N.D.E.

The term “code blue” is a hospital emergency code used to describe the critical status of a patient. Hospital staff may call a code blue if a patient goes into cardiac arrest, has respiratory issues, or experiences any other medical emergency. On January 5, 2024 at approximately 11:05 AM, one was called in Burlington, Massachusetts for yours truly. I never heard the words, but shortly before they were spoken, my sister and her husband were in my ICU hospital room and we were visiting. I had been there for almost 3 days due to a rare side effect caused by a medication that I was on for my weakened heart, caused by years of the muscle wasting disease that I have been living with since age 12. Anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis knows all about my condition, but what follows here is something that I have not been ready to write about until now. The more I read, research and have follow up visits with cardiologists, pulmonologists (lung doctors) and physicians who study and care for people living with muscular dystrophy, I am coming to fully realize that I was very near death when that code blue was called.

Here is exactly what was written in my hospital notes after the “code” had been resolved:

“This morning, patient was extubated, and shortly after (10 min) transitioned to BiPAP. Per primary nurse patient had difficulty managing secretions post extubation, initially tachypneic, the rate then decreased and he started complaining of “feeling weird”. Shortly after this he became obtunded and hypoxemic (80% SpO2), subsequently emergently intubated. Also went into cardiac arrest w/TTROSC 6 min. Cooling not initiated a patient awake and following command post arrest. Patient able to nod/shake head to questions. He denies any similar hospitalization where he had to be intubated for respiratory failure. At baseline he is wheelchair bound, denies significant shortness of breath unless he is ill. No history of seizures.“

In layman terms, they pulled the breathing tubes out of my throat to see if I was strong enough to breathe on “room air.” I was not, so they put a breathing mask on my face and I remember feeling way too much air pressure but I was unable to communicate this to the nurses in the room. I remember trying to say “It’s too much, it’s too much….and….I feel really weird.” (They got the second part apparently….). My chart then goes on to say that I had Pulseless electrical activity (PEA), a clinical condition characterized by unresponsiveness and impalpable pulse in the presence of sufficient electrical discharge. Code blue. My heart stopped beating and I stopped breathing.

For almost 6 minutes. Recently, I spoke with one of the respiratory therapists who was in the room. She said she was pretty sure I was going to expire. As the team of 8 was working on me, (she said there were 8….but that room could barely hold 4 with all the hospital stuff in it, so GOD BLESS these people) I remember nothing. Well, that’s not exactly true. Believe the next part or not…..but what I am about to tell you is as clear a memory as the turkey sandwich I ate 2 hours ago.

No, I didn’t see a bright light or anyone calling out from the void, or the other side, or anything like that. I didn’t “float” out of my body and look down, and I didn’t feel a calming presence. These are all things that many of us have read about and I have also been aware of for a long time. What happened to me was this:

Everything was black and quiet. When I was regaining consciousness, I felt like I was sitting up straight with a nurse on each side of me pulling at my arms, with me feeling like the tug of war rope. I’m sure that they were not, but that was the sensation I got at the time. I also remember trying to look up at the clock and around the room. Somewhere off to my right, not really a voice, but a presence, sort of like the quiet voice of conscience that speaks to all of us simply said: “It’s ok, you’re going to be fine. It’s not your time yet.”

For those 3 or 4 seconds, I was completely calm and had no sense of shock or panic. Following this, I thought….make this stop, I am in a lot of pain and my whole body aches. Please make it stop, make it stop….wait…just play some paradiddles.

Bizarre? Yes. For those of you who are not drummers, paradiddles are one of the first hand exercises you ever learn when you pick up the sticks. They are easy to play and here is the hand pattern: RLRR LRLL. Try it slow with your right and left hands. When my brain told me to do this, possibly as a distraction from the pain, my feet played this pattern two or three times at the bottom of the bed, and then, on my right, holding my hand and arm was a nurse calling my name.

“Patrick? Patrick can you hear me Patrick?” came the gentle words. I nodded. “OK, no more of that please. OK?”

No more of what? I had no idea what she meant. What I did know was that the tubes were back in my throat again and there were people leaving my room. Machines were beeping and I couldn’t speak or ask anyone anything due to the tubes. Those tubes are not fun. Pro tip: Avoid the tubes if possible. I do not remember who told me that what had just happened was quite serious and more than a couple of people thought that my dates were going to be November 5, 1972-January 5, 2024. I just knew I was exhausted and my body ached. Weirdly, likely from pain meds, I remember being pissed that I still had muscular dystrophy, like they were going to cure it in the ICU or something. Did my sister and her husband come back in? Fuzzy. Unsure. Did my wife arrive soon after, or after after? Did they call her? I don’t remember any of that.

What I am sure of is that there is something out there beyond all of us. We are all everywhere. We are connected by something way bigger than we are and it is very peaceful. I am convinced that I had a N.D.E. (Near Death Experience) that morning and it has changed the way I live ever since. The most natural thing all of us are going to do is die. That morning in the hospital taught me that when and where it happens is not up to us. I take comfort in the fact that when it comes, everyone and everything that you have ever loved, and everyone that loves you will be in balance and you will find peace.

Stay safe, stay awesome and stay tuned. I leave you with this prayer: “Oh God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small.” Believe it.