I wonder when doctors actually start to feel like doctors

Pager: ::beep! beep!::

I answer. "Hi, it's nicest-most-patient-nurse-in-the-universe from the floor. I was wondering if you were going to come up and pronounce Mr. N."

Me: "Like. . . pronounce him dead?"

NN: ::encouraging pause::

Me: "Like . . . 'time of death 1407' pronounce him dead?"

NN: . . . . . . .

Me: "Like. . . you need a doctor to come down and certify the death and you called me. . .?"

NN: ::sigh:: "Yeah, and now please, we actually kind of need the room for another patient. Thanks."

So I get down there and look kind of lost and nervous (theme of the day) until NN takes pity and comes over. "No worries, all you have to do is go in the room, make sure he's really dead and then fill out the paperwork."

So I stroll into the room trying to look terribly authoritative and appropriately grave. And I look at the gentleman. And he doesn't look all that dead. I look around to see if any of the nurses are watching. They are. Waiting. So I reach out and try to feel for a pulse in his neck. Then I have creepy feeling like he's going to jump up and say boo and snap at me so I quickly remove my hand as though satisfied with my thorough assessment of pulselessness.

But they're all still looking. So I pull out my stethoscope and find myself out of habit saying "I'm just going to take a listen to your heart now." The words kind of echo and hang there. I place the diaphragm to the left of his sternum and all I can hear is the echo of my own pulse rushing through my ears and I can't say for 100% that it isn't actually his heart. Maybe it was just so weak the monitor couldn't pick it up right? So I just stand there and listen and listen and listen. Probably for a full minute I listen. And I can't tell. I swear I hear a heartbeat. His hands are freezing and white. He's motionless, her tongue protruding a little, eyes closed, chest still. But I just can't tell for sure.

The nurses have lost interest and wandered off. I kind of pet his cold, dry hand a bit and excuse myself, looking back one more time before I leave, as though to catch him readjusting his head on the pillow.

Then I fill out the form: Respirations Have Ceased 14:07