Between Reason and Panic

One minute she's breathing room air and the next you're barking orders at a team wheeling in a crash cart. You review signs and symptoms you missed, the rough rhythm of her heart before she coded. You want to believe your reasoning was as elegant as a glass filled with cabernet, and you want to forget the bottle you imagine resting on a tray table at forty thousand feet, ready to tumble when the captain announces the plane is diving for an unscheduled stop. But I don't need images of air disasters to convince you doctors live somewhere between reason and panic: just flip open your laryngoscope, visualize the vocal chords, and forget you have fifteen seconds to thread the tube before the breathless body on the bed turns blue.