In a hospital, a Code Grey means there is a combative or aggressive situation—usually a patient or family member who is no longer quiet, compliant, or agreeable. It represents intensity, confrontation, and protecting someone at all costs.
I would never condone violence. But when you are fighting for the love of your life—and you see doctors making decisions that cause more harm than help—sometimes, emotionally and instinctively, you have to go Code Grey.
My husband survived four cardiac arrests. He fought for his life. Then, when we were finally out of crisis, we were transferred to the telemetry floor—where they monitor the heart. The doctor there was… arrogant, to put it gently.
My husband had suffered anoxic brain injury from being “gone” so long, as well as a spinal cord stroke from lack of blood flow. But he was also proving every doctor wrong—gaining ground every day. So I protected him fiercely. He was like a fragile eggshell with cracks—and I held him carefully, trying to prevent anything from making those cracks worse.
I told the doctor not to give him a stimulant “to help with brain recovery.” I knew my husband. I knew it would agitate him. But the doctor gave it anyway—and removed most of his pain medications—even though they still didn’t know why his legs weren’t working. He was making major treatment changes with incomplete information.
My husband became agitated, aggressive, not himself. Yes, some of that could be brain injury—but something in me said this was the medication.
Later that day, we tried to help him into a chair, and suddenly his face drained of color. He began sweating. His heart rate spiked. It was terrifying. I asked more questions—and learned the full extent of what had been done without consent. The nurses were furious. I was beyond furious.
So yes—I went Code Grey.
I will spare the full scene, but when you love someone the way I love Jason, consequences don’t exist in that moment. It becomes primal. Protective. Survival. Even if the threat is wearing a white coat.
During our 89 days in the hospital, I witnessed constant tension between nurses and doctors—nurses pleading for what patients needed, doctors brushing them off, ego overshadowing care. There is no room for ego in the ICU. What happened to first, do no harm?
After the confrontation, his stimulants were stopped and his pain meds restored. Within one day, he returned to himself.
(And yes— I rest my case.)
This was never about my ego. This was about a man who literally came back from death and was fighting with everything he had. And you better believe I was going to fight right alongside him—to the last breath if needed.
If you’re navigating something like this—if you are the advocate, the voice, the protector—I highly recommend this book:
"The Let Them Theory" by Mel Robbins
https://a.co/d/gmhkQiV
