The Power of Pause: From Virtual Code Blues to Real-Life Conflict

My dad was an electronics technician in the Navy and has always been an “early adopter” when it comes to computers. I’m not exactly a dinosaur myself, but compared to my tech-native Gen Z kids, I sometimes feel downright illiterate.

“Back in the day,” the first time I had to renew my Advanced Cardiac Life Support (ACLS) certification as a cardiac nurse, I was less than thrilled to find that the traditional full-day, in-person class had been replaced by a computer-based refresher. This meant hours of reviewing a dense textbook followed by the longest four hours of online coursework you’ve ever experienced.

A disproportionately frustrating part of the online ACLS course was a certain heart attack victim—Omar, who haunts my memory. He was the bane of every nurse and medical resident’s existence. We’d kill him off repeatedly, not because we didn’t care, but because the scenario was so difficult to master. I even saw a Reddit thread where residents confessed to bribing nurses to complete it for them—specifically because of that guy. (Uh - kinda fraudulent - Be grateful for anonymity, Dr. NEVER-TOUCH-ME.)

One Sunday morning, I was sitting on my porch trying to push through the final scenario of the course. I’d completed everything else, but this last simulation was testing my sanity. I was holding back tears of frustration when my thirteen-year-old son came outside to coax me away from the screen and into the kitchen to make lunch.

I tried to be patient, but he could sense my distress. He sat beside me just as another “Fail” popped up on the screen—probably my seventh or eighth attempt.

“You need an expert!” he grinned.

I rolled my eyes. This was advanced clinical content. My precocious kid had clearly overestimated himself.

Sensing my skepticism, he asked, “Do you even know this stuff?”

I’d been certified for years and had plenty of clinical experience, but at that moment, my repeated defeats had me second-guessing everything. He laughed at my furrowed brow.

“Mom! You GOT this. You know how to take care of people, and I know video games.”

He’d watched me struggle through the last few attempts and now leaned over my shoulder, encouraging me as I hit “start” once again. The scenario began, and I started interacting with the Omar—again.

“Pause it!” he yelled.

I paused, confused, and looked at him.

“Okay, leave it paused. Now tell me what’s going on. If you were in the room, what would you do next?”

Without the timer ticking down, I explained the situation and what I thought the next step should be. It was suddenly so much easier to think clearly. I selected my choice, waited, then unpaused. We kept repeating this—pausing, analyzing, unpausing—and the momentum built. I passed the scenario on the first try. My son was beaming. I was relieved. And honestly? I was deeply impressed by his big-picture thinking.

Recently, I had to mediate a conflict between two staff members who were furious with each other. The issue was small, but emotions were high. As we talked through it, it became clear that the conflict had grown from a series of miscommunications. Once we slowed the conversation down, clarified intentions, and really listened, it turned out they had nearly identical goals. Ten minutes of calm discussion resolved the whole thing.

It’s not always that easy—but sometimes, it is. A surprising number of conflicts could be avoided if we just took a moment.

Slow down. Push pause.

Whether you’re trying to save a virtual patient or connect with a teammate, sometimes the best way forward is to stop, breathe, and really think. You’re part of a team, and chances are, you’re all pulling in the same direction.

Push pause—just long enough to get it right.