and C-spine, and moves on down the body from chest CT towards abdomen/pelvis CT. The head and c-spine are the easiest because those parts generally don't move a whole lot on an unresponsive twenty year old MVC patient. A once through and we're positioning the table for the chest scan while the head and neck pictures load up on the screen. The whole crew - me, trauma surgeon, anesthesiologist, ER doctor, respiratory therapist, and extra RN - are all quiet, waiting for the scans to finish.
It's pretty bad. A subdural and subarachnoid bleed, with midline shift. I'm no expert at reading CTs, but I could read it as Bad Things. The patient is still unresponsive, GCS of 3, no sedation on board. He isn't breathing but for the vent, and he certainly wasn't following any commands.
Which is why when the chest CT starts, the nice automated voice comes through the speakers and instructs the patient to "hold your breath...breathe." The whole crew of staff suddenly all snicker. One openly laughs. Oh, the irony of an unresponsive head bleed patient being told to hold their breath when they can neither breathe nor understand when to hold it.
But really this isn't funny. It's sad and tragic and heartbreaking. We laugh because it's sarcastically amusing, but we all know that we're staring through a glass window at a life effectively over. He'll never be normal again. He's lucky if he'll ever wake up, if he'll ever feed himself again or wear board shorts instead of a diaper. Yet I am guilty of snickering. I laughed at the disembodied calm voice of instruction, along with my coworkers.
Sometimes I wonder what this job is doing to me.