The word “Code Blue” hit the hallway like a gunshot. It echoed down the corridor—sharp, metallic, final. I froze for a heartbeat before my body remembered how to move. My shoes slapped the sterile floor as I chased the blur of scrubs ahead of me. The pediatric ICU door swung open, and for a moment, all I could see was white light and movement.
Three nurses surrounded my daughter’s bed. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator was drowned out by the shrill alarm of her heart monitor. My little girl, my seven-year-old Meline, was hidden beneath a maze of wires and tubes. Her chest barely moved under the hospital blanket. The air smelled like antiseptic and panic.
