I will never forget the first time I saw someone die. The cacophony of code pagers halted morning signout on inpatient cardiology, and we sprinted to a patient in cardiac arrest. He did not survive. I trudged back to the team room, thinking of the family who just lost the most important person in their world. I never imagined I would be in their shoes later that year, witnessing the cardiac arrest of one of my most important people—my dad.
A few days after my dad had urgent cardiac surgery, I was at his bedside in the same hospital where I was completing my medical school clerkships. One moment, we were smiling and discussing which cake we would get to celebrate his discharge. Then everything changed. In an instant, my dad became wide-eyed and started gasping for air with an intensity and desperation I had never seen before. I called out to him, panic in my voice: “Dad, are you okay?!… Dad, can you hear me?!… Dad, please wake up!…,” all met by silence. His eyes remained still and the color drained from his face as I rubbed his sternum with my knuckles, then reached my fingers down to his wrist. He had no pulse.