Code Blue rings out over the intercom. I tune in immediately, request a cart, and calmly make my way to your bedside.Bright blue indicator gloves snap over my wrists. I plant my palms on your bare chest and start pumping, firm, relentless, compressions while your ribs bow beneath the gown. I remain calm and collected.I lean down and seal my lips over yours, pushing my air into motionless lungs. My pulse is steady; yours is a flat line driving me.I peel back the drape, and your gown, before I affix the defibrillators pads where the current needs to go. “Clear.” A jolt snaps through you—once, twice... until that beautiful beep finally stutters back to life.I check you over. My stethoscope glides and I can hear your heart "lub-dub", lungs clear. Penlight flicks across vacant pupils. No flinch. No spark. Just an empty shell with the heartbeat I gave back.I may have saved your heart... But the prolongued duration of your cardiac event may have have left you without brain activity.