When the soul flatlines, call a ‘Code Grace’

Gracie, her mobility tech, and I moved slowly through the hospital hallway — our usual recovery route. She had just had her 92nd operation — yes, 92 — and she’s had six more since.

She walked on prosthetic legs with semi-quiet grit and more than a little sweat. An IV tree clanked beside her — wound vacs, oxygen, pain meds — a parade of endurance wrapped in machinery.

When the soul flatlines, don’t step back. Step in. Call the code. Be the grace.

Then came the yelling. Two doors down — profanity, chaos, pain.

We couldn’t move fast — not with all the gear and lines. The screaming was piercing. And no, nurses don’t get paid nearly enough.

“Code Gray,” someone said, the hospital code for a combative patient. Within

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