#Resus Writing

[kk095]

Ella’s OD

The fluorescent lights in Trauma Room One buzzed faintly, casting a glow on our usual team of medical professionals who stood like statues, their faces unreadable. Dr Lindsay stood at the head of the exam table, arms folded, her sharp eyes flicking towards the doorway. Nurse Nancy adjusted her gloves, the faint snap breaking the silence, while Nurse Heather prepared the crash cart nearby, her hands steady despite the silent tension in the room.

In an instant, the stillness shattered as the trauma bay doors flung open with a loud thud. A gurney barreled through, along with two paramedics. One was perched on top of the stretcher, rhythmically compressing the chest of a young lady. “22 year old female!” the paramedic started, breathless but focused, pumping away at the patient’s chest. “Suspected overdose, cardiac arrest for 15 minutes. She’s intubated- no response to multiple doses of Narcan. Seven shocks, two doses of epi on board!” the medic continued.

Twenty two year old Ella’s bare chest caved in hard, her small perky breasts with pierced nipples jiggling slightly in sync with each individual compression. Her fair skin had taken on a ghastly pallor, her colorful tattoo sleeves a stark contrast to her otherwise lifeless appearance. Her green eyes, wide open, stared into nothing, frozen in a gaze of terror that sent a chill through the room. The breathing tube taped firmly in place peeked between her pale lips, and the hiss of the ambu bag punctuated the chaos.

“Let’s transfer her on my count!” Dr Lindsay commanded, stepping towards the gurney. The team moved as one. “One… two… THREE!” With a coordinated heave, they transferred Ella onto the trauma room table. “Nancy, get me a rhythm check!” Dr Lindsay ordered as Nurse Heather connected the defibrillator pads to Ella’s chest. The monitor let out a shrill alarm as it revealed a chaotic ventricular fibrillation pattern. “She’s in v-fib, Linds” Nancy announced, her voice steady despite the grim reading. “Charge to 200!” Lindsay called out, snapping her latex gloves into place. “Everyone… CLEAR!” The team took a step back as Lindsay delivered a shock. Ella’s body was thrown around dramatically by the jolt of electricity, her green eyes still locked in that haunting gaze. “Ok, no change. Heather, resume compressions!” Lindsay barked, her voice sharp. Nancy jumped in without hesitation, her hands working Ella’s fragile frame as the room became a cacophony of beeping monitors, barking orders, and the rhythmic thud of chest compressions.

As the EMS team hurried out, their job done, the doors swung shut behind them, leaving the trauma team to take over the fight for Ella’s life. Nurse Heather stood at Ella’s side, her hands interlocked and pumping firmly on the young woman’s bare chest. The compressions sent tremors through Ella’s thin frame, her green eyes still frozen open, giving the room an eerie, haunting feel. “Charging to 300!” Dr Lindsay announced, her voice cutting through the noise. Her gloved hand hovered over the defibrillator controls as the machine emitted its rising electrical whine. “CLEAR!” she called, stepping back as Heather lifted her hands, and the team momentarily froze. The shock surged through Ella’s torso, causing her body to jerk violently before collapsing ungracefully back onto the table. The heart monitor beeped erratically, showing no change, still in ventricular fibrillation. “Resume compressions!” Lindsay barked without missing a beat. Heather immediately resumed, her palms pressing down rhythmically. Sweat glistened on her brow, but she didn’t falter. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy ambu bagged. “Come on sweetie, come on…” Nancy leaned in a little, whispering to the patient, gently stroking Ella’s short, jet black hair with bangs.

The door to the trauma room swung open again, with Dr Sarah and brand new, first year resident Dr Jen entering briskly, both already in yellow gowns and gloves, ready to dive into the chaos. “What do we have?” Dr. Sarah asked, her sharp gaze scanning the room. “22 year old female, suspected overdose.” Lindsay replied quickly, not breaking stride. “She’s been down for 18 minutes and counting, no response to Narcan, nine shocks, three rounds of epi. Still in v-fib.” Relayed Dr Lindsay. Dr. Jen moved to the head of the table, assessing Ella’s pale, motionless face. She adjusted the ambu bag, delivering a few firm breaths through the endotracheal tube. “Good tube placement.” she confirmed, her tone clipped but professional. “Any signs of underlying trauma?” Sarah asked as she grabbed the ultrasound probe from the cart. “None reported by EMS.” Nurse Nancy chimed in as she adjusted the IV line, prepping another dose of epinephrine. “All signs point to an overdose.” Lindsay added. “Let’s confirm in a minute. I’m going to see what her heart’s doing.” Sarah muttered, sliding the ultrasound probe across Ella’s chest. The ultrasound screen displayed a fluttering, twitching heart, no organized contractions. “Damn it.” Sarah shook her head. “Push another round of epi and hit her again at 360. We need to get her out of this rhythm now.” Lindsay ordered, her voice firm. Nancy moved swiftly, injecting the dose into Ella’s IV line as the defibrillator began to charge again. The team exchanged a brief, nervous glance before focusing back on their patient.

Heather’s gloved hands pressed down on Ella’s bare chest with rhythmic precision, each compression forcing her sternum to cave and recoil as it fought against the unnatural motion. The force of Heather’s efforts sent subtle ripples through Ella’s body, making her head bob gently in sync. Her short jet-black hair clung to her pale forehead. At the end of the table, Ella’s bare feet, marked with ink from scattered tattoos, bounced lightly with each downward motion. The movement was unnervingly rhythmic, almost like a puppet on strings. The high pitched whine of the defibrillator charging filled the room, growing louder as the next shock prepared to fire. Nurse Nancy, standing by with the ambu bag, occasionally squeezed it to deliver air into Ella’s lungs, though it felt futile against the relentless tide of chaos. Dr Sarah’s voice cut through the background noise. “Charging to 360!” Heather paused her compressions, lifting her gloved hands and stepping back as Dr Lindsay called out, “Clear!” The shock hit Ella’s chest like a thunderclap, her chest shooting up, her back arching before collapsing back, motionless. Her head lolled to the side, her green eyes staring into the void, still wide open, as though bearing silent witness to the battle raging around her. “No change, still in v-fib.” Dr Jen quickly checked the monitor, seeing the same disorganized rhythm. “Resume compressions” Dr Lindsay ordered, her voice sharp but controlled. Heather immediately resumed, her movements unwavering despite the sweat dripping from her temples. Ella’s head began to bob again, her feet tapping softly against the end of the table, the eerie rhythm matching the relentless beeping of the heart monitor. Dr Sarah exhaled sharply, wiping her brow. “We need to break this rhythm. Let’s prep for amiodarone. Nancy, 300 milligrams IV push.” Nancy nodded, grabbing the vial and syringe from the cart. Meanwhile, Dr Jen leaned over Ella, her voice soft but firm as though addressing the patient directly. “Come on, Ella. Don’t give up on us!”

The room was a whirlwind of controlled chaos as the minutes ticked on. Heather’s hands moved without pause, the rhythmic pressure of her compressions forcing Ella’s chest to yield, each pump a desperate attempt to restart the fragile heart beneath. Nancy prepared the amiodarone, her hands steady despite the mounting pressure. She pulled the syringe from the vial, the liquid gleaming under the harsh lights. “Amiodarone, 300 milligrams.” Dr Lindsay confirmed as Nancy injected the drug into the IV line, her movements swift. Dr Sarah glanced at the monitor, noting the continued, disordered chaos of Ella’s rhythm. “We’ve got to break this.” Sarah shook her head. “resuming compressions…” Heather panted, already positioning herself. “Go ahead.” Lindsay said, her eyes scanning the room for any hint of a shift in the young woman’s condition. With each downward push, Heather’s palms met Ella’s sternum with brutal force, her movements unrelenting. The sound of compressions echoed through the trauma room, filling the space with a macabre rhythm. As the cycle of compressions finished, the defibrillator was recharged once again. The air in the room thickened as everyone held their breath, waiting for the next shock. “Charging to 360.” Dr Lindsay called out. “Everyone… CLEAR!” The shock ripped through the room, the sound of Ella’s body being practically thrown off the table a sharp reminder of how tenuous the battle for her life truly was. Still no change. The monitor continued to display the erratic waves of v-fib, mocking their every attempt. Lindsay’s gaze turned to Nancy. “How long has she been down?” asked the doctor. Nancy’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. “Twenty six minutes Linds.” Answered Nancy. “We need to make a decision. She’s not responding to anything.” Dr. Jen inhaled sharply, her gaze briefly meeting Dr Sarah’s. “Push another epi.” Lindsay said, her tone sharp, eyes never leaving the monitor. Nancy quickly prepared the next round of epinephrine. The team had already been through so much, and they were running out of time. Their movements, while practiced, were also beginning to show the strain of prolonged, relentless effort. Heather resumed compressions as the drugs were delivered.

The room buzzed with the constant hum of machines, the beeping of monitors and the rhythmic sound of chest compressions. The team worked in near perfect unison, but the clock was their enemy. With each passing minute, hope seemed to slip further away. “Charging again to 360.” Dr Lindsay’s voice echoed, her eyes locked onto the defibrillator as it whirred to life again. “CLEAR!” As the shock hit, Ella’s slender frame jerked violently on the table. The force of it caused her bare feet to kick up at the far end, lifting off the table for a split second before slamming back down with a thud. For a brief moment, the soft, subtle wrinkles of her size 9 soles were on full display. “Still no change.” Dr Sarah observed, eyes narrowing at the monitor, where v-fib still flashed across the screen. “Keep pushing!” Lindsay urged. “We can’t stop now. Another round of compressions, Heather.” Lindsay added. Heather didn’t waste any time. She leaned back into position, pressing her palms into Ella’s chest with a brutal force. With each compression, Ella’s head lolled, her hair swaying ever so slightly with the rhythm, her face still locked in terror. A series of beeps followed, signaling that the defibrillator was ready once more. “Charging to 360 everyone.” Dr Jen called out this time, her voice tinged with urgency. “Clear!” Once again, the shock hit Ella’s chest with brutal force, and her toes curled, reacting to the shock with an involuntary response, showing off the black nail polish on her toes, along with the cute wrinkles in the soles of her feet. Still, the heart monitor continued to display the chaotic spikes of v-fib, unyielding in its disarray. “Nothing…” Dr Lindsay muttered. “AGAIN!” The team, now pushing past exhaustion, administered another round of shocks, one after another- 360 joules each time, but with no change. Finally, after a third unsuccessful shock, the room felt tense.

Nancy glanced at the clock. Her voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the tension. “Forty two minutes, Linds.” The words hung in the air. Forty-two minutes. The odds of success were growing slimmer with each passing second. Dr Sarah exhaled sharply, glancing at Dr Jen, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. They all knew what the numbers meant, but none of them dared to speak it aloud. The monitor still showed v-fib, mocking all the team’s efforts up to that point.

Dr Lindsay’s voice broke through the tension. “Heather, resume compressions!” Heather didn’t flinch. She was already back in position, hands pressed firmly against Ella’s chest, delivering yet another round of brutal, unrelenting compressions. The steady rhythm echoed, a constant in the chaos, as if her life still had a chance- if only for a moment longer.

Dr Jen, her eyes focused on the monitor, took a step to the head of the bed. She moved slowly, her gaze drawn down to Ella’s face. Ella’s green eyes remained unnervingly wide open, staring helplessly at the ceiling. The glazed, lifeless death stare made her appear more like a forgotten doll than a beautiful young woman in the throes of a desperate fight for survival. The vacant gaze was cold, unblinking, locked in place as if her body had already accepted what her mind could not. Jen swallowed hard, her throat tight with a mixture of professional detachment and the raw sting of helplessness. She leaned in, pulling a penlight from her scrub pocket and shining it into Ella’s wide open eyes. The light flicked across her pupils, but they didn’t react. The glow of the light reflected back with the cold, indifferent stare of a body already slipping further away. “Pupils fixed and dilated…” Dr Jen observed, her voice barely audible, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She took a step back, a troubled frown crossing her face as she shook her head, unable to hide the quiet disbelief. It wasn’t just the absence of any reaction to the light- it was the utter lack of life in Ella’s expression, as though her soul had already departed. Dr Sarah looked up from the monitor, meeting Jen’s eyes for a brief moment. The wordless exchange spoke volumes- their collective knowledge of what they were likely facing now. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” the resident asked. Lindsay’s eyes were cold, calculating. She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it- but the signs were impossible to ignore. She didn’t answer Jen immediately, focusing instead on the monitor as another cycle of compressions was completed. The v-fib was still there- persistent, chaotic, and now undeniably futile. “She’s not gone yet.” Lindsay finally said, her voice unwavering, though her words carried the bitter edge of disbelief. Jen nodded, though her expression remained pained. There was a subtle shift in her posture, the weight of the decision sinking in. They were pushing past the point of reason now- fighting for a life that might have already slipped through their fingers.

The defibrillator charged with a menacing hum, the quiet tension in the room palpable. “CLEAR!” Dr Sarah’s voice rang out, and in a single, tense moment, the shock hit Ella’s body with a violent jolt. Ella’s slender frame jerked sharply on the table, the electricity coursing through her body with an uncontrollable force. Her back arched slightly before slamming back down, her feet lifting briefly once more before crashing to the table. For just a split second, the brief twitch of her muscles seemed almost… human. But it was fleeting, just as everything else had been. Once again, the chaos on the monitor didn’t subside. V-fib persisted, a constant visual reminder that no matter how many times they shocked her, her heart refused to resume a proper rhythm. Heather, ever steady, resumed chest compressions immediately, the crunch of each compression reverberating in the room. Her movements were practiced and deliberate, a well oiled machine in sync with the others. But before long, Dr Lindsay held up a hand, halting the cycle. “Stop…” she said quietly, but with an undeniable finality. Heather paused, her hands still hovering over Ella’s bruised, battered chest as she looked up, waiting for the next instruction. Lindsay’s gaze remained fixed on the monitor, her eyes narrowing at the stubborn, erratic lines of v-fib. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of the situation getting to her. Finally, she sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment, before speaking the words that everyone in the room had been dreading. “She’s gone. Time of death… 21:55.” Lindsay shook her head. She turned away from the table, her frustration spilling out in a short, sharp exhale. The decision to call the time of death was never easy, but there was something particularly brutal about this moment. The countless attempts, the shock after shock, the tireless effort- it all meant nothing in the face of this. The team stood motionless for a moment, the weight of the loss settling over them. The room that had been filled with the chaos of resuscitation now felt oppressive in its silence. Heather slowly pulled her hands away from Ella’s chest, her face hard to read as she stood up, stepping back.

Dr Sarah, who had remained silent through the exchange, stepped forward with a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze lingered on Ella’s face, the wide, unblinking eyes staring back at her, frozen in time. Jen was the next to speak, her voice subdued. “I’ve never seen a body hold on so long… like that.”

Dr Lindsay’s frustration deepened, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as she stared down at the lifeless figure on the table. She didn’t reply to Jen immediately, instead filling out the paperwork with mechanical precision, marking the inevitable as if it were just another task. But the look on her face said it all. She wasn’t okay with this. “You did everything you could, Linds” Dr Sarah said softly, stepping beside her to offer some measure of comfort, but the words felt hollow.

The room was still, except for the soft rustle of movements as the team shifted into the next phase of their task. Nancy moved first, her hands shaking slightly as she detached the ambu bag from Ella’s ET tube. Next, Dr Lindsay reached over and turned off the heart monitor. The beeping- once erratic and frantic, now just a slow, steady buzz of failure- came to a sudden stop. Nurse Heather moved to the other side of the bed, her gloved fingers working methodically as she disconnected the EKG wires from Ella’s torso. The defib pads were peeled off, their sticky residue a faint reminder of the futile attempts to bring Ella back to life. With a small, practiced tug, Heather pulled the wires free, coiling them neatly as she set them aside, careful to avoid disturbing the fragile quiet that had settled over the room. Then, as if in slow motion, Dr Sarah stepped forward, her eyes looking down at Ella. She retrieved the toe tag from the corner of the room, the heavy paper crinkling in her hands. Her pen hovered for a brief moment over the space for time of death. It was already etched In her mind, a number that had haunted her since the moment they’d called it. With a steady hand, Dr Sarah filled out the rest of the tag. Afterwards, she glanced one final time at the patient- no longer a person they were fighting to save, but simply a body now- and placed the tag on the big toe of Ella’s left foot. The tag dangled gently against the wrinkled soles of Ella’s feet. Dr Jen stepped forward, her face a mask of quiet resolve. She moved to the side of the bed, pulling a cover from a nearby cart. With careful hands, she draped the cover over Ella’s body. The sheet covered everything except her toe tagged feet. The team stood back, an unspoken respect filling the air as they took one last look at the lifeless form before them. The sheet settled over Ella’s face, and with it, the last remnants of her terrified, vacant stare were hidden from view- concealed forever beneath the sterile fabric. “Let’s move her to the morgue…” Dr Lindsay said, her voice unexpectedly soft, almost apologetic. The words broke the silence like a whispered command. Without another word, the team began the quiet, methodical process of preparing Ella’s body for transport. Just like that, Ella became the latest beauty to find herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[severedfromthesource]

Conscious/ semi conscious CPR my beloved

Patient moaning, groaning, whimpering during chest compressions as each thrust forces what precious little oxygen they have left out of their body. They’re sort of slipping in and out but they can see their rescuer trying so hard to keep them alive, pumping their heart above them

Them grabbing the rescuer’s wrists or reaching for their hands, not quite in their right minds. They don’t know their rescuer is keeping them alive, just that it hurts like hell and they just want it to stop.

Practically choking on the air being forced into their mouths via mouth to mouth or an ambu bag, their own oxygen intake is incredibly poor but the rhythm of breaths is going against the natural one their body is trying to take up. Or alternatively they desperately suck up any air they can get, grabbing at their rescuer and silently begging them to keep giving them air.

And defibs! Crying out as they’re shocked, clutching their chest. Rescuer feels like they’re hurting more than helping but their heart is just uselessly quivering and they have to do this to get it to beat. It’s just hard to justify when the person they’re working so hard to save is looking up at them with pained eyes and begging them to stop.

For my money there’s no better video example of this than What Do I Like About It- Ivy from 911biomed, highly recommend buying that video if you enjoy this trope

[hiddendreamsstuff]

Content: time called, intentional overdose, compressions, defibrillations, intubation, devastated lover.

I found you in the tub with an empty bottle on the side. Your head has slid down the side of the tub and your nose is just above the water. Your hair floats around you. I don’t know if you expected me home or not- but here I am, finding you in this state. Terror washes over me.

My initial panic quickly dissolves into action… I call 911 immediately and give them the address. I pull the drain on the tub and I lay the towel out. I put my leg in the water, shoe and all, as I reach under your arms and hug you in towards me pulling you over the edge of the tub. I would have fallen over if not for the rubber of my shoe catching me, but my phone falls into the water with 911 still on the line, as I step out and lay you down to the ground. Your perfect body is completely still and I freeze again watching as your unmoving breasts gaze back at me.

Again, I am pulled to action and find myself on my knees with my ear just above your breast, my cheek on the soft skin and breast tissue itself. It is no surprise that I hear nothing, but my terror increases. “How long have you been like this?” I think to myself, my own breathing quickening. I quickly override my fear and move to your mouth and open it while lifting your neck; with my other hand I pinch your nose and seal my lips onto yours before blowing in. It does not seem you have ingested water as the breath makes your chest rise and fall, but your wet body is glistening under the harsh lights of the bathroom.

Now the moment I have been dreading…. I straddle you and place the my heels of my hands between your nipples and push down hard on your sternum. I immediately feel your ribs bend and crack. I let out a whimper, but push myself to keep going. “One two three four five six seven eight nine ten…” I count outloud trying to keep my mind focused on the movement and not the panic.

Tears stream down my face as I continue compressions followed by more exhalations into your lungs, your chest rising into mine as I do so. I put my ear to your naked chest just to be sure there is no pulse, as if that was not obvious already. “Nothing… nothing… fuck!” I whisper. I continue pressing deeply into your chest pumping your heart, your stomach rising into my own pelvis. I realize I have no other tools to save you; the ambulance is supposed to be on its way, my phone still in the tub I can’t tell how long I have even been doing this…. “Come on baby…” I scream out loud, but think to myself “how could you do this to me?”

I continue this process for what seems like forever until I hear the sirens followed by the front door being banged in. I don't stop, even though ever muscle in my body is burning and my heart is pounding. As I am breathing into you again, a medic pushes me out of the way and puts an ambu bag on you while a woman starts pumping your chest hard and fast. It is only out of shear exhaustion that I let them take over- I dont have the strength to fight them... I fall backwards into the side of the tub at your feet and let out a blood curdling scream, which does not phase your rescuers at all.

Your body is under their control now as they begin hooking you up to the monitor with leads and they assess your airway. They quickly decide to intubate you because you have been down for at least 15 minutes, which really means I have been working on you for 15 minutes prior to their arrival... who knows how long you have really been unconscious...

The woman continues pumping until the man takes a plastic hook and places it down your throat followed by a tube. He yells, "I'm in" and the woman begins pumping again. Another medic is monitoring your heart rate on the screen. They yell out for the woman to stop compressions for a pulse check. "Not shockable. Continue compressions," they say.

The medic notices the bottle on the floor and starts to question me about how much you took. All I can do is shake my head that I don't know. "How long was she down before you called?" I shake my head again. I am totally useless now that I have stopped working on you. The medic shakes their head, "Lets try some Narcan...," they say as they take a syringe out of the bag.

The woman never stops pumping and I am mesmerized by the continuous up and down motion of the compressions. . I watch your breasts cave in towards each other with intrigue. I barely notice the man who is bagging you at this point, but see your chest inflate occasionally. Nothing feels real right now.

After the medic inserts the syringe in your arm, followed by another they say, "epi is in, narcan is in- continue compressions for 30 seconds and we will do a pulse check and switch positions". Compressions are paused and the man and woman switch places. "Okay, we have a shockable rhythm. Going to shock her at 200j!" The medic takes the paddles and places them on your chest. "CLEAR!" Your chest jumps jump off the ground, your tiny breasts peaks of a mountain.... you fall back to the ground. "Nothing, shocking at 300! CLEAR!" Again, I watch your torso shoot up to the sky and fall back down. "Nothing continue compressions!" The man takes over and forces your chest into the ground even harder, crushing your chest and my soul at the same time.

I whimper and cry quietly as I watch. The team continues this routine for another fifteen minutes after the first round of shocks. They shock you two more sets of times, give numerous syringes of drugs, and endless compressions before the medic says "We have been working on her for 20 minutes and there were 15 before that. She has been a-systole for 8. We have shocked her 5 times at 360 and she is maxed out on drugs. Her total down time is unknown" says the medic... The others stare at them unsure what to say as I continue to be motionless in the corner of the room. "I think we have to call it" says the woman as she compresses your chest, having switched back to her initial position. She stops pumping and slowly pulls her hands back across your chest, her fingers brushing your nipples which are hard and erect from the cold air.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T STOP!" I scream as I jump up and put my hands on your chest and start pushing down violently. The woman places her hand on my hand and says softly, "She is gone baby. I'm so sorry" as I continue pumping for a moment. I then collapse onto you, my head on your chest; my tears drop onto your breast and roll down the side. A police officer who I did not even notice had arrived tries to pull me off of you, but the woman stops him. "Let her be for now" she says as she strokes my hair from above....

[chokingcpr]

Thanks so much to everyone I’ve spoken to who have encouraged me to post my writing, especially @heimlich99, who insisted that there was an audience out there for this and was kind enough to read it over for me <3

The candles on either side of the table burn tall, freshly replaced by your servants before you’d ordered them to leave for the night. I sit, well-mannered and composed in my chair, fighting to tamp down my discomfort as I watch you gulp down your wine and place the cup back down on the table, turning your wrist with little tact so I can see the jewels gleaming on your oversized cufflinks.

“And personally, I don’t care for the new proposals that came through from their ambassador this week. Honestly, this whole recession is their fault. If they had only listened to me, they would have known better.” You explain, scoffing, as though you can barely tolerate the thought of their supposed ignorance. I blink at you, nodding my head politely. The less I say, the faster this horrible dinner will be over. Your fork scrapes your plate as it skewers another chunk of pheasant, before being held out in my direction, your eyelids lowering seductively. “Don’t you agree, my Lord?” you purr, swaying it softly up and down as you speak. To avoid having to answer you, I part my lips, stiffly taking the bite into my mouth and immediately closing it to chew. Unfortunately, you wait in silence for me to swallow and answer you.

“Yes, my Lord. Of course. But I truly must insist,” I say instead, after a beat, “that you look over my proposal. I’ve the papers with me here tonight, let me just-”

“Ah-ah, we’re in no rush, are we?” You purr again, smoothing a hand over your collar distractedly. I turn away from my satchel, sighing, resigned to another hour of listening to you brag about your home, your chef, and your policies, instead of allowing me to finalize the trade alliance we had begun to discuss.

“Truly, you’ve never tasted a bird so tender. When I caught it– all by myself, mind you– earlier today, I nearly–” your fork falls from your hand and clatters loudly on your plate as you begin to cough, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your eyes widen in shock. Distracted by the opportunity to brag once more, you’d failed to notice the large wing bone you’d shovelled down your throat alongside your life-changingly tender pheasant. Relieved at the interruption, I politely look away, raising my wine to my lips to give you a moment to recover.

When several long moments go by with no change, I subtly drag my gaze up to you, unable to suppress my growing amusement. “Oh dear. Wrong pipe?”

At the lack of verbal response, I carefully lean over the table and pat delicately between your shoulder blades a couple of times, taking care to avoid dragging my clothes through the elaborate meal you’d had prepared for the two of us. Without waiting for you to recover, I sit back down, crossing my arms across my chest. Your wide eyes shoot up to meet mine as I watch you, calmly. Your coughing is beginning to turn into short, breathless hacking, the occasional wheeze making its way through your partially-obstructed throat as a deep red flush slowly crawls up your neck. I frown innocently, tilting my head slightly. “No? Still stuck? Hmmm…”

The legs of my chair drag across the hardwood planks as I push it away from the small table, making my way over to you, as unhurried as I can manage.

“My my… seems like quite the predicament you’re in, hm? Shall we blame the cook, or the bird?” I quip, grinning out of your line of sight as I pat your back again, harder than before. My teasing appears lost on you as you pound urgently on your chest with your fist, truly beginning to panic as the bone lodged diagonally in your throat refuses to budge, even as you continue to gag and croak. Your glass of wine makes it to your hands again and you try to guzzle it down in one gulp, but the deep red liquid pours back out of your mouth as soon as it enters it, staining your expensive shirt. “What a waste.” I mutter, thinking of the label you’d proudly waved in front of me before pouring the wine for us. Having exhausted all your options, you turn your head up to look at me and gesture frantically at your throat, clutching it with shaking hands as tears begin to well in your eyes at the strain of your repeated attempts to gasp for air.

A smile tugs at my lips, almost affectionate, in some cruel, karmic way. My hand trails down from your throat to your chest, settling at your waistband before I begin to carefully tug open the ivory buttons of your shirt, revealing a rich, soft frame. “Someone’s clearly never gone hungry before.” I tease, setting a warm hand flat on your stomach, patting it a couple times to emphasize my point.

With slow, drawn out movements, I begin to pump my hand in and out, coaxing weak groans from deep in your throat. Momentarily you seem relieved, before your mouth drops open and remains that way as you begin to desperately thrust yourself against my hand, trying to gather enough pressure to pop the bone from your throat. Instead of stopping you or pushing harder, I shift my hand subtly so that your thrusting is in just the wrong spot, depriving you of the leverage you so desperately need without drawing your attention. “What a pathetic little thing,” I drawl, looking down at you, watching as you grow purple in the face, wine and drool mingling to paint twin streaks down your chin. “Look at you, so desperate. I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t been so greedy, hm?”

You croak loudly as I push my hand into your belly sharply a couple times, despite its positioning remaining unproductive. “If I’d known it was this easy to get you helpless like this, I would have fed you a bone like that on purpose. I’m almost disappointed I didn’t think of it myself.” My voice grows lower as I tease you, heat pooling in my gut at the sight of you, purple and frantic, pumping your belly against my hand as you choke on a pheasant bone.

The whites of your eyes slowly grow more and more prominent as they begin to roll back into your skull, your movements growing jerky and clumsy as you begin to lose the strength to continue. With a sigh, I pull my hand away and drag you around in your chair so that I can reach your back, and wrap my arms around your waist, beginning to thrust firmly and steadily into your stomach, in the correct spot this time. Your arms swing heavily at your sides with each thrust, jaw opening and closing as you gag, your lips beginning to turn blue. I take a moment to appreciate their colour before throwing your chest over my arm and pounding roughly between your shoulder blades, tilting my head to check if you can breathe before returning to thrusting into your soft stomach.

When several sharp rounds of this make no difference to your condition, I drag you out of your chair and throw you over my lap, beginning to wallop your upper back as hard as I can as you lie, helpless and unable to breathe over my knees. I refrain from taunting you, despite how badly I want to, simply because I know it will be wasted on you: you’re barely conscious, and certainly unable to understand me anymore. My hand connects with your back over and over again, slamming down between your shoulder blades, my rhythm calm and steady. I’m doing what needs to be done, but there’s no fear or panic: I’m almost reluctantly dutiful in my actions.

Eventually, after enough time has passed that most remnants of sound have ceased dragging themselves from your throat, a particularly hard blow to the back seems to cause the bone to shift in your windpipe, and I hear a sudden, choked wheeze as your body begins to try to suck oxygen down into your starving, convulsing lungs. I pause, listening to your pathetic attempts at breathing before I push you carelessly off of my lap and onto the hard floor, taking my time to kneel down on the plush rug beside you.

With another sigh, I wrench open your slack jaw and stick my fingers down your throat, feeling around for the bone you’d inattentively gulped down. I can feel it almost immediately, and crook my fingers to attempt to sweep it out, but it’s too far down for me to reach comfortably.

Withdrawing my fingers, I put my hands on my hips, tutting down at you disappointedly. “You’re truly going to make me do all the work?” I mutter, annoyed, but heave you over so you’re lying flat on your back, head tilted back, throat pointed up at the sky, begging to be cleared. I sit up straight and tug your shirt further open, exposing your chest, and place my hands between your nipples, beginning to pump hard over your heart.

A few minutes go by, the only sound filling the room being my quiet panting as I pump your chest, and your strained, barely-audible wheezing, interrupted every few seconds by soft gags as your body unconsciously strains to clear its airway. A soft groan escapes my lips as I heave you over to lie on your side once again, and sweep my fingers down your throat. This time, they catch on the bone, having shifted enough from my chest thrusts to poke up through your windpipe and into the back of your mouth, and I easily tug it out, taking a moment to look at it. A wave of disgust washes over me at the reminder of your gluttony and greed, and it clatters somewhere as I toss it aside, wiping my hand clean on your fine, expensive sleeve.

Your airway cleared, I wait to hear you begin to breathe, and roll my eyes as I hear no such thing. Jerking your head to the side and opening your mouth, I hold your nose shut with my hand to avoid air escaping, and fit my mouth over your slack one, blowing air deep into your lungs. Blue lips spasm under mine as you suck in a breath of your own halfway through, and I pull away, giving you a moment to see if you’re recovering on your own. After a few silent seconds, I thump your back again with one hand, resting the other on your chest to support you as you lie on your side. “I don’t have all day. Take a breath.”

Bypassing holding your nose this time by simply sealing my lips over both your mouth and nose, I give you another slow, deep breath, feeling your lungs expand against my hand. As I pull away your chest shudders once, twice, and then you begin to gasp, loud and deep, finally breathing on your own.

Colour rapidly floods back to your face as properly oxygenated blood manages to flow through your body for the first time in several minutes, and I sit back on my knees, watching you, unimpressed. “If this was your attempt to impress me during this meeting, I can honestly say that you’ve let me down. You’re quite the joke, I’m afraid.”

When you open your eyes, bleary and unfocused, the candles have burnt down to their last few centimeters, and the food on the table is cold; the room empty. A signed and stamped contract lies beside you on the floor, outlining my final terms for our trade alliance.

[defiblover27]

Curiosity

In the dimly lit room of the Intensive Care Unit (ICU), monitors beeped rhythmically, casting an eerie glow over the scene. Tubes and wires snaked around the bed, connecting the unconscious patient to various machines, a testament to the intricate dance of modern medicine. Amidst this symphony of medical intervention lay Sarah, a 28-year-old mother of one, her chest rising and falling with the aid of a mechanical ventilator.

Sarah's journey to this sterile environment had been nothing short of harrowing. It began like any other day, with the sun rising gently over the horizon, promising another day of routine and responsibilities. Little did she know that fate had other plans in store.

As Sarah went about her duties at work, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision blurring at the edges. Ignoring the warning signs, she soldiered on, determined to fulfill her obligations. But fate is relentless, and as Sarah reached for a file on her desk, her world went dark.

The next thing she knew, Sarah was surrounded by chaos. Voices clamored in the background, urgent and panicked, as hands worked feverishly to save her life. She felt disconnected, as if watching the scene unfold from a great distance.

Sarah had suffered a sudden cardiac arrest, her heart faltering in its rhythmic dance, sending her spiraling into the abyss of unconsciousness. But amidst the chaos, there were heroes. Co-workers sprang into action, initiating CPR with precision and urgency, their hands pounding rhythmically against her chest in a desperate bid to keep her alive.

Minutes stretched into eternity as the battle for Sarah's life waged on. The paramedics arrived, their arrival heralded by the wail of sirens piercing the air. With deft efficiency, they took over, administering life-saving interventions as they raced against time.

Sarah was whisked away in the belly of the ambulance, her body jostling with each turn of the road, a fragile vessel caught in the storm of uncertainty. Yet, through the haze of unconsciousness, there was a flicker of hope, a beacon guiding her through the darkness.

Arriving at the hospital, Sarah was met by a team of skilled medical professionals, their faces etched with determination as they fought to wrest her from the clutches of death. In the trauma room, amidst the flurry of activity, Sarah's heart faltered once more, her life hanging in the balance.

And now, as Sarah lay in the quiet stillness of the ICU, surrounded by the steady hum of machines, she began to stir. Consciousness seeped back into her, like tendrils of light piercing the darkness, illuminating the path to her awakening.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Confusion clouded her mind as fragments of memory pieced themselves together, forming a disjointed narrative of her ordeal. As Sarah gazed around the room, her eyes fell upon the figure of a nurse, her expression a mix of relief and concern.

As the nurse calls for the doctor, the atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, anticipation mingling with apprehension. Moments later, the door swings open, and in strides the doctor, his presence commanding respect and authority. With a gentle smile, he approaches Sarah's bedside, his eyes betraying the gravity of the situation yet brimming with reassurance.

"Good morning, Sarah," the doctor begins, his voice a soothing melody amidst the cacophony of medical equipment. "I'm Dr. Martinez, and I'll be overseeing your care today."

Sarah's gaze meets his, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flickering in her eyes. She nods weakly, her throat dry and parched from the prolonged intubation.

"I'm going to remove the breathing tube now, Sarah," Dr. Martinez explains gently, his tone measured yet compassionate. "It may feel uncomfortable for a moment, but I'll be right here with you every step of the way."

With practiced hands, Dr. Martinez begins the delicate process of extubation, his movements fluid and precise. Sarah feels a fleeting sense of panic wash over her as the tube is slowly withdrawn from her throat, a sensation akin to being freed from a suffocating embrace.

As the last remnants of the tube are removed, Sarah takes a deep, shuddering breath, reveling in the newfound freedom to breathe on her own once more. Weakly, she raises a trembling hand to her throat, the absence of the tube a tangible reminder of the ordeal she has endured.

Turning her gaze to Dr. Martinez, Sarah's voice is barely above a whisper as she croaks out her question, "What... What happened?"

Dr. Martinez's expression softens, his eyes filled with compassion as he settles himself on the edge of her bed. With patience and empathy, he begins to recount the events that led Sarah to this moment – the sudden cardiac arrest at work, the heroic efforts of her co-workers and the paramedics, and the tireless work of the medical team to bring her back from the brink of death.

As he speaks, Sarah listens intently, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. She feels a surge of gratitude welling up within her, mingled with disbelief at the sheer magnitude of what she has endured.

"I'm... I'm alive," Sarah murmurs, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you... Thank you for saving me."

Dr. Martinez nods, his smile warm and genuine. "You're welcome, Sarah. We're just glad to have you back with us."

As Dr. Martinez finishes recounting the sequence of events leading to Sarah's resuscitation, he pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. With a solemn nod, he continues, "There's something else you should know, Sarah. A camera crew had been in the trauma room from the moment you arrived until the moment you were wheeled out after being resuscitated. They captured everything on video."

Sarah's eyes widen in disbelief, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of Dr. Martinez's words. "A camera crew?" she repeats, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Dr. Martinez nods gravely, his expression mirroring Sarah's disbelief. "Yes, it's part of a documentary series on emergency medicine. They were granted permission to film in the trauma room, and your case was one of the ones they chose to document."

As the reality of the situation sinks in, Sarah feels a mix of emotions swirling within her – shock, confusion, and a touch of apprehension. The thought of her most vulnerable moments being captured on film for all to see fills her with a sense of unease.

"I... I don't know what to say," Sarah murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea..."

Dr. Martinez offers her a reassuring smile, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's understandable, Sarah. This can be a lot to process, especially given everything you've been through. Just know that your privacy and dignity were maintained throughout the filming process, and any footage that is used will be handled with the utmost sensitivity."

Sarah nods slowly, a sense of resignation settling over her. Though the idea of her ordeal being broadcast for the world to see is unsettling, she takes comfort in knowing that her journey may serve to educate and inspire others.

"Thank you for letting me know, Dr. Martinez," Sarah says softly, her voice tinged with gratitude. "I suppose... I suppose it's just another part of my story now."

Dr. Martinez nods in agreement, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Indeed it is, Sarah. And it's a story of resilience, courage, and the incredible strength of the human spirit. You've been through a lot, but you've emerged stronger because of it."

"Sarah, we have the footage," Dr. Martinez replies, his voice gentle. "The hospital kept the undoctored footage, which spans a total of 35 minutes."

Sarah takes a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she processes the reality of what Dr. Martinez has just revealed. The idea of reliving her most vulnerable moments on screen is both terrifying and strangely compelling.

After a moment of internal struggle, Sarah meets Dr. Martinez's gaze, her eyes filled with determination. "May I... May I view the footage?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

Dr. Martinez's expression softens, his eyes reflecting empathy and understanding. "Of course, Sarah," he replies gently. "But I want to remind you that it may be difficult to watch. It's okay to feel overwhelmed or emotional. You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

Sarah nods, her resolve firm despite the uncertainty swirling within her. "I know," she murmurs. "But I need to see it. I need to understand what happened, and... and maybe it will help me make sense of it all."

With a reassuring smile, Dr. Martinez reaches for the remote control, activating the monitor mounted on the wall across from Sarah's bed. The screen flickers to life, bathing the room in a soft glow as the footage begins to play.

As the footage begins to roll, Dr. Martinez's voice fills the room, his steady narration guiding Sarah through the unfolding events. With a sense of trepidation, Sarah watches as the scene unfolds before her eyes.

"There you are, Sarah," Dr. Martinez's voice cuts through the silence, his tone calm yet informative. "You're on the gurney, and we've just applied oxygen to help support your breathing."

Sarah's breath catches in her throat as she sees herself lying on the stretcher, her chest rising and falling beneath the oxygen mask. The realization of her own vulnerability hits her like a tidal wave, and she clutches the edge of her blanket tightly, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

With each passing moment, Sarah feels a growing sense of admiration for the individuals on screen – the doctors, nurses, and paramedics who have dedicated their lives to the noble pursuit of saving others. Their faces blur together in a symphony of determination and compassion, their actions a testament to the unwavering commitment to their craft.

As the electrodes are applied to her chest, Sarah feels a surge of anxiety gripping her heart, her pulse quickening with each passing second. But as Dr. Martinez's reassuring voice fills the room, a sense of calm washes over her, and she finds solace in the knowledge that she is not alone in this battle.

As the footage progresses, Sarah watches with a mix of curiosity and discomfort as she sees herself laid bare on the hospital bed, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights that cast stark shadows across the room. Tubes and wires crisscross her body like a spider's web, their purpose and function a mystery to her.

Dr. Martinez's voice cuts through the silence, his tone gentle yet informative as he begins to explain the array of tubes and wires adorning Sarah's form.

"Here, you can see the various tubes and wires that are helping to support and monitor your condition, Sarah," Dr. Martinez narrates, his voice a soothing presence amidst the sterile environment of the hospital room. "Let me explain what each of them does."

As Sarah watches intently, Dr. Martinez gestures towards the different apparatus attached to her body, each one serving a vital role in her care.

"The tube you see here is an endotracheal tube," Dr. Martinez explains, his finger tracing its path from Sarah's mouth down into her throat. "It's connected to the ambu bag, which is helping to support your breathing by delivering oxygen-rich air directly into your lungs."

Sarah feels a surge of unease at the sight of the tube protruding from her mouth, a stark reminder of her dependence on the medical team keeping her alive. Yet, amidst the discomfort, there is a sense of gratitude for the gift of breath, a simple yet profound reminder of the fragility of life.

"And these wires here," Dr. Martinez continues, indicating the array of electrodes attached to Sarah's chest, "are monitoring your heart rhythm. They allow us to track any changes in your cardiac activity and intervene if necessary."

Sarah's gaze lingers on the electrodes, their presence a constant reminder of the battle raging within her own body. Yet, as Dr. Martinez speaks, she finds reassurance in the knowledge that she is being closely monitored, her heart guarded by the watchful eyes of the medical team.

As the footage unfolds, Dr. Martinez continues to explain the purpose of each tube and wire, his voice a steady guide through the labyrinth of medical technology. And though the sight of herself laid bare under the harsh lights is unsettling, Sarah finds solace in the knowledge that each apparatus serves a vital role in her journey towards recovery.

As the footage progresses, Sarah's heart rate monitor begins to emit a shrill alarm, its urgent tone slicing through the silence of the hospital room like a knife. Sarah's eyes widen in alarm as she watches herself on screen, her heart sinking as she realizes what is happening.

Dr. Martinez's voice fills the room once more, his tone urgent yet composed as he narrates the unfolding events. "Sarah, your heart has gone into ventricular fibrillation," he explains, his words tinged with urgency. "We need to act quickly to restore a normal rhythm."

Sarah's breath catches in her throat as she watches a nurse spring into action, her movements swift and decisive as she begins aggressive CPR. With each compression, Sarah sees her body jolt with the force of the nurse's hands, her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic dance of life and death.

As the nurse continues to administer CPR, Sarah feels a surge of emotion welling up within her – fear, helplessness, and a profound sense of gratitude for the individuals fighting to save her life. She watches in awe as the medical team works tirelessly to bring her back from the brink of death, their hands moving with precision and purpose amidst the chaos of the emergency room.

And amidst the flurry of activity, Sarah's body reacts in ways she never thought possible – her chest bruising under the force of the compressions, her skin growing pale and clammy as oxygen struggles to reach her vital organs. Yet, amidst the pain and discomfort, there is a glimmer of hope – a beacon of light guiding her through the darkness towards the promise of a new day.

As the minutes tick by, Sarah feels a sense of desperation creeping in, her heart pounding in her chest as she watches the scene unfold before her eyes. As the nurse continues to administer CPR, her movements unyielding and relentless.

As the tense scene unfolds on screen, Sarah watches with bated breath as the nurse reaches for the defibrillator paddles, her movements swift and purposeful. The air crackles with anticipation as the paddles are charged and gelled, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room.

Dr. Martinez's voice fills the room once more, his tone grave yet authoritative as he explains the significance of the defibrillator paddles and the gel used to conduct electricity.

"Sarah, what you're seeing are the defibrillator paddles," Dr. Martinez begins, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "They deliver a controlled electric shock to the heart in order to restore a normal rhythm."

Sarah's eyes widen in alarm as she watches the nurse place the paddles on her chest, their cold metal pressing against her skin like a reminder of her own mortality.

"And the gel that you see being applied to your chest is a conductive gel," Dr. Martinez continues, his words a steady reassurance amidst the chaos of the emergency room. "It helps to ensure a good connection between the paddles and your skin, allowing the electric shock to be delivered safely and effectively."

As Sarah watches herself being defibrillated multiple times, each shock sending her body jolting with the force of a thousand volts, she feels a surge of emotion welling up within her – fear, pain.

With each shock, Sarah's body convulses with the force of the electricity coursing through her veins, her muscles tensing and releasing in a symphony of agony and relief.

As the cycle of CPR and defibrillation continues on screen, Sarah's heart clenches with each shock, her body convulsing in response to the jolts of electricity coursing through her veins. The room is filled with a sense of urgency, the air heavy with the weight of each passing second.

Dr. Martinez's voice fills the room once more, his tone grave yet determined as he narrates the unfolding events. "Sarah, they're nearing the 20-minute mark," he explains, his words a stark reminder of the critical nature of the situation. "They'll need to assess your pupils to determine your neurological status."

Sarah watches with bated breath as the charge nurse steps forward, her expression focused and intent as she carefully inspects Sarah's dilated pupils. The room falls silent as the nurse conducts her examination, her movements methodical and precise.

And then, the moment of truth arrives – the nurse's gaze meets Dr. Martinez's across the room, her expression a mix of relief and apprehension. With a nod, she confirms the results of her assessment, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

"The pupils are reactive," the charge nurse announces, her words ringing out like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of uncertainty.

As the tension in the room mounts and the critical twenty-minute mark approaches, Sarah watches with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she braces for what comes next. The air is thick with anticipation, the weight of each passing second bearing down on her like a heavy burden.

And then, as if on cue, a nurse steps forward, her expression somber yet determined as she addresses the medical team gathered around Sarah's bedside.

"We're nearing the twenty-minute mark," the nurse announces, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "I recommend we consider stopping resuscitation efforts."

Sarah's heart skips a beat at the nurse's words, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what she's just heard. "Stop?" she whispers, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Martinez steps forward, his expression grave yet compassionate as he meets Sarah's gaze. "Sarah, I know this is difficult to hear, but after twenty minutes of continuous resuscitation efforts, the chances of a successful outcome diminish significantly," he explains gently. "We need to consider the possibility that further interventions may not be effective."

Sarah's breath catches in her throat, a wave of fear and disbelief crashing over her like a tidal wave. The thought of giving up, of admitting defeat in the face of insurmountable odds, is almost too much to bear.

"But... but I'm still here," Sarah protests, her voice tinged with desperation. "I'm still fighting. Please, don't give up on me."

Dr. Martinez's gaze softens, his eyes reflecting empathy and understanding. "We're not giving up on you, Sarah," he assures her, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling within her. "But we also have to consider what's best for you in this moment."

As the medical team discusses their options, Sarah's mind races with a million thoughts and questions. How did she end up here? Is this how it all ends?

As Sarah watches the final moments of the video unfold, a sense of dread washes over her as she sees herself once again succumbing to ventricular fibrillation. The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with anticipation as Dr. Martinez prepares to deliver the decisive shock.

With each passing second, Sarah feels the weight of the moment bearing down on her like a heavy burden. The fear and uncertainty grip her heart, threatening to overwhelm her as she braces herself for what comes next.

And then, in a flash of blinding light, Dr. Martinez delivers the final shock, his movements swift and precise. Sarah's body convulses with the force of the electricity coursing through her veins, her muscles tensing and releasing in a symphony of agony and relief.

As the shock reverberates through her body, Sarah feels a surge of emotion welling up within her – fear, pain, and a profound sense of gratitude for the individuals fighting to save her life. With each passing moment, she feels herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her grip on life slipping away with each heartbeat.

And then, in a moment that seems to stretch on for an eternity, a collective sigh of relief fills the room as the sound of a heartbeat echoes through the monitors. Sarah's eyes widen in disbelief as she realizes what she's just heard – the sweet, steady rhythm of life coursing through her veins once more.

Tears prickle at the corners of Sarah's eyes as she watches herself on screen, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the gift of another chance at life.

As Sarah watches herself being wheeled away to the ICU, a sense of apprehension settles over her like a heavy shroud. The journey ahead feels daunting, filled with uncertainty and the looming specter of what lies beyond.

Dr. Martinez's voice fills the room once more, his tone solemn yet determined as he is interviewed about Sarah's condition. "Sarah is far from out of the woods," he explains, his words echoing in the silence of the hospital room. "Her neurological assessments in the coming days will be crucial in determining her fate."

Sarah's heart sinks at Dr. Martinez's words, the gravity of her situation weighing heavily on her mind. The road to recovery seems long and arduous, fraught with obstacles and unknowns at every turn.

As she watches the interview unfold, Sarah finds herself clinging to the hope that she will emerge from this ordeal stronger than before. She knows that the days ahead will be filled with challenges, but she refuses to let fear and uncertainty dictate her fate.

Sarah, stunned by what she has just seen asks "Can you show me the one of those defibrillators like in the video?".

As Sarah's request catches Dr. Martinez by surprise, he pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion. The notion of Sarah wanting to see the crash cart with the defibrillator paddles and gel seems unusual given the gravity of her recent experience. However, he quickly realizes the importance of providing her with the opportunity to gain a better understanding of the equipment involved in her resuscitation.

"Of course, Sarah," Dr. Martinez replies, his expression softening with understanding. "I'll bring the crash cart into the room so you can take a look."

Moments later, Dr. Martinez returns with the crash cart, wheeling it carefully into Sarah's ICU room. The gleaming silver paddles and tubes of conductive gel catch the light, casting an otherworldly glow in the sterile hospital environment.

Sarah's eyes widen with curiosity as she surveys the contents of the cart, her gaze lingering on the defibrillator paddles and gel that had caught her attention during the resuscitation. She reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of the paddles as she examines them with a mixture of fascination and trepidation.

"These are the defibrillator paddles," Dr. Martinez explains, his voice gentle as he gestures towards the equipment before them. "And this gel here is the conductive gel we use to ensure a good connection between the paddles and the patient's skin during defibrillation."

Sarah nods, her mind swirling with questions and emotions as she absorbs the significance of the equipment before her. "Can you demonstrate on me?".

As Sarah makes her request, Dr. Martinez pauses, considering her words carefully. It's an unusual request, but he understands Sarah's need for understanding and control in this moment of uncertainty. With a nod, he agrees to her request, his expression one of empathy and support.

"Of course, Sarah," Dr. Martinez responds gently, his tone reassuring. "I'll show you how the defibrillator works and position the paddles as they were in the video. Just let me know if you're comfortable proceeding."

Sarah takes a deep breath, her resolve firm as she nods in affirmation. "Yes, please," she says softly, her voice steady despite the lingering sense of trepidation. "I want to understand."

With careful precision, Dr. Martinez begins to demonstrate the operation of the defibrillator, explaining each step in detail as he guides Sarah through the process. He shows her how to charge the paddles, how to apply the conductive gel, and how to position the paddles on the chest in the correct placement.

As Sarah watches intently, her eyes focused on the equipment before her, she feels a sense of empowerment wash over her. Though the sight of the defibrillator paddles is unsettling, there is also a strange sense of comfort in knowing that she has the knowledge and skills to potentially save a life in the future.

And as Dr. Martinez positions the paddles on her chest, mirroring the placement from the video, Sarah feels a surge of emotion welling up within her – fear, uncertainty, and a profound sense of gratitude for the opportunity to learn and grow from her experience.

"Thank you, Dr. Martinez," Sarah says softly, her voice tinged with emotion. "Thank you for helping me understand."

Dr. Martinez offers her a reassuring smile, his eyes reflecting pride and admiration for Sarah's resilience. "You're welcome, Sarah," he replies gently. "Remember, knowledge is power. And with the knowledge you've gained today, you have the power to face whatever challenges lie ahead."

And as Sarah pulls her hospital gown back up, she feels a newfound sense of confidence coursing through her veins.

As Dr. Martinez leaves the room, the crash cart remains behind, its contents gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the ICU. Sarah's gaze lingers on the equipment before her, her mind swirling with thoughts and emotions as she reflects on the video she had just watched.

The images of her own resuscitation replay in her mind like a haunting melody, each moment etched into her memory with vivid clarity. The sight of the defibrillator paddles, the sound of the alarms, the feeling of her own body convulsing with each shock.

As Sarah's hand reaches out towards the crash cart, a sense of determination courses through her veins, her heart pounding with a fierce resolve. With steady hands, she grasps the defibrillator paddles, feeling the cool metal against her skin as she pulls her hospital gown down, exposing her chest.

With practiced precision, Sarah applies the conductive gel to the paddles, spreading it evenly across their surface. The familiar sensation of the gel against her skin sends a shiver down her spine, a stark reminder of the events that had unfolded just hours before.

As she positions the paddles on her chest, Sarah feels a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The weight of the moment hangs heavy in the air, the silence of the room broken only by the steady hum of medical machinery.

With a deep breath, Sarah charges the paddles to 100 joules, her fingers trembling slightly as she prepares to deliver the shock. Her heart races in her chest, her pulse pounding in her ears as she braces herself for the impact.

And then, in a flash of blinding light, Sarah presses the paddles against her chest, feeling the electric current surge through her body with a jolt of intensity. The sensation is overwhelming, sending her muscles into a frenzy of convulsions as her body responds to the shock.

As Sarah takes her self-administered defibrillation to the next level she charges the paddles to 200 joules, a sense of determination fuels her actions, her heart pounding with adrenaline as she prepares for what lies ahead. With resolute hands, she adds more conductive gel to the paddles, ensuring an optimal connection for the shock she is about to deliver.

With meticulous care, Sarah spreads the gel across the surface of the paddles, her movements deliberate and focused. She knows the risks involved in what she is about to do, but she feels herself becoming aroused by the power she holds in her hands.

As she positions the paddles on her chest, Sarah's breath catches in her throat, her pulse quickening with anticipation. With a steady hand, she charges the paddles to 200 joules, her fingers trembling slightly as she prepares for the impact. As Sarah's body succumbs to the intense shock she administered to herself, a wave of dizziness washes over her, her vision blurring and her breath growing shallow. With a sense of impending doom, she feels her heart falter, its rhythm becoming erratic and irregular.

As Dr. Martinez enters Sarah's room with a sense of concern weighing heavily on his mind, he is met with a sight that sends a shiver down his spine. Sarah lies sprawled on the bed, her hospital gown down around her waist, and the defibrillator paddles scattered on the floor beside her.

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Dr. Martinez rushes to Sarah's side, his heart pounding with urgency as he assesses her condition. The gravity of the situation is clear – Sarah is in distress, her body limp and unresponsive, her breaths shallow and labored.

With swift, decisive movements, Dr. Martinez retrieves the fallen paddles and places them back on the defibrillator unit, his hands trembling slightly with adrenaline. But even as he does so, he knows that time is of the essence – Sarah's life hangs in the balance, and every second counts.

Without hesitation, Dr. Martinez reaches for the code blue button, his thumb pressing down on the button with a sense of grim determination. The shrill sound of the alarm echoes through the hospital corridors, summoning the medical team to Sarah's bedside with a sense of urgency.

As the sound of footsteps fills the room and voices clamor for attention, Dr. Martinez focuses all his attention on Sarah, his mind racing with the knowledge that her life is in his hands. With practiced precision, he begins to assess her vital signs, his fingers moving with purpose as he searches for any signs of life.

As the medical team continues with the harsh CPR compressions and defibrillator shocks, the gel glistens on Sarah's chest, a stark reminder of the relentless battle being waged to bring her back from the brink of death.

With each compression, Sarah's body jerks with the force of the impact, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of life being forced back into her lungs. The room is filled with the sound of shouts and commands, the urgency of the situation driving the medical team to push themselves to the limit in their efforts to save her.

Dr. Martinez watches with a mixture of determination and desperation, his hands moving with practiced precision as he directs the resuscitation efforts. Though the odds may seem insurmountable, Dr. Martinez the defibrillator paddles are charged once again, Dr. Martinez braces himself for the next shock, his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation. With a steady hand, he delivers the shock, the electric current coursing through Sarah's body with a force that threatens to break her fragile form.

As Dr. Martinez gazes into Sarah's blank, unseeing eyes, a pang of guilt tugs at his heartstrings. The weight of responsibility bears down on him like a heavy burden, threatening to suffocate him with its enormity. He knows that Sarah's fate now lies in his hands, and the pressure to save her life feels almost unbearable.

With steady hands and a mind clouded with worry, Dr. Martinez reaches for the intubation equipment, his movements automatic yet precise. The familiar routine of inserting the endotracheal tube feels like second nature to him, but this time, the stakes are higher than ever before.

As he positions the tube and guides it into Sarah's airway, he can't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his conscience. The guilt of knowing that he bears the weight of Sarah's life on his shoulders threatens to overwhelm him, but he pushes the feelings aside, focusing all his attention on the task at hand.

With the tube securely in place, Dr. Martinez takes a moment to catch his breath, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and fears.

With Sarah's intubation completed, the medical team continues their rigorous efforts, their movements synchronized and precise. Each compression drives deep into Sarah's chest, causing her ribs to bend under the relentless pressure. Her belly bounces in response, her feet sway off the side of the bed, and her arms hang limply, bouncing with each forceful thrust.

Dr. Martinez stands at the forefront, his eyes never leaving Sarah's lifeless form. The urgency in the room is palpable, the air thick with tension as the team works tirelessly to bring her back from the brink. The gel glistens on her chest, a stark reminder of the desperate measures being taken to revive her.

Minutes feel like hours as the cycle of CPR and defibrillation continues. The defibrillator paddles deliver shock after shock, the electric current surging through Sarah's body with unrelenting force. Her body convulses with each jolt, a macabre dance of life and death playing out before their eyes.

Despite their efforts, Sarah's heart refuses to find its rhythm. Dr. Martinez checks her pupils once more, finding them still fixed and dilated. The weight of the situation presses down on him, each second that passes without a heartbeat driving home the grim reality of their fight.

As they approach the 20-minute mark, a nurse suggests considering the cessation of their efforts. Dr. Martinez hesitates, his mind racing with the gravity of the decision. Just as he begins to accept the inevitable, Sarah's heart converts to ventricular fibrillation. Seizing this final glimmer of hope, Dr. Martinez orders another round of shocks.

The team responds with renewed intensity, the defibrillator charging to its maximum capacity. The paddles are pressed against Sarah's chest once more, and the room holds its collective breath as the shock is delivered. Sarah's body jolts violently, her muscles contracting with the force of the electric current.

But despite their valiant efforts, Sarah's heart remains stubbornly unresponsive. Another 10 minutes of rigorous CPR and defibrillation pass, the team's energy waning with each passing second. The reality of the situation becomes increasingly undeniable.

Finally, with a heavy heart, Dr. Martinez makes the call. "Time of death: 11:42 AM," he announces, his voice thick with sorrow. The room falls silent, the weight of their failure hanging heavy in the air.

The medical team steps back, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief. Dr. Martinez looks down at Sarah's still form, a sense of profound loss washing over him. Despite their best efforts, they were unable to save her. He removes his gloves, the sound of the latex snapping echoing in the room, a stark reminder of the battle they fought and lost.

As the team begins to clean up, Dr. Martinez lingers for a moment longer, his thoughts heavy with the weight of what has transpired. He knows that they did everything they could, but the sense of guilt and responsibility remains, a burden he will carry with him long after he leaves this room.

[intubatedangel]

Pageant Fever : Chapter 4

Been away for a while, life stuff I won't dump on here, other writing projects that I want to keep seperate, and a substantial amount of wasted time. I hadn't realised it had been almost two years though.

But I am alive, and a bit of good news, I have actually fully finished this whole story, there's two more chapters after this one which just need some editing, so I'll be dropping those over the next couple of days.

I just wanted to say a big thank you to all of the people who dropped DM's asking about progress and checking on me. I didn't reply at the time, mostly because I was only checking tumblr rarely so they were often a week or more old, and my head wasn't in the right space for some of that time. But anybody that hasn't been replied, just know I do appreciate the messages, and the drip of activity on my blog has kept it in my mind, even if I struggled to put things onto the page.

I hope you enjoy :)

Story Index    

Pageant Fever: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

* * *

Chapter 4

Lucy frowned at the young woman on the gurney. Sweat continued to roll off Zara's body, and her temperature was still rising, despite the large chemical cold packs that had been slapped around her body. Her muscles continued to twitch randomly, but Lucy wasn't sure if it was the sheer internal heat, an electrolyte imbalance from the sweating, an active infection attacking the nerves, or something Zara had ingested. Or even a combination. It wasn't just Zara's peripheral muscles that were affected. The monitor alarmed, showing her rapid chaotic heart rate, letting out an additional warning noise each time Zara's heart threw off a PVC. They were becoming more frequent. On top of that Zara's breathing was plainly ineffective. Every so often she would give a gasp or grunt, but she couldn't support her own oxygen levels, forcing Lucy to continue breathing for her with the ambu bag.

Lucy knew there was little more she and Dave could do in the ambulance. Without knowing what was happening inside Zara, the best they could do was fight to keep her alive, until they could get to the hospital, where Lucy hoped the team there would be able to figure out the cause of Zara's current state. She watched Dave as he finished inserting an assortment of drugs intended to reduce the fever. There had been no effect so far, Zara's rising temperature ticking up to 41C. If it got much higher, or lasted a long time, there was a risk for severe, permanent damage to Zara's organs and brain.

Dave knew it too. "Steve, what's our ETA?" He shouted to the front.

"3 minutes." Was the reply.

"Make it 2 if you can!"

* * *

Anna had trailed Carl as he continued preparing for his incoming patient, alerting facilities staff that they would need an ice bath in Resus 3, then gathering the team of nurses, Trish was there and Kirstie, along with two Anna hadn't worked with before, a short but powerfully built man called Jamie, and an older agency nurse whose name tag identified her as Marie. Lastly was Tilly. She stood back and watched as they donned their protective gear, green plastic gowns with long sleeves, sealed by gloves, along with close fitting masks and full face visors, their names quickly scrawled in marker along the head band.

They all assembled outside the ambulance entrance, Carl quickly going over a few points and procedures he wanted done as soon as possible. Anna stayed back just a little, she didn't want to distract him as he got his plans together. She watched Tilly instead. The student nurse was no longer practically vibrating with eagerness. She was almost totally still, but not in a tension clenched way. She was simply focused, alert and prepared. Ready to do whatever she was asked. As she had told Anna earlier, she was in the zone.

The sound of sirens started to cut through the background noise of the city, rapidly growing louder as the ambulance raced towards them along the road parallel to the river. It reached a near ear splitting volume as the ambulance came out of the shadow of a nearby building, its lights flashing brightly despite the dazzling midday sun. The ambulance shot past the front of the hospital, turning tightly into the access road and pulling around in front of them.

Anna lingered back as the team stepped forward and pulled open the rear doors of the ambulance. As the gurney was pulled out, she heard Carl's commanding voice take charge.

"What have we got?" He asked. They already had many of the details, but it was always wise to double check anything that might have been missed in the relay of radio calls. Out the corner of her eye, Anna noticed an older woman climb out of the front of the ambulance, evidently their patients mother.

"Zara Chamarthi, 21. Initial instance of syncope followed by a seizure. Post seizure she presented with an SVT rhythm, converted to sinus tach after 2 shocks. She's pyrexic with a temperature of 41.2 and still rising. Resps are diminished and being supported by BVM. Heart rate of 170 with multifocal PVC's. No reported history of seizures, no prior signs of illness or reports of drug use and no reported medications either." Lucy replied as the team started moving towards the entrance Standing back, Anna couldn't help but feel like that was very little to go on. It would make the team's job even harder, leaving them managing symptoms until they could discover the cause and treat the actual problem.

Clearly Carl thought so too. "Okay then let’s get her inside, prepare for an RSI before we put her in the ice bath. I want a central line in to monitor her core temperature and get some blood off to the labs, put a rush on the full blood count and basic tox screen. In the meantime, let's start her on..." As the team accelerated away from her Carl's voice dwindled as he rattled off a range of drugs. Anna had hung back, opting to make herself useful.

She stepped towards the older woman, who seemed to be shambling after her daughter with slow, stunned footsteps. Anna intercepted her with a gentle touch on her shoulder. "Are you her mother?" She asked quietly.

The older woman nodded, looking at Anna with widened eyes, but said nothing.

"Come with me." Anna told her softly. "I'll show you through."

* * *

Tilly kept a few paces ahead of the gurney as the team rushed towards the resus bays, pushing a set of doors open with another student nurse, then leapfrogging the rattling gurney to get the doors into Bay 3. As they entered she took note of the ice bath set up a short distance from the bed. A technician was there just finishing up laying out a set of straps on the bed, which could be connected to the integrated hoist on the ice bath. The bath itself was already full, a layer of ice cubes floating on the surface as the water churned slightly, a pump circulating the water through a refrigeration unit.

As the rest of the team moved the ambulances gurney to the trauma bed, Tilly circled around to the crash cart, extracting a laryngoscope and, with a quick glance back at the girl being lifted over, a 6.5mm ET tube. She then opened a different drawer, her hands moving straight to the drugs she had checked just a handful of minutes ago. She placed everything onto a tray and moved over to the head of the bed as the others finished arranging Zara on the bed.

Trish was already readying the central line, while Carl came around, glanced at the tray and gave Tilly a quick nod. He turned to Lucy. "Pre oxygenate her please. Tilly?" He asked, turning to the student nurse. She looked up attentively. "Have you assisted on an intubation before?"

"Only in a surgical setting practically. I know the theory on emergency RSI's though." She told him.

"Good, can you apply cricoid pressure when I ask you?"

Tilly nodded, flexing her fingers in preparation.

Carl flashed her a quick, comforting smile. "On my mark then." He turned to Lucy and gave her a quick nod.

The paramedic nodded in reply and backed off, bringing the ambu bag with her, holding it ready in case there were complications. Carl drifted around to the right angle and slid the laryngoscope into Zara's mouth, pushing the blade in and pulling back to open the young woman's airway and give him a view of her vocal cords.

"Cricoid on." He said, his eyes still focused on Zara's trachea.

Tilly placed her fingers on the hard ring of cartilage around Zara's trachea and pushed it down, blocking the oesophagus to prevent aspiration.

"Good." Carl muttered, as he eased the lubricated tube down until only a few inches stuck out of Zara's mouth. "Very good. Check the placement for me." He told her, as he held out a hand towards Lucy for the bag.

Tilly had the briefest moment of looking around, before realising she had a stethoscope around her neck. She pulled it off and plugged it into her ears, before grabbing the bell and lowering it Zara's naked chest.

Carl squeezed the bag steadily, his hand clenching firmly, but gradually.

"Left air entry." Tilly said, before moving the head of the scope to the right side of Zara's chest. Carl squeezed the bag again. "Right air entry. Placement seems good."

"Excellent. Let's get her on the vent and prepare her for the ice bath. Until we know what's going on, our first priority is bringing her temperature down."

* * *

Anna gently guided Jaya through the emergency entrance and towards the Resus room. They proceeded slowly, Jaya's steps shambling and slow, as if walking through treacle. Anna felt a keen wave of sympathy as she imagined what the woman must be feeling. It was one thing to understand it conceptually, but now that she was a mother herself, Anna felt it in a way she hadn't before.

They reached Resus 3 as Tilly was securing the ET tube with a blue holder and Carl was attaching the ventilator. At the same time Trish finished with the central line, the large double port catheter inserted just below the left side of Zara's collarbone. She attached a bag of chilled saline to one port and grabbed one of the small wires dangling from the ports, connecting it to a lead attached to the monitor, the young woman's core temperature appearing on the screen.

Another nurse, one of Tilly's fellow students judging by the fact that Anna didn't recognise the name written on the visor, was drawing a blood sample from the IV in Zara's arm. She quickly capped it and handed the sample to a tech who was waiting just inside the door. The young man hurried out, rushing towards the elevator and the labs.

Anna watched him go, then looked to the monitor. From this distance she couldn't make out much in the way of detail, but the flashing portions were more than enough to tell her that the young woman was in a critical condition. Temperature, heart rate, BP, o2 sat and pulse readings, all were flashing in alarm. The team was bustling around her body, pushing ordered drugs into the various IV's, inserting a foley catheter or readying the straps of the hoist.

With a minute they were ready, drawing the young woman up into the air. They proceeded carefully, making sure no lines, leads or hoses got disconnected as they swung her over the small distance to the tub. The nurses steadied her as the hoist lowered her down into the gently churning water, then they quickly arranged her, keeping her face above the surface but otherwise submerging as much of Zara's overheating body as they could. Not that there was much danger of her drowning in the tub, with the ventilator forcing air into her lungs regularly.

Despite all the efforts the team were making, Anna had a bad feeling. She turned to Jaya, who seemed to be clutching her handbag tight to her chest as she stared through the window. "Let me show you to the relatives room." She said, easing the older woman back from the glass and shepherding her down the corridor to a door with just a narrow window in it. Inside were a number of comfortable chairs and couches, arrayed around small coffee tables. Anna showed Jaya to a couch, noting how she never let up her grip on the handbag. It was common for relatives to hold onto their belongings in such circumstances, seeking comfort. But the way Jaya held the handbag seemed far more defensive, almost as if her overriding concern was protecting it.

Anna settled into an adjacent chair, waiting patiently, ready to answer any questions or to offer comfort, but Jaya remained in stony silence, staring at the floor. Between that and her strange behaviour with the bag, Anna started to feel unsettled. She couldn't be totally sure, people responded to these situations in a myriad of different ways, but this... It felt wrong to Anna.

"Would you like some coffee? Or tea or water?" Anna asked, breaking the subdued quiet.

Jaya remained silent, simply shaking her head once.

"Okay. I'll go and see if there is any news." Anna said, pushing herself up from the chair and heading to the door, unable to shake her unease.

* * *

After the frantic activity of those first minutes, Resus 3 had become almost still. They'd administered the ordered drugs and gotten Zara situated in the ice bath, now there was very little for the team to do but wait, for the results to come back from the blood test, or for Zara's condition to change in some way. Which so far hadn't happened. Even with the ice bath Zara's core temperature was 41.7, beyond a normal high-grade fever. She was well into the range of irreparable organ damage if her temperature didn't fall soon. The fact that the young beauties temperature hadn't changed despite the icy water circulating around her was a bad sign.

Tilly knelt beside the ice bath, one hand reaching into the water to cradle Zara's head. An inflated pillow kept her face above the surface, but it was always sensible to be extra careful. Even with an ET tube ostensibly occluding Zara's airway, there was no benefit in risking aspiration. It was uncomfortable for Tilly, the ice cold water turned her hand numb within a minute, forcing her to change hands every couple of minutes. She did her best to recover by clamping her free hand into her armpit, not even noticing the large damp patches forming on her scrubs under her arms as the fabric wicked away the water.

Around her, other nurses kept eye's on the monitors, pumps and ventilator, while Carl stood by the computer, fingers drumming on the desk as he scrolled through a database after inputting Zara's symptoms, while he waited on the results of the quick tox screen and full blood counts. There was an alerting chime as the results arrived in the inbox. Tilly glanced over to see Carl frowning as he looked through the results.

That was the moment the door clattered, drawing Tilly's attention. She watched Anna step into the room, the senior nurse quickly taking in the readings on the monitors, before she headed over to Carl. Tilly rearranged her hands again, keeping an ear out for the conversation.

"Any results yet?" Anna asked.

"They just came through," Carl shook his head, "no signs of infection, nothing on the quick tox panel, she's clean for every party drug and common pharmaceutical."  He started pulling off the PPE. Despite the decent climate control in the trauma rooms, the extra gear was still stifling. The nurses followed suit, Marie quietly helping Tilly as she kept one hand in the water.

"What could it be then?" Anna asked.

Carl turned back to the computer, refining the database search. "If we eliminate street drugs, and viral or bacterial causes it narrows it down." There was still plenty of results, more than they could possibly test for. "At this point the two most likely causes are a brain tumour affecting the hypothalamus, though I doubt we can get her through CT in her current condition to confirm." He looked over at the beauty pageant contestant in the tub and sighed. "But I'm leaning towards this." He said, pointing at the second result on the screen.

Tilly watched Anna lean close as she read the entry. "2,4-dinitrophenol poisoning?"

"It's supposed to be an industrial chemical, but," Carl grimaced, "it's also sold on black markets as a weight loss drug. Exactly what a beauty pageant entrant wants to give them the perfect figure. In simplified terms, it burns away fat, quite literally." He said, indicating the temperature readout on the monitor. It was now wavering between 41.7 and 41.8, the cooling bath having no effect.

"Is there any treatment?" Anna asked him, looking sadly over at Zara.

"There's no antidote. It's not a common occurrence and there isn't much research on it. Even mild exposure can be fatal." Carl tapped away on the keyboard, inputting orders. "There's some treatments that we can try, but they carry risks that might make things worse if we're wrong."

Anna stood there, frowning. "Her mother..."

Carl glanced at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"She seemed very protective of her handbag. I'm worried you're right, but worse, I'm scared it wasn't even her idea." Anna murmured, nodding at the young woman in the tub.

Carl stood up slowly, leaning closer to Anna, speaking in a low voice that Tilly could only just make out. "I can talk to her if you want, you aren't on the clock." There was something he didn't put into words but was clear between them.

Anna touched his arm appreciatively but gave a small shake of her head. "I'll do it. I'm a mother too, maybe I can get through to her. Get the treatments ready." She said her fingers lingering on his arm as she turned away and headed for the door. Carl returned to typing away furiously, while Tilly watched Anna go.

There was a small splash, Tilly jerking in surprise, worried she'd let her mind wander off, but it wasn't her doing. The splashing grew more vigorous as Zara's body began to convulse. "She's seizing!" Tilly shouted, reaching into the water with both arms to support the trembling figure in the bath.

[asystolearchives]

Liric and Quinn - Fairy Resus

Inspired by some wonderful art from my new friend @saphicresus, my first story. I may come back to this some day and re-write it to be a bit better, but I wanted to go ahead and get something published. I hope you like it!

Liric’s tail flicked in frustration as she paused- focusing her breath as she tried to stay quiet. To stay hidden. Her wings pulled in closer to her tiny frame, pointed ears able to pick up even the slightest of sounds but yet she didn’t hear a thing. She could feel her tiny heart racing in her chest, adrenaline rushing through, making every movement shaky and uncoordinated.

Quinn was after her. An enemy she had became under circumstances that weren't her own. She’d ventured into her families territory whenever her familiar, a large cane toad named Hieff, had went missing late in the night. The Brabblefern family was known to be skilled hunters, and vicious to their enemies. Where as Liric, the only daughter to the head of the Lotusfeet family, had a lot more peace and understanding to anybody who accidentally came around.

And now, she was in a situation she’d never been in. She was trapped in a Twoleg’s house. She hadn’t realized when she was flying- but had flown straight through an open window. They had both scrambled to hide whenever they heard the Twoleg enter, but now- she didn’t know where Quinn was, or the Twoleg that she couldn’t hear anymore. The tiny fairy moved some of her blonde strands from in front of her face before she heard shuffling- and her wings expanded, taking off quickly and darting out from the cupboard she was in.

“Get back here, you coward!” Quinn screamed angrily. Her features were much different then Lirics. She had the same body type, but her bare body was adorned with swirls of pigment that almost appeared as tattoos. It provided essential camouflage to her enemies. Her skin was much darker, and hair more coarse, currently in tight, firm dreads that had adorations of beads and small animal bones. They were successful, brutal, ruthless hunters. Deep scars showed just how brave she was- and she was quickly catching up to Liric.

“Please- just- leave me alone! Please!” Liric cried out, darting around a corner and ducking under a cabinet. Her eyes quickly scanned in any place that she could hide, she could see freshly cut vegetables on the counter, jars prepared with their lids off setting on the table. She was familiar with this kind of food preservation from her studies, but she didn’t know yet what to do- until she heard the sound of Quinn screaming in pain as she flew over a boiling pot of hot water, the steam having made her dip down into the floor. Liric looked behind her, her wings flapping quickly, still racing to find another open window- deep down, she was afraid that Quinn was hurt. ⁃ THUD! Liric slammed roughly into the wall, not having been watching where she was going. The small fairly fell down, falling into one of the open jars with a hazy thud, stars in her vision as she tried to regain her composure. She didn’t even realize she’d blacked out until she heard something rustling just above the jar, the sound of metal on glass.

Her dark eyes opend in time to see that Quinn had managed to pick up the lightweight lid to the old jar and began to screw it on the top. Liric flew up quickly, shoving her hands against the top- but she was no match. The lid was already screwed, she was just tightening it. She began to beat against the lid. “Quinn! Please- please! Let me out! Let me out!” She screamed frantically, trying to fly against the side of the jar to knock it over. But Quinn flew down, looking at the struggle as Liric began to tire out.

But Liric couldn’t understand why she was getting tired until it dawned on her… she was running out of oxygen, and fast. She slowed down even more, her body feeling heavier then it ever had as she crumbled down to the bottom of the jar, her tail swishing slowly as she looked at the way Quinn smirked at her. The fairy’s long nails slowly tapped against the jar teasingly, her own tail swishing with something that resembled delight as she watched Liric try to gasp. But every breath she took seemed to starve her body further of the oxygen it needed, her heart beating wildly in her ears as if it would jump out of her chest all together. Liric’s hands clawed against the glass, trying to find anything to hold onto- anything to try and convince Quinn that she’d stay away from her territory. She understood why the other fairy was so violent, with how scarse food was, with some other fairies stealing and killing- she wasn’t mad at her… but she knew she didn’t deserve to be killed for her simple mistake. Quinn was several moons older then she was, she had more expirence, more skill, a bigger clan.

Her head began to pound, a headache like she’d never felt before aching through her body. Her vision was blurring even more, and she was getting disoriented, unable to speak. She was suffocating, and her body was starting to go through cyanosis. Her pale skin was turning blue around her lips and her face, the red that had washed over her was fading as her heart stopped trying to uselessly pump blood. Her tiny frame jerked invoulntarily as she slid further, her back hitting the back of the glass as she began to feel more tired.

She couldn’t explain the sense of.. calmness that she felt. Her tired, tiny heart was slowing it’s beats down. The tips of her fingers, and her toes were slowly turning blue, a paleness that was racing to her limbs. Quinn laid her hands on her hips in a satisfied huff. “You’ll never steal from us again, will you Lotusfeet?” She cackled, before jumping up- her wings splaying out and starting to flutter as she took flight again. Liric’s hand reached weakly out twoards the figure as one last plea before everything darkend within her vision, and Quinn flew out the still-open window, just narrowly avoiding the Twoleg as she walked back inside. Liric’s body had gone limp at the bottom of the jar.

Briela looked curiously out her window, her long brown hair dusting over her shoulders, the smell of fresh dirt on her knees as she took off her gardening gloves, setting the basket of herbs down on the small table that she’d collected. “Oh, butterflies this time of year already? I really need to plant those flowers..” She murmured to herself as she looked for the ‘butterfly’ she’d seen fly out her window. She shrugged it off, and moved to kick off her dirty shoes before going over to the sink to start washing her hands. She did so, patting her hands dry on the small towel as blue eyes glanced over to the pot of boiling water.

“Oh! I forgot about canning!” She cried out in surprise at the boiling water, moving to turn down the water a bit before looking at her jars, noticing the metal lid on one. Her head tilted in surprise before she saw it- the tiny, blue fairy within the jar. “O-Oh my! Oh my! Shit, shit shit shit!” She yelped as she quickly lifted up the jar, unscrewing it with ease as she looked into it. “Oh! Hey, hey- holy shit! Are you okay!?” She cried out as she dumped the fairy hap-hazardly onto the tea towel she’d just used to dry her hands, setting the jar back down quickly as she hovered over the tiny frame. Then it dawned on her- this wasn’t her skin color.. whatever this little, magical being was- this was the appearance of suffocating.

“Oh SHIT!” She yelled once she realized, lifting the tiny frame into her palms carefully. Liric’s body shifted coldly in her palm, her wings limp and splayed out, her tail draping past her palm, arms outstretched and hair messily covering her face from being dropped onto the tea towel. Briela quickly moved to turn off the stove with her free hand before running to her kitchen table, taking a quick seat as her thumb rubbed over the tiny fairy’s chest. “Oh come on, breathe! Breathe! You’re out of the jar now you’re okay! You’re okay!” She pleaded quickly, her own hands starting to shake before she rested her thumb over the tiny fairy’s bare chest, inbetween her breasts. She paused, trying to feel for anything. She moved to lay the fairy’s back flat against her palm, moving her fingers against her chest- trying to feel again.

Nothing… Liric’s body had given up it’s fight. It had been too long, her heart had beat so fast and she’d panicked so badly she had only sped up her demise. But Briela wasn’t a stranger to an emergency… but on something this small? She had to think fast, or else the fairy wouldn’t have a chance at all.

Briela quickly brought the small frame up to her mouth, sealing her warm pink lips against the tiny fairy’s face, trying to puff a breath of air into her useless lungs. She pulled back, and didn’t see a downfall, or hear one. “Okay- just hold on honey- just hold on.” She begged, trying again as she repositioned the tiny frame, letting her head tilt back in-between her thumb and index finger, right in the soft crook, and sealed her lips again, giving a bit fuller of a breath- this time she kept her other hand on the tiny fairy’s chest.

A slow rise. Air was going in now. She pulled back, letting the fairy’s chest fall- before lowering again, delivering another breath. Rise… fall.

“Come on..” She whined, pulling back and moving her thumb into the center of the tiny fairy’s chest, pushing down awkwardly. The angle didn’t do her much of a favor, but she gained a small ‘huff’ from the fairy’s agape mouth. Briela moved to set her against the cold wooden kitchen table, her head lolling to the side, wings splayed under her and her tail in-between her legs as Briela tried another angle with her thumb- another useless huff. She was growing frustrated, but tried again. This time, she used two fingers, both on her sternum, before she pressed down.

Now that felt like a compression. Her body responded just as a human’s would, and she set her pace. “One… two… three… four!” She counted, Liric’s body shifting under each thrust into her still heart. Briela had calmed down- and now she had deep focus, her other hand carefully ready to scoop the tiny fairy up when she needed to give breaths again, resting against the kitchen table. Each thrust made her feel that more scared that maybe she was too late.

“hu-huh-huh-huh-huh” Liric’s body responded in small, quiet huffs with each compression, limbs failing slightly as she was picked back up off the table, Briela sealing her mouth against the fairies once more. She puffed out a small breath of air, causing Liric’s cheeks to expand fully, her lungs expanding quickly, huffing out air as the Twoleg pulled away. Another breath, rise, and fall- and then another.. just for good measure. She didn’t hesitate, carefully lowering Liric back down, her fingers finding their place again as she began to compress.

“huh! huh! huh!” her body responded more defiantly, as Briela didn’t worry as much about the depth- she worried that if she went too soft she wouldn’t be able to save the fairy. She counted softly under her breath, legs shaking with each thrust as her ribs flared out with each deep, methodical compression that was slammed into her unmoving muscle. Another round, and another set of breaths. She could see that some of the blueness had faded from the fairy’s body but she wasn’t yet responding to her- a quick feel against her chest gave her nothing in return, but Briela took the small frame from her table and back into her palm, her fingers moving to rub her sternum desperately.

“Come on, little one- please take in a breath!” She quietly whispered, deeply rubbing her sternum- trying to get any response, before using her thumb, cupping the tiny fairy in her hands as she began to deliver compressions again. These were harder, deeper into her chest- crushing her heart with each beat as she squeezed the tiny form. Her breasts jiggled with the movement, ribs flaring out- open mouth huffing out the air that kept seeping into her lungs. Her legs and arms shook with each beat, the warmness from Briela’s palms starting to take away the coldness that the kitchen table had only caused to get worse. She was desperate, her mouth sealing again over the tiny fairy’s face, forcing in air even as her thumb continued to press, feeling the way her chest rose up and huffed out quickly with the next beat. Her belly jiggled with each compression, expanding and shifting under the weight until- a tiny gasp echoed.

Briela paused for a moment, her thumb resting over Liric’s sternum. The marbling of bruises and redness made her feel horrible, but Liric tried to gasp again, but her eyes weren't opening. Each gasp was deep, struggled. Agonal. “Come on honey…” Briela pleaded as she rubbed against her sternum firmly, not getting any kind of a reaction before she began to compress again. She knew that this breathing wasn’t a real sign of life- and even though she wished she had a AED , she knew there was no such thing for something so small.

Each thump against the sloshing muscle further pushed blood throughout her system that was trying so hard to fight. Briela’s careful grip, and thumb centered square in her sternum- didn’t give her heart any choice. It would beat, and it would beat to the rhythm that it was set to. Briela moved back down after only fifteen, bringing the tiny fairy up to her mouth once more, sealing over her face and blowing quick breaths of air- over and over again, her tiny chest expanding quickly as her thumb rubbed against Liric’s chest, making her chest shift and bounce before her limbs came up suddenly, starting to move and gasp.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, you’re alive! Okay, it’s okay little one- breathe for me, just breathe!” She guided softly as she pulled back, feeling the quick thudding of Liric’s heart as she regained consciousness, the tiny fairy looking terrified as she realized what was going on. “I-It’s okay, it’s okay, I saw you got trapped in a jar- I saved you, you’re okay.” She pleaded, hoping that the fairy understood what she was saying. Liric didn’t have the energy to move, yet, but Briela was already standing, looking through a pile of sewing supplies on her kitchen table until she found a small square of soft fabric, wrapping the tiny frame in it, and laying her down carefully on a old plushie. The tiny fairy’s body rested against the softness and warmth, and Briela didn’t take her eyes off of her.

She’d done it. She’d saved the fairy!

[kk095]

Nurse Heather’s Morbid Curiosity

Trauma room two is quiet, contrasting the non stop, frenetic energy that’s usually found in seemingly every crack and corner of the emergency department. The bright, fluorescent overhead light above the trauma room table hums faintly, but the rest of the room feels still. Somewhere down the hall, the pitter-patter of footsteps and voices chatting is heard, but in trauma two, you can hear a pin drop.

Nurse Heather stands alone beside the trauma room table, focusing on the task at hand. On the table is 32 year old Rachel- a tall, thin, redheaded woman. Unfortunately, Rachel just passed away in our emergency department after suffering a sudden cardiac arrest. The team did everything they could for the redhead, coding her for over half an hour. Now, she’s just the latest beauty to have her time of death called in our ER.

Rachel’s skin is ghastly pale, and ice cold to the touch. Her bluish green eyes remain half open, seeming to follow Nurse Heather’s every move. The redheaded woman’s body still shows evidence of the thirty minute battle to save her. The ET tube remains in place, sitting between her pale lips. EKG electrodes cling to her bare torso, their wires snaking out. Defib pads are attached to her chest. IV lines are still in place in each of her arms.

Heather lowers a gloved hand over the deceased patient’s face, gently shutting her eyes for the final time. As she does that, an intrusive thought enters her mind: “what would it be like to be her?”

As Heather zones out, becoming lost in this thought, she imagines the faint sound of a heart monitor. It’s a faint, soft beep at first, but in a split second, the beeping begins to grow louder, sharper, and more incessant, until it completely fills Heather’s mind.

A sudden, jarring alarm breaks through the rhythm of the beeps. The sound seems to stretch on, rising higher, more frantic. Then with an abruptness, Heather is there. She sees herself on the table now.

Nurse Heather watches from the foot of the table from the third person perspective, her eyes locked on her own still form. It’s like she was watching a movie of sorts. On the table, Heather sees herself unconscious, intubated, completely limp and motionless, in cardiac arrest. Her chest rises and falls with each puff of the ambu bag. Her mouth is slightly open, the breathing tube sitting between her lips. Her eyes are WIDE open, staring up above in a look of pure terror. There’s a tinge of something unspoken in those wide, unblinking eyes, but Heather can’t quite put her finger on it.

The room is absolutely chaotic. Her coworkers (and friends), are all there, but everything feels oddly distant. It’s like they don’t know who she is, and she can’t interact with them. They’re all moving around her body with a sense of urgency.

Dr Lindsay is at the side of the table, serving as the brains of the operation. Standing beside Lindsay is Dr Sarah, who’s keeping an eye on the heart monitor. At the head of the bed is Nurse Nancy who’s ambu bagging. Last but not least is Dr Jen, who’s performing chest compressions. Heather’s skinny chest caves in, recoiling hard, her flat belly rippling out from the force of each individual compression.

“Let’s go ahead and try shocking her. Charge the paddles to 300.” Dr Lindsay dictated to the rest of the team. The defib paddles were gelled, charged, and firmly pressed up against Heather’s chest. “Ok. Everyone… CLEAR!” Lindsay raised her voice. KA-THUNK! Heather’s body jolted violently in response to the controlled dose of electricity. There was a brief pause after the shock, all eyes on the heart monitor. “No change, still in v-fib. Let’s hit her again at 360.” Dr Sarah chimes in. The defibrillator paddles are re-charged, gelled, and pressed back up against Heather’s chest once again, the next shock being sent into her body. Heather’s feet kick up at the far end of the table, slamming back down hard half a second later, showing off the soft, prominent wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet.

After the second shock, Nurse Nancy places two fingers on Heather’s neck, feeling for a carotid pulse. “Poor baby…” Nancy says under her breath, shaking her head, not feeling anything. “We still have v-fib, let’s shock again at 360.” Lindsay ordered, her blue eyes trained on the heart monitor. The defibrillator paddles are readied once again, and the next shock is administered. Heather’s chest shoots up, her back arches, eyes staring helplessly above before plopping back down hard on the table a second or so later. Following this shock, there’s another pause. “No change, she’s still in v-fib, Linds.” Informs Nurse Nancy. The defibs are prepared again, and a shock is promptly delivered. Heather’s body was effortlessly tossed around on the table by the electricity, her head rolling to the side, but again, the same dead rhythm remains. “No change, let’s try one more time.” Suggests Dr Sarah. Without any hesitation, the paddles were grabbed once again, and the next defibrillation attempt was administered. THUD!!! Heather’s skinny body flopped ungraciously on the table, the electricity racing through her lifeless body.

Following this shock, Dr Lindsay looked at the monitor for a moment, then exchanged looks with Sarah, Jen, and Nancy. “she’s in refractory v-fib.” Stated Lindsay, her tone of voice filled with resignation. “I’m gonna go ahead and call it, we can’t code her all night. Time of death, 2:21am.” Announced Lindsay. Without missing a beat, the team begins postmortem care. Nurse Nancy detaches the ambu bag from the ET tube, setting it on the table beside Heather’s head. Dr Sarah reaches for the heart monitor, turning it off. Dr Jen disconnects the EKG wires and wipes the defib gel off Heather’s chest. Nancy places a gloved hand over Heather’s face, and gently closes her eyes. “I’m so sorry hunny.” Nancy tells Heather. A toe tag is filled out and placed on the big toe of Heather’s left foot. The tag dangles gently against the soft, wrinkled soles of her feet as her body is covered up.

As the scene wraps up, Heather snaps back into reality. Her feet are planted firmly on the ground, looking down at the trauma room table where Rachel, the redheaded patient still lay. Heather doesn’t react to the vivid events that transpired in her mind. No gasp. No confusion. No dramatic “what just happened?!” Just back to normal.

Her hands, still gloved, work delicately, covering the redheaded woman’s body with a sheet. As she drapes the sheet over Rachel’s face, Heather can’t help but steal a glance at her face. The surreal feeling of that brief fantasy still lingers in the back of her mind.

Heather pulls her gaze away and makes her way towards the door. She pauses at the doorway, turning back for one last look at the covered form on the table. For just a moment, something flickers through her mind. She doesn’t voice it aloud, but thinks it to herself as she exits the room. “Maybe someday, I’ll get to be the one toe tagged and under a sheet in here.”

[severedfromthesource]

Bite Back

Pt 1/3

Next part

Original concept from @delicious-beats. Contains F resus, M rescuer, LUCAS thumper, automated CPR, mouth to intubation tube, depictions of gore, trying to resuscitate a zombie

Blackened veins ran in a spiderweb from the holes in Luffy’s shoulder. She shouldn’t have even been out, Elijah had told her again and again, the fucking news had told her, the trucks with megaphones and military personnel blaring up and down her street for the past ten hours had told her. But she needed to know he was okay. She was always trying to look out for him. He’d never hated her selflessness more than right now. 

Her skin was bloodless, her usual dark brown hue sapped until she was completely ashen, the circular row of splotchy red teeth marks and black fissures of veins the only real color left to her body. Her heart was beating arrhythmic on the monitors as the ambulance tried to find a path forward through the streets choked with people fleeing. Her head rolled back on her neck and she looked up with bleary eyes towards him. 

“Eli,” she choked out, her throat tight to the point of almost closing up. 

They’d dealt with bite victims all day. They’d lost all of them, and then had to cut it and run when the old woman or the jogger or, worst, the fucking ten year old who had been playing soccer, reared back up and tried to take a bite out of them. Elijah cradled her head, his mind racing. The symptoms presented differently with everyone they’d encountered. One spewed blood, one just bottomed out and died, but so far complete cardiac arrest had occurred within the first twenty minutes of contact. His eyes darted to his watch. It had been fifteen since she’d screamed over the phone and he had raced to come find her.

He pressed a square of gauze against the wound, his breath shaking. “Okay,” he said, “Okay, Lu? I need you to look at me, focus on me, hey-“ He held her face with one hand and snapped his fingers near her ear with the other. It lolled like a doll with loose joints. “We’ve got a couple minutes before… b-before the first real symptoms kick in, the really bad ones. But I’m gonna get you to the hospital, alright?” He added in an aside to his partner in the front, “How long you think until we get there?” 

“Fuck man,” Jonas spat, “Every street is clogged, the military is setting up choke points on every major road. They’re not gonna let us even through if she’s infected.” 

“I didn’t fucking ask about the stupid fucking military, I asked how long until we get there,” Elijah replied in a tone that warned the other man he would not be accepting any other outcome but Luffy making it to the front doors of Saint Edward’s.

“Twenty minutes, if I can find a decent backstreet. Probably forty if I can’t.”

He nearly sobbed. The air left his body in a rush with a stricken noise he couldn’t hold back. Luffy’s hand reached out and grabbed at his shirt. 

“Eli,” she sputtered again, but there were tears in her voice this time. “I don’t … I d-don’t wanna die…”

Twenty minutes. Probably over that, but he couldn’t think about that. His eyes snapped to his watch again. Three minutes left. He could keep her heart going. If she wasn’t really dead then she couldn’t be undead. He would keep her alive, and they would cure her, and she would live. There was no other option. Not for him.

Spittle dried white at the corner of her lips as he stared down into her face, those lips he had kissed until they were swollen now trembling and pale. He smoothed hair back from her forehead and leaned in close. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he promised in a low voice, cupping her head with both hands. “You’re gonna be alright. You trust me?” She nodded, even as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and slid into the pillow beneath her. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. We take care of each other, right? It’s what we do.” 

Two minutes. Elijah kissed her sweaty forehead and drew back, collecting everything he’d need for an arrest as the ambulance swayed and bounced over uneven terrain. He snatched out epinephrine, pulled out the AED, strapped her to the gurney, all with an efficiency he didn’t even know he was capable of. Already her heart was beginning to skip, throwing out PVCs on the monitor as her jagged heart rate either spiked above the line or dipped far below it. He eyed the restraints they had on hand, the brace boards for trauma victims and cuffs meant for psych patients. As he drew the LUCAS out, he tested the straps on the sides of the large, crescent moon shaped piece of equipment. There was no telling if they’d hold if she tried to take a swipe at him, but maybe. 

Twenty seconds. Elijah gripped the neckline of Luffy’s shirt and tore it down the middle, sweat beginning to drip down the back of his neck and back. She was hardly moving, her bare chest glistening with sweat. Her nipples had lost their color too, and her breasts swayed jerkily with every short, halting breath she managed in. Her eyes were drooping closed. Her jaw twitched open a little and slackened back as she took one more shallow sip of air. Then it left her lungs in a quiet sigh as her chest deflated for the final time. There was one more quick flutter on the monitors, her heart clawing for the last few quivering beats it could manage. Then it stopped. 

Elijah clamped down on the welling nausea to tap the timer on his digital watch. Jonas cursed up front as the EKG hummed a flatline. Wasting no time, he slid the curved backboard under her limp body, lifting the LUCAS and clicking it into place above her. The thing settled between her breasts, the flexible rubber plunger flush against her sternum. One of her arms hung limp off the side of the gurney and he took it by the wrist, fixing it in the straps on one side of the machine, then the other. Her fingers curled against the motor case. Elijah jabbed at the controls and turned it on. 

The machine jabbed the plunger down into her chest with all the force of a trained EMT. It cratered into her heart, the force displacing through the rest of her body so her belly rolled out, her shoulders rippling with the force of a robot that didn’t care if it felt her ribs pulp under its hands. It had never held her. It had never known the warmth of her. The thing pistoned and made a noise far too loud for the cramped space. Zip, zip, zip, zip, zip.

Luffy’s eyes were half mast and empty, lips parted. Elijah checked the timer. A little over a minute had passed since the start of the arrest. Maybe there was still time for intubation. He snatched the laryngoscope and tilted her head back by the jaw, sliding the metal blade past her bloodless lips and over her tongue. The curved blade made an easy track down her throat, bulging it slightly as he maneuvered an intubation tube down the tunnel of her trachea. He slid it home with one hand, the other resting at the pulse point in her neck to feel the blood being forced to circulate. He knew he couldn’t look at her face. He had to focus on her tongue, her mouth, her teeth, the hard bone of her jaw under his fingers. If he looked at her face, he would lose any shred of sanity he had left. But his eyes slid anyway. They moved down to her eyes- only they weren’t half lidded anymore. 

They bore into him, the pupils grey discs in the center of her dark eyes. The whites of her eyes were shot through with red veins. Her jaw clicked as it moved around the intubation tube, her lips peeling back, exposing her teeth.

“Fuck!” Elijah exclaimed and jerked back, his back hitting the wall of the ambulance. 

“What, what?” Jonas shouted from the front seat.

Luffy’s body moved, her arms tugging at the restraints, her legs shifting underneath her. They curled up and kicked out, but the belts around her waist held her down. Her back arched against the LUCAS even as it slammed down against her sternum. Elijah heard something shift sickeningly under the skin. A guttural growl rose up from the tube and she thrashed, shaking her head, rolling back as her teeth gnashed against the tube poking from her mouth. She gargled and sputtered and he realized with a jolt that she was tearing up her throat with her bucking and shaking. 

“Luffy,” he breathed. “Lu… Lu, stop, stop it-“ He lurched forward, grabbing her jaw, but she snapped her head to the side and clicked her teeth within a hairs breadth of his hand. "Fuck, fuck!"

"Eli! What the hell-"

"Focus on the road!" As he snapped this at Jonas, Luffy burbled a mouthful of blood from around the tube in her throat. He managed to throw his arms in front of his face just in time before it might have splattered in his eyes or mouth. The last thing poor Jonas needed was another flesh crazed cannibal in his ambulance. Elijah had already decided he was saving the woman he loved, and he was going to keep that promise; he just needed to stay warm and breathing to do it.

He lunged for her again, clapping his hands on both sides of her head, just out of reach over her bared teeth. "This is definitely not how you're supposed to intubate someone," he panted, already out of breath, "But I know very well you're not breathing for yourself right now." As if in agreement, Luffy gurgled with a throat full of blood, already darkened by the virus until it was almost black. He wrapped his lips around the opening of the tube and forced a breath into it. Might as well, things definitely couldn't get any worse. His eyes flicked to her chest as the LUCAS did its thing, bowing her ribs in against her spine with ruthless efficacy, and blew another breath into her oxygen starved lungs, even as she fought against it. Six minutes in arrest.

Her arms strained against the bindings and he heard the velcro straps start to go, but she was just mindless and angry enough she didn't seem to understand what was keeping her stuck. She twisted her wrists and struggled until the skin was bruised and raw, but the straps held. They'd hold until they couldn't anymore. He considered a neck brace to try and hold her still enough to attach an ambu bag and actually intube her properly, but if he lessened his hold on her for even a moment, she'd snap and flounder, teeth chomping as they lunged for his flesh. The LUCAS had to be good enough. It was all he had. He stood there, bowed over her, filling her lungs. Each breath forced her chest to rise before it was again crushed under the LUCAS as it beat her heart over and over again. Every time he gave her oxygen, she made a wretched wheezing noise and used the breath as fuel to snarl wordlessly at him. Her legs kicked out, banging against the walls of the truck, scattering supplies tucked into corners. Her body tried to roll up and fight the machine as it relentlessly battered her dead heart.

"Please, stay still, Lu." He stroked his thumb against her cheek, trying to suppress the sobs he felt building behind his eyes. Every time the LUCAS pounded against her sternum, it forced what little air was left in her lungs out, often in a grunt or a a hollow rasp in the back of her poor, abused throat. “I got you, baby. I’m not giving up, not until I get you back.”

She snarled again, but the thumper kept cutting into her displeased noises. “Haaar-huk, graa-ack, huk-“

Ten minutes in arrest. Elijah looped his arm under her chin, pinning her in his bicep to keep her head still, and punched the pause button on the LUCAS. He slipped two fingers under his headlock to feel for her pulse, but the monitor returned to a flatline the moment the automatic compressions stopped. She was still dead even as she squirmed under the restraints.

“Come on, fucks sake, Lu. Give me something,” he muttered, slapping the resume button to once more fill the ambulance with the rhythmic zip, zip, zip noise. Her breasts bounced with the force, her hardened nipples drawing lines back and forth in the air. He breathed once more into the intubation tube. The machine forced the breath back out as soon as he’d given it. She didn’t stop her struggles, trying to fight the thing assaulting her motionless heart. He had to wonder if she felt it pushing stale blood through the chambers and ventricles. He could only imagine how much it must hurt to be conscious during CPR. Her ribcage had probably already been rendered into pudding by now. He could see the bruise where the plunger knocked again and again into her. “I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering.

Thirteen minutes in arrest.

He didn’t know how much more he could take. Seeing Luffy’s face contorted, empty even as it moved and made noise, was starting to break Elijah. Or at the very least break some vital piece of him. He ran his thumbs over her temples as tears silently slipped down the bridge of his nose and patted wetly on her face. She didn’t even flinch. There was nothing left of her in those diseased eyes. He held her still enough in another headlock to check her pupil reactivity, but they were fixed and blown wide with dilation. He didn’t know if that meant the virus was doing its job, or if she was beyond saving. Luffy rattled the gurney as she kicked again, thrashing her body as much as she could while being pinned down by the machine punching into her sternum over and over. Sixteen minutes. Sixteen minutes and absolutely zero electrical activity: her heart hadn’t even quivered. It simply lay silent and still while the rest of her kept moving.

Elijah sank into a crouch, holding onto the edge of her bed to keep himself from collapsing utterly. He heard Jonas radioing into the hospital, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the pitiful gasps and grunts Luffy made as the thumper pinned her beneath it. “Stay still, please God just stay still,” he begged her and felt tears spilling over. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. All he could do was sit there and shake with silent sobs. He couldn’t even focus enough to breathe for her. “Baby,” he rasped in a hoarse whisper, “Please… Jesus Christ, please…. Come back…”

“Eli,” Jonas called again for what had been the third time, but was the first time Elijah had heard him. “They say they’ve got some kind of antidote, they’ve tried it on a few of the infected.”

Elijah wiped tears and snot off in his upper arm. “Any results?” he asked, warbling. The greater part of him wanted to tell Jonas not to bother, that it was too late. That she was gone. The most an antidote would do would maybe put her down peacefully so she could rest easy. But there was that little kernel, that one errant thought that said maybe, maybe she could come back.

“A couple people have come back. Not totally, they think it might be brain damage from the time they spent without circulation. But they stop trying to rip people’s faces off.”

They’d been her life support since the moment she turned. Her heart had barely even been given a chance to stop in her chest. The LUCAS had good rates of spontaneous return of circulation; if anyone could come back, Luffy had been given the best chance.

“They know we’re coming?”

“They’re gonna meet us the second we pull in.”

He stared down into the silver discs of her eyes. She was still in there, somewhere. She had to be. “Hold on, Lu. I’m gonna get you back.”

[hiddendreamsstuff]

Jenny's Poolside Resus

*for @cprdefibloverr

You’re in the kitchen getting a bottle of wine for us, well a second one to be exact. It’s very warm out and I’ve drank quite a bit already. I decided to go jump in the pool to cool off and walk over the other diving board. As I’m standing at the end of the board about to walk forward to jump in, I start to feel dizzy. 

The world starts to spin and I try to steady myself against my own knees but this makes it more difficult to stand on the narrow board. I try to turn around to get off of it, but before I know it I’m losing my footing and falling into the pool. On my way down my head hits the diving board and I’m unconscious before I even hit the water….

My body sinks with gravity into the water, a big splash behind me. My lungs exhale the last of the air in them and large bubbles rise to the surface of the water. I keep sinking and the water fills up my lungs and stomach. Finally when there is no more air I begin to float upwards and end up face down in the pool, my long brown hair spread out around me. 

You come out, wine bottle in hand and look around for me. It takes a moment before your eyes land on my floating body at the deep end of the pool. “Jenny? JENNY!” You scream as you drop the bottle on the grass and dive into the water. 

You grab me and pull me away from the diving board and flip me over. Its a struggle to swim me to the other end of the pool. My lips are a light blue already and I have a contusion on my head from the diving board. 

You finally manage to drag me to the stairs at the other end of the pool and lift me onto dry land. You place me down gently on the grass and  press your ear against my chest, hoping to hear the sound of my heart or the movement of my breath- but you hear nothing. 

You push on my bloated stomach to try and get the water out and it spills out of my mouth in small and then larger amounts. But I do not breathe. You check my pulse on my neck and find nothing. Then you violently rip off my pink bikini top and place your hands between my large c cup breasts; your middle finger grazing my right nipple. You press down hard- so hard- over and over and over again directly on my sternum. My breasts move with each compression, jiggling and wobbling, my nipples quickly becoming hard and erect with exposure to the air. 

You lean down close to my face t breathe into me: your lips sealed around mine with my head tilted upward, my chest rises and falls dramatically. Each breath sends a huff out of my mouth back into yours. You place your fingers on my neck hoping for some change, but you feel nothing. 

“Come on Jenny, stay with me baby! Stay with me!” you scream as you move back to pumping my chest. “Damnit, Jenny, wake the fuck up!” but my eyes remain closed and my chest remains still other than the movements you put into it. 

It occurs to you to call 911, but your phone is in the kitchen and you dont want to leave me here, dying in the sun. Luckily our neighbor hears you through the window screaming and sees you doing compressions and calls. It will take her a few minutes to come over, but she initiates the call without you knowing. 

…..

Behind my closed eyes, my mind is barely able to make sense of what is happening. My heart is beating only because two hands are pushing down and small amounts of oxygen get to my brain. “Save me baby, please save me. I don’t want to die”. Goes through my head, one word with each compression because my brain cant think in between them. When air comes in my lungs, my brain shuts down completely because there is no blood flowing through it. I am scared… so fucking scared.

….

You continue your well intentioned assault on me as you crush my chest and breathe for me. You beg me to wake up, but my heart is in total flatline. Suddenly you hear someone at the fence screaming your name. You barely look up but you catch a glimpse of our neighbor, Jane, as she jumps the fence in shorts and a tank top. 

“I heard you through the window and saw you doing compressions and I called 911. I’m here to help” she says breathlessly. “Let me take over compressions, you’re going to get tired” You look at her, with deep fear in your eyes. She places her hands on yours and you move yours out from under them. You lean down and breathe for me once more. 

… 

Jane’s hands are softer, but do equally hard compressions. I sense that there has been a change as fingers now graze my other breast, but otherwise have no idea what is going on. I just feel a sense of slipping away. “Come on, bring me back, don’t give up on me” drifts through my brain in broken phrases as blood is pumped through it.

….

Sirens in the distance bring both ease and renewed fear. They break the trance you are in as you and Jane switch off every other set of compressions and breathe for me. 

“What if they can’t bring me back?” 

“What if they say I am too far gone already?”

EMTs hop the fence and bring out the AED immediately and start the process of intubating me. You continue doing compressions and Jane watches from above providing them with a description of what she saw when she called. 

They shove a laryngoscope down my throat and then a tube follow it. I make gurgling sounds as they put the tube in and then attach an ambu bag to it. The other attaches leads to my chest and put the AED pads above my right breast and below my left on the side. The monitor reads a flatline so they set up an IV as well and inject epi and other drugs straight into me. I feel them being pumped up my arm from the pressure of your compressions. 

“Baby, you gotta come back to me” you grunt as you continue compressions. An EMT tries to take over, but you will not let them. 

Suddenly there is a squiggle on the screen and the EMT tells you to stop compressions so she can shock me. “Shocking at 250! Clear!” You reluctantly stop and lean backwards and watch as a jolt of electricity go across my chest causing my back to arch and my breasts to reach up to the sky. I slam back down and my breasts shake, but in a different way than with the compressions. 

“Shocking again at 300! Stand clear! Shocking!” Another bolt goes across and lifts my right shoulder and then my left side. I slam back down and the other EMT gives me breaths through the bag. 

“No change. Continuing compressions!” The EMT takes over compression and you watch as they work to save me. It’s killing you to watch me in this lifeless state right now. 

“Damn it Jenny, just breathe already!” you say as you pace back and forth. 

….

The shocks across my chest are painful and jarring. Death is supposed to be peaceful isnt it? I desperately want to come back but I feel I am losing control of that choice as each compression squeezes my heart between my breast bone and the ground. I worry that I am already dead and gone, but just stuck here. 

…..

“She is still flatline” the EMT who has been bagging me says after three more minutes of CPR. “Im giving her more epi” and drop the bag to work around the EMT giving compressions. 

“Continue CPR and then we will do another pulse check in one minute!” 

You continue to pace and Jane attempts to comfort you with no luck. I know you, you don’t like to be touched or comforted when you’re stressed. You kneel down next to me and place your hand on my thigh. “Please…. please Jen…”

At that moment my heart starts to fibrillate on the monitor. “Shocking at 360! Clear!…. again! Clear!” both shocks send my back arching even higher off the ground and cause me to land with an even greater impact than before. 

After I land my heart starts to beat again and I start to choke on the tube. “Baby!” you scream as they start to use a stethoscope on my chest and pull the tube out of my throat. 

…

My whole body is sore and feels like someone has broken my entire rib cage. I learn later its really just bruised deeply from the compressions, but I feel horrible. The pain is intense, but I feel your hand on my face after the tube is pulled out caressing my cheek and begging me to never do that again. 

[chokingcpr]

I’m happy to be back! Here’s another story, this one turned out a little sweeter :) Enjoy!

“Let us out of here!”

He snaps, pounding a fist against the heavy door as the lock clicks, the giggling of your friends on the other side still slightly audible, even as the thick wood dampens it.

“Once they’ve set their minds on something, it’s hard to convince them otherwise. Let’s just indulge them, okay?” You offer, a tired smile tugging the corner of your lips up at their antics. “Look at the meal they’ve set up for us. We may as well, no?”

He glares at the door for another long moment, then sighs heavily, trudging over to where you’ve gotten comfortable at the small, decorated table, making no effort to hide his displeasure as he sits, eying the elaborate dinner laid out before you.

“So,” he begins, breaking the awkward silence, raising a glass of wine to his lips, “I suppose we should get to know each other, hm?”

Mirroring his actions, you take a sip from your own. “We should.”

It’s either satisfaction, having orchestrated their little plan, or your positioning further away from the door, that leads the voices of your impromptu wardens to fade from the room, leaving only the shuffling and quiet scraping of utensils against plates. He’s gone slightly pink, as both the situation and his rudeness settle over him, leaving him awkward and on edge.

Unsure of how to initiate the conversation, he stuffs a forkful of his dinner in his mouth, swallowing too quickly and beginning to cough. You hum in concern, lowering your gaze to give him a moment to recover. He coughs again, choking a bit, then tries to force an awkward laugh, only to be interrupted by another short hack.

Sympathy tugs at your chest. “Do you need me to pat your back?” You ask, softly, a hand already outstretched in his direction even before he manages to nod, flushing harder as he sputters, helpless. Poor thing.

You step around the table to pat firmly between his shoulder blades. “You’re alright, I’ve got you. Cough it up now, that’s it.”

He manages a couple sharp little sounds, a pitiful attempt at conveying gratitude. His face reddens further, although, this time, from the strain of trying to clear his throat.

Seconds pass by, one by one with no alleviation until almost a full minute later he’s standing, clutching at his throat, a purple flush creeping in to settle over his gaping lips as he continues to cough, your hand slamming down hard on his upper back: sharp, heavy blows having long since replaced your careful patting. “Cough it up. You’re okay, just cough!” You order, sternly, calm and steady. You know better than to panic.

Finally, the unfortunately timed chunk of his dinner comes up, landing back on his plate as though never disturbed to begin with. Face still flushed, although now solely in shame, he pants as he sits, small and awkward in his chair, seemingly on the verge of tears.

You can’t help it. You lean down to wrap him up in your arms immediately.

“Shh, you’re okay. Just breathe now. Please don’t cry, I promise you it’s not embarrassing to choke. It happens sometimes. I’m just glad you’re okay.” His back shudders as you sweep a hand over it in wide, soothing circles. “That scared you, huh?”

You can feel the way he sucks in greedy gulps of air against your chest, eyes glossy as he tries his best to recover. “I… I don’t-..”

He quiets as you raise your hand to stroke through his hair. “Just take a moment to breathe. It’s okay. Give yourself a second to recover, please don’t be embarrassed. I’m not, okay?”

He’s silent for long enough that you almost let go of him to check if he’s okay, before he finally nods into your collar, taking a deep, slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he starts again, with a small, shaky laugh, “this is not how I wanted this to go.”

You can’t help a chuckle of your own. “It hasn’t gone poorly at all. This hasn’t ruined it. I’m just glad you’re alright.” You pull away and help lower him back down into his chair. “Are you okay to eat again? We’ve barely started on the meal!”

“I suppose I am still hungry…”

Clearly still a little self conscious, he lifts up his glass to take a sip of wine again, busying his hands. “You don’t find me completely unattractive now, do you?” He laughs, nervously. You pat his back, comfortingly now, and pull away to return to your own seat. “You want me to be honest?”

“Your answer couldn’t possibly humiliate me any further.”

“That was… exciting.” You offer, contemplatively, choosing your words deliberately. They startle a surprised little laugh from him. “Exciting, hm? How so?”

You raise an eyebrow, allowing him a second to connect the dots, and relish the clear moment understanding dawns on his face, gaping up at you as the shock of his revelation floors him.

He’s speechless for a long moment. “You enjoyed watching me struggle, did you?” He finally manages, tone simmering with bewildered amusement.

“I enjoyed helping.”

He’s caught off guard again, his grin dimming momentarily, before returning with a vengeance. “Is that so? Is it because you think that I can’t take care of myself?”

“No. It’s because I find it arousing. Please keep up.” You scold, lightly.

Seemingly having decided to roll with the punches, he leans forward in his chair, closing some of the distance between the two of you over the table. “You do, do you? Can’t say I’ve ever met someone with that particular kink before. I should pretend to choke, just to get your hands on me.”

You jerk your head no sharply, fighting to tamp down your smirk. “If you want something, you should commit. Pretending won’t impress me.”

A shudder runs down his spine. His gaze drops to the remaining food on his plate, his fork coming up, almost unconsciously, to spear some of it, raising it slowly to his lips. His eyes lock back on yours as he puts it on his tongue, before he tips his head back, swallowing it like a shot.

He coughs sharply, once, twice, then swallows, breathing hard. Immediately, he tries again.

You watch, amused at the little show he’s putting on for you, growing progressively more frustrated as his attempts at forcing himself to choke prove more difficult than expected.

When his fork spears the same bite that he’d choked on earlier, your eyes widen, something hot stirring, low, inside of you. Right before he tips his head back to swallow, you reach a hand over the table, thumping him square on the back, forcing a sharp, aborted little gasp from his lungs.

Naturally, his eyes widen as his next inhale stalls in his throat, his hands flying up to grasp at his windpipe. What a dedicated little sweetling.

You grin, warm, pleased affection spilling through your chest, and push your chair back to pat your lap, open and inviting. “You’re so eager for me. Such a desperate little thing.”

His watering gaze lands on your lap, something needy tugging his hesitant limbs towards you that draws a chuckle out of you. “Come here.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. He’s up on shaky legs in an instant, stumbling excitedly over to you, landing heavily in your lap, chest to chest, knees bracketing your thighs as he squirms in place. Adorable.

“My poor, sweet little pet. Shoved a whole hunk of dinner down the wrong pipe just to be saved.” You praise, trailing a loving hand up and down his spine. “Answer my questions and we’ll work on getting you to breathe again, okay?”

The speed at which his eager nod comes endears you to him further. It’s wonderful, how quickly this awkward night had taken such a pleasant turn.

“Good. Now, are you choking?”

He nods again, rapidly, his beautiful, watering eyes still locked on yours. Your hand trails up from his back to settle at the nape of his neck, rubbing circles into the skin and soft hairs there, a gentle bit of praise to keep him focused.

“Can you cough?” He shakes his head no, breaking eye contact for a moment as he looks down in shame.

“No, it’s alright. Good boy.” You praise again, tapping your fingers at the base of his skull. “Okay, show me what you need.”

One hand detaches from his throat, the arm twisting around behind himself awkwardly, trying to mime thumping himself on the back, a frown tugging his lips down as he fails to reach. At the way his discomfort builds at his failure, you hum in acknowledgement and slide a hand around him to cover his, stopping him. He takes the hint, pausing, and then nearly falls off your lap in shock, grasping at your thighs to avoid slipping as you easily turn him around on your knees, folding him in half and beginning to strike, sharp and even between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, my darling. Let’s get your back thumped nice and hard for you. Keep your hands at your throat for me, okay?” You reprimand, softly. You can tell from the way his hands immediately fly back up to obey, the muscles in his sides tightening, that he’s enjoying himself. You’re certain that if he could, he would be delightfully vocal. He soaks in every touch you grant him, desperately trying to cough up the obstruction in his throat, grateful for your help and eager to please you.

“You’re stunning,” you breathe, astounded by the man in your arms, gagging around a throat full of the dinner that had meant to bring the two of you together. “Such a precious thing. Such a good boy for me. Breathe, my dear. Breathe. Breathe.” The words flow with little thought behind them, tender and coaxing.

Despite your attentive efforts, nothing is changing. He continues to choke. He’s getting nervous, sitting up a little as his peaceful enjoyment of the situation begins to waver. You slide your hand around him to support his chest, feel his heart pounding under it.

It doesn’t calm him much. His hands come down from his throat, pushing into his stomach clumsily, eyes blowing wider as his panic seems to grow exponentially. You frown.

“Shh, calm. Stay calm. I’m right here.” You mutter, trying to redirect his attention back onto you. “What a good boy, you’re communicating so well. You need me to pump your belly for you?”

He nods immediately, his mouth opening wider, a silent whine practically audible at your words, his hips bucking involuntarily as this instantly becomes fun again. He digs his hands into his stomach again, harder this time, as though trying to punctuate his request.

You trail your hand down his back, admiring the sight of him bent over your lap for another few seconds, before you pull him upright and wrap your arms around him, his back pressed flush to your chest. Your fists press up against the soft skin of his quivering stomach as you slide your hands under his shirt, listening as he frantically, unsuccessfully gasps for air in your lap.

“Are you ready?”

His nod is messier this time, his only method of communication harder and harder to effectively manage as the lack of oxygen clouds his mind, but his anticipation is clear as he presses back up against you, desperate to be saved. Every tense line of muscle in his torso signals his effort not to panic, his trust in you both nonsensical and thrilling.

It feels so natural, the way you begin to thrust, as hard as you can, into his stomach.

“Cough it up, sweet thing. I can feel how hard the muscles here are tensing, you must be so desperate for air. Just one deep breath, darling.” Your muttered, breathy coaxing in his ear sends a tangible shiver down his spine: while your words have a dirty little hint of degradation behind them, the affectionate attention overpowers him, reminds him of his place as nothing more than a helpless little thing, sitting in your lap as you take care of him.

It’s disgustingly vulnerable, but for once in his life, the feeling of being at someone else’s mercy soothes him. His body bucks and jerks as it tries to suck in even a sip of oxygen, but the carrot remains right where it is. His face purples, tears and drool pouring down his chin in equal droves. He’s enjoying this.

“You’re doing so well for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better little pet than you.” You encourage, your hands sinking ruthlessly into the heaving muscles of his abdomen like a piston, trying to pop the obstruction out of his trachea.

You can feel the way he sinks further into you at the praise. There’s so much trust here as he takes your words to heart, pushing himself to keep trying, drowning in his helplessness like a cat who’d fallen right into the cream. It’s obvious that both of you are on the same page here. He is your plaything, your property. Not a man at all, just your little toy with seizing, starving lungs, who needs you to save his life. His arms drop to swing at his sides with each thrust.

“Hands on your throat.” You remind, kindly. How are you supposed to know that he’s choking if he doesn’t hold the sign, after all?

He jumps to follow the order, near instinctively. Almost as though the universe is rewarding him for his obedience, the obstruction suddenly shifts, and on your next thrust, he leans over and spits it up wetly onto the floor, a puddle of drool following it as he gasps and groans.

The two of you take a moment to sit together, allowing him to catch his breath as he remains in your laps, pressed tightly up against you. With no need for further help, you’ve stopped your sharp thrusts, and instead focus on stroking up and down his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles tense a little as your hand trails over the hot spot below his ribs, where, no doubt, a bruise will soon paint across his pale skin.

“You’re such a good boy. You did so well, trusting me like that. You made me so happy, breathe for me now. You deserve your reward.”

He’s unable to speak, cyanotic complexion still fading, even as his lungs selfishly attempt to clear the room of oxygen. His head falls back against your shoulder, its natural resting place as he fights to reconcile with his sharp departure from death’s door.

Behind you, there’s a click as the door unlocks. Noise floods back into the room as your friends burst in, shouting and laughing as they catch sight of him sitting in your lap, flushed and panting, and you with your hand up his shirt, fondling him.

“We knew it! We heard you guys moaning, you two were totally getting it on!” They cheer, rushing up to slap both of you supportively on the shoulders, shaking their heads, giggling as the two of you stare up at them. “We knew it! We told you, didn’t we? We told you the two of you would get along well!”

You look down at him, finally having regained his colour in your lap, then back up at them. They’re waiting for your answers, blinding grins everywhere you look. “Aren’t you so grateful we did this for you?”

There’s no harm in being honest.

[dr-fetish37]

rejuvenecimiento pt.2

habían pasado un par de semanas después de mi cirugía, lo primero que había hecho después de salir del hospital había sido comprar varios paquetes de pañales para adulto, no me había preocupado en que tipo de pañales comprar pues no creí que hubiera de varios tipos hasta que descubrí mi cama mojada una mañana después de dormir con un pañal delgado así que tuve que volver a la farmacia por un paquete de pañales más grandes y gruesos, antes de mi cirugía acostumbraba a dormir desnuda por lo que ahora dormir con el grueso y cómodo material de los pañales me era algo extraño pero no desagradable.

la doctora me había dicho que había una posibilidad de operar mi incontinencia pero aún no estaba segura de si quería someterme a otra cirugía vaginal, pues ahora esta habría a mi vagina y ano hipersensibles para que pudiera sentir cuando tuviera necesidades fisiológicas.

sin embargo, cuando me interne para la cirugía las cosas se tornaron difíciles para mí y mi sistema cardiovascular, me encontraba acostada en la camilla, con una gorra quirúrgica, vistiendo únicamente mi pañal cubierta con una sábana, los doctores me habían tenido que intubar para la cirugía y habían tapado mis ojos con gasas y cinta médica, cuando comenzaron a suministrar la anestesia, mi corazón comenzaba a latir con pesadez, hasta que se detuvo por completo, escuchaba a las enfermeras moverse con prisa.

la doctora comenzó a hacer presión en mi pecho, mis senos brincaban al ritmo del RCP, mi cabeza se movía de arriba a abajo en la almohada, mi pelvis también se contraía haciendo sonar el pañal rozando contra la camilla, de tanta fuerza que los doctores estaban generando sobre mi cuerpo, había orinado mi pañal.

"carguen 160, uno, dos tres ¡despejen!"

después de un minuto de constante y duro rcp, la doctora se acercó a mis senos con las paletas

la doctora descargo las paletas contra mi pecho, haciendo que mi tronco se arqueara y mis senos rebotaran, mi cabeza se pegó más contra la almohada y se movía de un lado a otro, mi pelvis se alzó en en aire dando un golpe fuerte a la nada que rompió mi columna, el pañal volvió a sonar sobre la camilla.

"carguen una vez más, está vez 360, uno dos tres ¡despejen!"

nueva mente la ginecóloga descargo las paletas contra mis senos, mi pelvis se alzó en el aire contrayendo mi vagina y mi ano, por la fuerza de la contracción mi vejiga volvió a soltar orina mojando más el pañal, una vez que mi pelvis dejó de estar en el aire, cayó von fuerza sobre la camilla haciendo que mo cabeza y mi tronco se alzarán hacia adelante, al caer de nuevo a la camilla mis senos brincaron en todas direcciones con los pezones erizados por la electricidad.

aún nada, mi corazón seguía sin latir, cuando de repente mi cuerpo comenzó a convulsiónar, mis pechos se movían y temblaban de un lado a otro, mi pelvis se alzaba en el aire y caía chocando contra la camilla, mi cabeza se movía de un lado a otro y de arriba hacia abajo, el monitor se había vuelto loco.

después de 7 minutos de convulsionar, los monitores dieron por perdida mi actividad cerebral, por lo que la doctora acercó las paletas desfibriladoras a mi cabeza yas descargó en mis sienes.

mi pecho y pelvis se alzaron bruscamente en el aire y ahí se mantuvieron por al menos 15 segundos mientras la doctora descargaba las paletas en mi cabeza, en un ciclo de 15 minutos de intentar regresar mi actividad cerebral.

antes de darme por muerta, la doctora retiró mi pañal, y colocó a cada lado de mi vagina desfibriladores, también colocó uno en cada uno de mis senos y finalmente volvió a colocar las paletas en mi cabeza, y descargó los tres al mismo tiempo, todo mi cuerpo tembló, mi pelvis y mi pecho se movían de arriba a abajo, mi cabeza rebotaba suavemente contra la almohada y la doctora mantenía los desfibriladores en mis sienes, mis senos rebotaban de arriba a abajo de manera exagerada y mi vagina soltaba orina y aire.

después de 20 minutos más de desfibrilación finalmente fue declarada mi hora de muerte.

"hora de muerte: 1:29 a.m. paciente: jean causa: paro cardio respiratorio"

las enfermeras se encargaron de quitarme los cables y los tubos, colocaron algodón a lo largo de mi vagina y mi ano, también en mi nariz y mi boca, y al terminar, llevaron la camilla con mi cuerpo desnudo sobre ella a la morgue.

[clarepreed]

Micro-Story: Faulty

Story Content and Summary: 1,750 words. Micah's wife succumbs to a fault in a futuristic prosthetic heart. No EMS. On-site resuscitation.

--

Fuck!

The way she fell, first stiffening, then going boneless and collapsing in a heap before he could reach her. The way she fell, her face slack and her eyes rolling back. The way she fell pulled a silent curse from him, one he kept repeating as he skidded to his knees beside her, the accidental impact of his body rocking hers in the dirt.

“FUCK!” Micah finally shouted, losing control, his hands shaking as he reached for her, already knowing what was wrong as his fingers pressed into her neck.

Goddamn artificial heart. First mass-produced cardiac replacement piece of shit!

The artery beneath his fingers lay still, and her light eyes stared half-lidded up at him, even as her mouth slanted open and her lungs stuttered air.

Recalled.

He unzipped her coat and spread it wide, then dug in his pocket for his knife, flipping it open. Her hands curled, body shaking as her brain freaked the fuck out at the sudden lack of oxygenated blood. Micah sliced his blade through the collar of her t-shirt, then tossed his knife to the side and gripped her shirt with both hands. The shirt tore down to her navel and he spread the fabric wide open, reaching next for the small, rectangular lump just below her collarbone and above the cups of her lavender bra.

Recalled, and a fucking waiting list…

He pressed the center of the implant, just like he’d pantomimed with her before, when he’d printed the reset instructions from the manufacturer’s website. This time, he felt a button click, depressing firmly and then popping back up beneath his fingers.

“Come on, Gretchen,” he breathed, quiet now as he reached for the butterfly clasp of her bra. He popped it open as she gave another rattling agonal breath, quickly spreading the cups and sliding his fingers down to the tiny display implanted laterally. The miniature monitor glowed red, awakening with the activation of her reset button. He pressed the center of the glowing light three times, initiating the reset sequence.

Stay calm! the instructions had advised. The heart WILL restart!

“I’ve got you,” Micah gasped, his hands skimming over her chest and settling low on her sternum, along the line of her first surgery scar.

Okay. I have to be her heart and lungs until the device restarts. 

He linked his fingers, rolled his shoulders over his hands, and started pumping.

“One, two, three…”

His mind flashed back to the little practice mannequin he’d bought and subsequently worn out in the basement where she couldn’t see him desperately trying to learn. Terrified that one day, before she could get in to surgery, her replacement heart would glitch out and take Gretchen away from him forever. 

What good is a heart that resumes beating ten, twenty, forty-five minutes later if her brain is dead?

“…thirty!” Micah leaned down and quickly tipped her head back before pinching her nose closed and drawing a deep breath. Strands of her silken hair clung to her face and his fingers as he gripped her jaw with his other hand. He held her mouth open and covered her lips with his, exhaling, watching her chest rise out of the corner of his eye. Micah broke the seal and felt his recycled air waft over his face before giving her a second.

He returned to her chest, his voice shaking as he started counting. Gretchen’s ribcage sank and her breasts wobbled as he worked, the force rocking her head from side to side. Each time he pressed down, her navel popped up in a harsh seesaw motion. Her shoulders shrugged rhythmically, body bending to the force of his love.

“Huh, huh, huh…” Breathless sounds slipped from her parted lips as he reached thirty again.

Her soft mouth beneath his felt lifeless, already cool to the touch of his overheated skin. Another breath, her cheeks rounding out, neck swelling slightly as the breath made its way down her airway. Micah turned, quickly getting back into position for compressions, his hands skimming her smooth skin as he found his landmark.

“One, two, three…” Her breast felt soft under his fingers as the heel of his stacked hands thrust into her. Her nipples, erect in the cool autumn air, pointed briefly inward with each hard compression. Oblong tracks appeared in the dirt beneath her slim-fingered as her body danced to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“…twelve, thirteen…”

Her brainstem stopped trying to make her breathe as her eyes locked on nothing, already glassy with death. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

A glance down toward her feet showed him that her entire body twitched with each thrust, legs rocking, toes drawing little circles in the air.

“Please, Gretchen!” he begged, before giving her another deep breath. Her breasts swelled once, twice. His eyes darted to the illuminated display in her side as he resumed chest compressions. One line, regular and jagged, represented his chest compressions. The second line, however, lay flat. Asystole.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Micah rocked into her chest, forcing himself to work as perfectly as he was capable, judging his compression depth with a critical eye and keeping the rhythm going as he counted. Each harsh thrust forced her sternum to squeeze blood from the useless artificial organ. As he pressed, her belly rounded against the waistband of her leggings, the hollow of her navel riding the crest of each wave. Sunlight stretching through the canopy dappled her body, leaves rustling as he shifted on his knees. A snoring sound abruptly emitted from Gretchen’s throat.

“…Christ! Thirty!” He sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with his, closing her nostrils just in time. Again, the air puffed out her cheeks and throat visibly. A thin string of saliva pulled between them as he broke the seal long enough to let her body exhale. Micah pressed his lips to hers again and gave her another breath. Then his hands slammed back into the center of her chest, fingers quickly linking. “One, two, three, four…”

“Hurk, huh, huh, hurk…”

“…nine, ten…” Her chest popped, the sensation crackling under his palm. He kept at it, watching her sternum and ribcage sink and bob beneath the strength of his pumping arms as he hoped, begged, that his effort was good enough.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” Watching the wave of force ripple down her abdomen, eyes burning, he choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Let this be enough. Let me be enough…

As he bent for mouth-to-mouth, he thought of her that morning, legs spread wide beneath him, mouth ripe for the taking, skin so soft as he stroked her. Now, she lay lifeless beneath him, her mouth slack and her eyes staring as he forced air into her silent lungs. The flat line on her prosthetic monitor haunted him as he shifted back over her bruised, motionless chest. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, even as the sensation of her body softening under his hands sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“…nine, please just start beating, fuck, come on! PLEASE! Fifteen, sixteen…” Micah worked desperately, letting his weight fall into his hands. She made abortive grunts as he thrust down into her chest, air escaping her lungs in harsh wheezes. “…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty—”

BEEEEEEEP! An artificial sound cut through his panic.

“Gretchen?!” Micah leaned closer, hands shifting to frame the heart prosthesis screen. The chest compression line disappeared, but beneath it, where the flatline had been…

A rhythm!

“Gretchen!” Micah lunged, planting his hands to either side of her head. Her face tipped slightly to the side, skin ashen, eyelids slightly lifted. He moved one hand to her face, patting her cheek gently at first, then harder. “Honey? Gretchen!” Micah’s eyes trailed over her mottled chest, looking for signs of life. Despite her beating heart, Gretchen remained completely still. 

He moved a hand over her mouth, suspicion leading him to feel for breath that apparently wasn’t coming. Fear made him shiver as he bent to open her airway and tip his ear close to her pale lips. He hovered there, silently counting out the seconds as the dead air spread between them. 

With a groan of anguish, Micah crashed his mouth into hers, the angle of his face blocking her nostrils as he filled her lungs, pressure forcing a buzz of air out of the corners of their mouths. He pulled back enough to feel the air drift across his face, remembering then to pinch her nose. His eyes grazed the display embedded into her side, reassuring himself that the artificial heart still beat. Then he gave her another breath, the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the soft skin of her throat as it expanded beneath his fingertips.

“Please, Gretchen…” His plea came out quiet and broken. “I was right here. I helped you. Please!”

Another breath. His mind filled with awful thoughts. Gretchen dead, Marcus forced to sign paperwork to remove the heart surgically prior to her burial. Gretchen in long-term care, unable to recognize him or care for herself. His Gretchen, dead as her body lived. His eyes grew wet as he exhaled a fourth breath. 

As he broke the seal, Gretchen flinched beneath him and sucked in a shallow, ragged breath. Micah gasped and cupped her face with both hands, watching as her eyelids fluttered. “That’s it, Gretchen! Just breathe! You’re okay. I love you, you’re okay!” He shook with relief, his eyes blurring with tears as she coughed and gasped and moved her hands weakly. She curled them onto her chest, covering the redness there and letting out a soft groan.

Micah brushed her hair back from her face and then covered her hands with his. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. Just open your eyes for me so I know you’re alright.”

Gretchen complied, her eyelids peeling open. She blinked several times before her eyes focused, latching on to his own. “Micah,” she whispered, barely audible. 

Micah shuddered and curled over her, pressing his forehead to hers and choking out: “Thank you… Thank you! Oh, I love you…”

“Love you…” she wheezed. “S’okay…”

His fingers threading in her hair, Micah wept.

[intubatedangel]

Pageant Fever : Chapter 5

As promised :)

Story Index    

Pageant Fever: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

* * *

Tilly ignored the water splashing across the front of her scrubs as she reached in deeper to get both hands under Zara's shoulders, using her forearms to support the beauty's head as her whole body convulsed wildly in the ice bath. Alarms began to chorus from the monitors in a cacophony of tones and chimes.

"Get her back on the bed!" Carl's voice cut through the commotion of alarms, as other nurses rushed to help. Tilly continued to support Zara's head as the sling whirred and lifted her out of the churning water. Her limbs twitched and shook, muscles driven by random and chaotic electrical signals cascading through her nervous system. The other nurses helped to protect the lines and contain the worst of the thrashing to keep her in the sling. Meanwhile Carl had dragged the crash cart right up next to the bed and was drawing some drugs into a syringe. He grabbed the IV even as Zara was being carefully swung over the bed, fingers slipping along its length to find the inline port. "Pushing diazepam, 10mg."

The sling lowered Zara's naked body onto the trauma bed. As soon as it went slack, the bands were unhooked and left to fall loose over the sides of the bed, ignored. With Zara's body twitching madly, trying to remove the sling from beneath her would be impractical.

Tilly remained at the head of the bed, following her training. Her hands cradled Zara's head gently. She didn't hold tightly, or try to fight Zara's convulsive movements. Her hands merely offered a cushion for Zara's head to bounce off, keeping it contained and protecting the ventilator hose. The integrated bite block of the tube holder also proved its worth, as even from this angle Tilly could see how tightly Zara's jaw was clenched.

She spared a glance at the monitor, but the chaos of the seizure produced enough artefacting that the ECG reading was a garbled mess matching the strident alarms. The diazepam began to take effect, the seizure slowing, becoming less intense. Then in a split second it stopped completely, Zara falling totally limp on the bed.

But the monitor continued its alarming. Tilly shifted her fingers to the carotid pulse point. After a few seconds she looked up at Carl and shook her head. He sighed. "Pulseless V-tach. Someone get on her chest and ready the defib."

* * *

As Anna walked back to the relatives room, she tried to quell the unease boiling inside her. This was going to be a difficult conversation. Not just because Jaya's daughter was in such a precarious condition, but also because Anna was about to accuse her of causing Zara's potentially lethal predicament. She stopped outside the door and took a deep breath, steeling herself, then opened the door.

Jaya was still sat on the couch staring at the floor, statuesque, her arms still wrapped protectively around the handbag. She didn't even look up as Anna entered the room.

"Mrs. Chamarthi." Anna said as she stepped over to the couch opposite Jaya, a squat coffee table separating the two. "Mrs. Chamarthi." Anna repeated, slightly sterner, finally forcing the older woman to look up at her. "Zara is in a very critical condition. We need to know if she has taken anything. Anything at all. I'm not talking about party drugs." Anna drew in another breath, studying Jaya intently. "Has she ever used anything she might have bought online? Something for weight loss?"

When Jaya's arms tensed around the handbag, Anna froze, feeling her stomach drop. She was right. She took a moment to settle herself, cutting off a flare of anger before it could build. It was clear that Jaya had seen the realisation on Anna's face when her eye's flicked back to the floor and stayed there.

"Mrs Chamarthi." Anna's voice softened. "If you know anything. You need to tell us. I'm sure you didn't mean for any of this to happen. The criminals who sell these drugs never mention the side effects. But you need to understand." She paused, picturing her own daughter, imagining the effects her next word would have on herself. "Zara is very ill. It is likely that even with the right treatments, she won't survive. The only chance she has is if we know what she took, and every second matters right now."

For the longest moment, Jaya remained stoney faced and silent, then she cracked. Her face crumpled and she let out a sob. "I'm so sorry. I didn't..." Her words chocked off, but her arms released the tight grip on the hand bag and her hand reached inside, pulling out a cardboard box, the same kind you'd have for any over the counter medicine. She dropped it on the table as she buried her face in her hands.

Anna pushed herself to her feet, picking up the box on the way and made for the door. As she headed towards Resus 3 she examined the box closer. It was obviously not a real product. The cardboard was flimsy, the artwork upon it clearly printed on an old domestic printer, complete with streaky lines and a strange colour shift where one of the colour cartridges had run out. It also lacked any of the information you'd find on a real pharmaceutical product. No ingredients list, no dosage, no side effects. She opened it up carefully, almost surprised to see that the pills were at least in a blister pack instead of completely loose. They were small and yellow, with no identifying markings, but they matched the description of dangerous black market 2,4-DNP pills that had been on the database. Her heart sank as she reached Resus 3 and looked through the doors to see Zara's body shaking rhythmically as her chest was brutally compressed.

* * *

Jamie took up the first round of compressions, his huge hands making Zara look small on the trauma bed. There was so much power in his frame that it looked to Tilly as if he was barely making any effort. Tilly herself had detached the ventilator and fixed the yellow ambu bag to Zara's ET tube, pumping the bag steadily every few seconds. Trish was managing the drugs, drawing the first round to be ready for Carl's order, while Kirstie had taken up the chart to record the details. Marie had set the defib to charge, before she grabbed a towel and did her best to dry off Zara's chest, careful to avoid dislodging any electrodes. She dropped the towel behind her without ceremony, quickly checking that the still attached Combo Pads had stayed firmly secured. She gave a Carl a nod as she retreated, his finger hovering over the shock button on the defibrillator.

A few moments later the machine let out the double bleep of a readied charge. "Everyone clear." Carl said, waiting a moment as Tilly plucked off the ambu bag and Jamie held up his hands, leaning back slightly on the step that stuck out from the trauma beds bottom rail. "Shocking." He said, finger twitching against the button. The machine delivered the shock, Zara's body giving a sharp spasm on the bed. Everyone's gaze turned to the monitor, watching the momentary chaos of the shock return to the sawtooth of V-tach.  "No response, resume compressions and bagging, give her one of adrenaline and a round of atropine. We'll shock again in 1 minute."

The jumped back into action, Trish reaching for the IV with the already prepared drugs in hand. Jamie was already back in position, tilting his weight into Zara's chest before Tilly had even picked the up the bag again. She almost had to snatch the end of the tube as Jamie's compressions forced Zara's entire body to rock in rhythm on the bed. The bed itself rattled as the force translated into the frame. Tilly was aware of all the motion around her, perfectly alert to everything, including the slight squeak of the door as it opened, as Anna returned. Tilly looked over her shoulder, still squeezing the bag. The expression on Anna's face was a grim one, and in her hand was a small box.

Carl let out a sigh. "Trish." He said, nodding at the defib as she finished inserting the ALS drugs. He stepped out of the group around the bed, heading around to Anna. Anna flashed Tilly a sad smile before turning to her husband.

* * *

"It was these." She said, handing over the box. "The pills match the description." She sighed as Carl opened the box and tipped the blister of pills into his hand. "Just one. Just one pill did this to her." Anna voice was filled with her melancholy and second-hand regret. Carl looked them over, then put them back in the box. He took a couple of steps away, to place the box by the computer, making sure it was out of the way and wouldn't accidently get cleaned away. "Is there anything more we can do?"

Carl looked over at Zara and gave a half shrug. "A hemoperfusion machine is on its way down. We'll give it a try, but once things have progressed this far..." He blew out a breath. "It's already in her cells. There won't be much in her blood stream to filter out." Anna's head dropped and she leaned into him slightly. He gave her a short embrace. "We'll still give her every chance we can."

"I know you will." Anna whispered, before easing back from him, letting him get back to work. She crossed her arms, holding herself tightly as she leaned back against the desk watching the team do their best.

"Marie, can you get hemoperfusion access in one of her legs, just like lines for dialysis?" Carl asked over the sounds of the attempts to save Zara. She nodded and paused for just a moment as she counted off cupboards, then headed directly to the correct one. Anna was mildly impressed by that. A lot of agency nurses could struggle with the location of various items, especially those that were rarely used. Anna herself couldn't remember the last time she'd needed to be in that cupboard while a patient was in the room. Marie was coming back with the wrapped-up tray when the telltale bleeps of the defib rang out.

Trish ordered the team to pause once again, and Anna watched on as Zara's entire body twitched savagely as the shock jolted through her. A shiver ran down Anna's spine, one of her hands drifting down to the scars on her abdomen. This was the same room where the battle for her own life had almost been lost. She still had real no memory of that day. By the time she was in this room her heart had already stopped. But even before that, there was little more than flashes, and the almost certainly imagined formless void where she had fought against the encroaching darkness. She steeled herself. She was coming back to work here. She had to face it head on.

The mood in the room dropped a notch, as the ringing alarm of the monitor persisted, but the trace on the screen changed, the high peaked saw teeth giving way to the more randomly shivering chaos of ventricular fibrillation. Zara's heart was now shuddering within her chest, desperately trying to beat, but unable to do so.

* * *

"Ok, she's in VF. Tilly, can you take over compressions?" Carl asked as he held out a hand for the ambu bag.

"Yeah." She replied, moving around as Jamie stepped back. She climbed up, weaving her fingers together as she did, bringing them to rest on Zara's sternum. She could feel the heat of the young woman's skin. Even though she had lost circulation, the fire inside her was still burning, consuming the energy of her cells, turning it into the heat that was destroying her. She took a split second to adjust the position of her hands, unnoticeable to any of the others, lining them up perfectly the deliver the best chest compressions she could. This was only the second time she had done them on a real living person. Or real dying person, she considered, her hands plunging down two inches, forcing down Zara's ribs and crushing her heart against her spine to artificially pump blood through her body.

"Good." Carl encouraged her. "Kneel on the bed if you need more leverage." He advised. Tilly simply nodded, recognising the benefits of the suggestion, but not wanting to break the rhythm she had already found. It was such a repetitive motion, she was able to keep track of what was going around her. Marie had gotten the large double lumen catheter unpacked and had pulled Zara's leg to one side, taking a stance looking towards Zara's gently waving feet. She used one arm to restrain the leg and find the spot, as she deftly lined up the catheter itself for insertion.

Behind Tilly the door squeaked again, a technician entering with the hemoperfusion machine. It was similar to a dialysis machine, in form as well as function. The key difference was the precise form of filtration. Unlike the standard dialysis machine, the one for hemoperfusion used a cartridge containing either activated charcoal, or in this case, a special resin that would bind toxins without affecting the primary blood cells.

"Over there, get it ready please." Carl told the technician, who look somewhat incredulous at the scene before him. Hemoperfusion was occasionally brought down to the trauma rooms on an emergency basis, but not during active resuscitation measures. Tilly could almost see him thinking You're closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. But, he clearly wasn't paid enough to contradict one of the most notable doctors working at the hospital. He rolled the machine to the bottom of the bed, assisting Marie with getting it setup. They quickly primed the lines, flushing them of air and ensuring the connection to the filtering column was secure. The input and output lines from the machine were attached to the respective ports on the catheter and moments later Zara's blood was being pumped through the circuit, where the biochemical resin in the column leached out toxins.

"Right, that's almost 2 minutes since the last shock." Carl announced, foregoing the interim minute so that the hemoperfuser could be sorted. Trish set the defib to charge, while Tilly maintained her compressions. She was beginning to feel the strain in her back, and when the defib was ready and Carl ordered the team to clear Zara's body, she was grateful to lean back and stretch it out. The shock jolted Zara's body, her arm flicking out to the edge of the bed, her fingers falling just over the side, nails clinking against the lowered rail almost imperceptibly.

"No change." Trish told the team, even though they were all looking at the monitor.

"Let's keep it going." Carl said, "Give her another round of drugs. If we get a pulse back she might have a chance." His tone gave away his lack of confidence in even that first step. But Tilly caught the way his eyes glanced over at Anna. He'd seen what some would call a miracle before.

* * *

Anna looked into Carl's eyes during that short glance. He wasn't in too deep. There were times he would throw his entire sense of self into his work, fighting against the grimmest odds to the point of sacrificing a part of himself. She knew she was included in that data set, and was eternally thankful. But that wasn't what she saw when their eyes met. He was looking to her for direction. Submitting to her emotional involvement in this case. As a mother. Anna gave the tiniest smile, recognising his belief in her, but she shook her head ever so slightly as she dropped her gaze. She'd seen the database results about the chemical, she knew how bad this was. Her heart ached for the girl on the bed, and that girl's mother, who Anna desperately hoped had only the best intentions. But this wasn't a time to go all-in. Play it out, give it the best shot you had, but no one would argue with the outcome in this situation.

Anna watched as Tilly clambered onto the gurney, kneeling beside Zara to gain the better leverage as her hands landed on the young woman's chest, glistening as sweat continued to well out of every pore. Zara's chest collapsed inwards and sprung back with each compression, an artificial beating her of heart that showed on the monitor beneath the chaotic electrical activity. The room had gone quiet, settling into that grim routine when there was little else to do but persist with their current interventions. The bed clinked, wires and tubes rattling against the frame, while the hemoperfusion machine hummed. The ice bath, almost forgotten, gurgled as it's water circulated needlessly. The monitor's alarms continued to ring, but faded into the background for the team. They'd be aware of any change in the tones, but otherwise it was simply ignored.

A glance at the clock told Anna that it had been around five minutes since Zara's heart had lost it's rhythm. There was still time. Still a sliver of hope. But both were trickling away.

[asystolearchives]

Liric and Quinn - A choked enemy

Liric had narrowly survived the trap she'd encountered from Quinn. If the Twoleg hadn't of saved her, she wouldn't of. Quinn had ran after her, trying to accuse her of stealing resources and supplies from the Brabblefern territory, where she had just been looking for her large cane toad familiar, Hieff. But now, the only daughter to the head of the Lotusfeet family, was back on her own. She'd stayed low- making sure to keep herself as small as she could once she got back home.

And oh, how her dear father was relieved. Though the bruising lasted for several days around her chest from being resuscitated- Liric wasted no time in her recovery. And she was soon back to doing what she loved, and had even found that Hieff had made his way home. She was very thankful for that.

The days came by slowly, mostly spending time crafting around her gentle home, making decorations out of sticks and acorn husks. But she'd ran out of pigment. Determined, and set to get more, the small fairy left her home with her gathering basket and began to search her land for any kind of brightly colored flower.

And after picking a few- that's when she heard it. The distant sounds of strangling- or choking. She couldn't tell what it was, but realized by the trees that she was close to Brabblefern territory. A shiver ran down her back, her small dragon-like wings slowly letting her land, her pointed tail swishing nervously as she listened more carefully.

She could hear it now clear as day. That was choking. Fearful of it being a member of her tribe, she called out.

"Out there! Are you okay?" She questioned loudly as she looked around- and heard the familiar sound of wings flapping towards her. With one look, she saw Quinn's figure. The swirls within her skin, the way her dreads jingled slightly due to the decorations in them- it was her alright. There was no doubt about it. Liric tried to hold back her fear, but all of that changed when the fairy came crashing down beside her, stumbling. She could see the red hues to her normally pale grey skin, and dropped her small basket of flowers as she rushed over cautiously.

"O-Oh my! Quinn, please- let me help, I'll help you!" She cried out, not knowing where this sudden compassion was coming from- part of her deep down wanted to let Quinn choke, for them to always be safe- but Quinn was already using one of her hands to try and beat over her chest to try and dislodge the object. There was no time for those kinds of thoughts!

Liric quickly moved behind Quinn's heaving frame, pulling her hands behind the other woman, never quite noticing how tone she was- before moving a fist right above her navel, the other one overlapping it as she thrust inwards, earning a small 'hyrk!' as a response.

"Oh, come on! Try to cough it's okay!" She tried to assure- and once again, pulled back hard enough to make Quinn stumble on her feet as she clawed at her throat helplessly. Again, pulling in with all of her stregnth- she thrust again, but this time felt a bit of resistance as her wings twitched.

She was falling unconscious. "Oh… crap!" Liric cried as she moved her hands up quickly to catch Quinn, moving her onto her back, allowing her own webbed wings to spread out against the cool ground- but Liric didn't want to waste any time. She quickly straddled Quinn's hips, their bare bodies shifting like puzzle pieces into each other momentarily before she moved her interlocked hands down- thrusting against her stomach, upwards.

"One!… Two… Three--.. Come on! Come on breathe!" She begged Quinn, noticing the glaze of her eyes as her features became more distant. Liric moved quickly to shove her head down against the larger chest of Quinn, hearing the desperate 'lub-dub! lub-dub!' of her overworked heart trying to stay beating without oxygen.

She'd never noticed just how beautiful Quinn was before- but didn't let the thought linger far before raising back up, interlocking her hands again above her navel before thrusting harshly into her ribcage. Again, and again- as Quinn's head lolled over to the side, mouth agape but nothing escaping. Five quick thrusts and she was climbing up nervously, opening up Quinn's mouth and peering on inside.

She could almost see it… One hand moved to rub against Quinn's throat, and met a satisfying 'glurk!' as it suddenly lost it's suction in her throat, gasping with happiness as she quickly thrust two fingers into her near cold mouth and hooked her fingers on the obstruction, maneuvering it out with minimal effort. It was a half-chewed piece of some kind of edible plant.

"O-Oh okay! Okay breathe!" Liric commanded as she moved to rub and pat Quinn's cheeks, but the coldness seeping into her skin made Liric confused as she backed up, quickly moving to press her ear against the fairy's chest.

Nothing…

"Oh no!" She cried out in realization before moving to the side of her frame, interlocking her hands over the fairy's chest, squaring right in between her nipples before thrusting down. The amount of resistance almost made her sick to her stomach as she realized just how much force was needed to get proper depth- but she squared away her shoulders again, taking a deep breath in before thrusting down again.

'huh! huh! huhhuhhuhuhuh-' Began Quinn's frame as Liric set her pace for compressions, her ribs flaring with each methodical thump into her failed heart. "fourteen- fifteen!" Liric cut it short, moving down to pinch Quinn's nose and slam her lips up against the once-enemies. Part of her wondered if they would even be enemies past this point… But she didn't let that stop her, as she slowly pushed in air- the amount rushing in to fill Quinn's slack cheeks, traveling down her throat and expanding it before making it into her lungs, allowing her chest to fully rise before pulling back- and again. Before her hands were met right in the center again.

"One, two, three, four, five!" She began to call out as she willed the heart to respond to her touch- but after a few rounds, and the exhaustion that was setting in- Liric was becoming desperate. She moved over Quinn's hips to start delivering deeper compressions that rocked her entire frame with each thrust- before, in desperation, Liric held her fists tightly before slamming down into Quinn's chest with a precordial thump.

Quinn's entire frame shifted before she suddenly gasped, wings fluttering under her uncomfortably- her eyes shooting open to see Liric. It wasn't but a few seconds before Quinn was shifting from under her- and suddenly flying off, though a bit uncoordinated, she escaped fast without even as much as a thank you.

Liric, though tired, was glad that Quinn had survived.

I hope that you liked it! This one was a bit rushed but, I just wanted to write something today!

[defibrillate-the-hidden]

We've Lost Her Part 1

Part 1 first person resus story- Female patient, ICU, 1 Male doctor, 1 Female Nurse

Wisps of cool morning air found their way under the blanket that covered her, tickling the bare skin of her legs, arms and stomach- the beige wool blanket covering here somehow simultaneously providing warmth and exposure. She dared not move even the slightest muscle, not even sure if she could if she wanted to at this point. The skin at the peak of her bust, and just at the edges of her ribs stretched slowly, rhythmically with each forced breath. The tube pushed between her lightly parted lips urging the only movements from her otherwise still body. A rhythmic click accompanied each puff of cool stale air forced down her throat, a pinging beep of the ekg machine above her head lulled her into a meditative trance as her eyes glazed over on the ceiling. Why she was there, she couldn't say, they hadn't told her. Now it was just her- autumn- lying alone with her existence. Beep, beep, click, beep, beep, click... she had lost track of how long she had been there. Maybe it had only been a few minutes, maybe days of endless nothingness. Beep, beep, click, and then another click, a different click this time nearly pulled her from her distant trance. A soft wave of cool air tickled her pale face as a door opened slowly. She could not immediately tell who had entered, a doctor, a nurse, a friend to visit? These thoughts faded quickly back into nothing, the trance of sounds pulling her back into the fog. The wavy chestnut hair of her nurse Natalie greeted the fringes of her vision answering her questions. She looked intently, probably too intently, at a clipboard in her hands. Their juxtaposition was startling to Autumn in ways it hadn't been before. The two girls were of similar age yet found themselves in strangely different paths in this story. Natalie's bright blue scrubs fitted her tightly in flattering ways but in the same way exposed nothing leaving Autumn feeling more exposed and emptier. "Autumn O'Riley, 18, brought into the ER after collapsing at cheer practice, resuscitated and placed in a medically induced coma, no change in condition after 6 hours" she read methodically to no one. Autumn felt her toes tense with each word, O'Riley felt like a horrid cliché, cheerleader even worse and out of touch with herself, nothing felt real, who she was hours ago and who she was now were not the same person and this girl, lying lifelessly on this bed felt so far from who she should be. Natalie peeled back the blankets, exposing her naked form to the cool air. Autumn felt every hair on her body stick out into the fresh air, the sensation of her exposed nipples tightening in protest to the cold. It left her feeling an internal warmth, somewhere between horror, and arousal that only seemed to deepen her trance like stare into the void. The icy face of a stethoscope touching her bare chest brought her attention to each sensation assaulting her body. The itchy tackiness of each ekg lead, the gentle thump of her heart that seemed to lightly shake the gentle fold of skin at the base of her left breast, rapidly out of time to the beeps that filled her ears. She felt breath become more labored, if it was fear from her situation, or the icy hand of the cool air constricting her body she couldn't say. Even the pressure of Natalie's fingertips pressing into the stethoscope that radiated into her skin felt binding. As if on cue the navy-blue cuff strapped tightly to autumn's left upper arm began contracting, even the pulsometer around her pointer finger felt like it was crushing around her fingernail. Autumn wanted to scream, to jump up, cry out, something! But just as soon as the walls came crashing in, they jumped back out, Natalie pulled the blankets back over her patient and the room returned to its peaceful trance- beep, beep, click, beep. Her eyes lulled again into a hazy daze as she lost herself in the ceiling once more. She felt each fiber in her face relax, deeper, deeper, like she was falling, melting into the soft sheets beneath her.

Part 2 https://www.tumblr.com/defibrillate-the-hidden/766464696630018048/weve-lost-her-part-2?source=share