#Resus Writing

[resus-memorial-prod]

[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.

[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....

[severedfromthesource]

Vampire’s Gift

Angelique lets Catarina play their favorite game with the unsuspecting Lucien. NSFW. Features M resus, F rescuer, CPR, conscious and unconscious mouth to mouth, precordial thumps, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts on an unconscious person.

“Am I not enough plaything for you, chérie?”

Catarina playfully smacked her arm. “Don’t be so pathetic, love. You know my heart only belongs to you.” Angelique slid her long arms around her love and drew her in close against her body, staring out at the dark street of Paris. Lights burned everywhere, so Paris was never really dark, merely dimmed by night. The two of them were under the vampire’s shroud, for all intents and purposes invisible to the people of the city. They’d only be seen by those they wanted to see.

“I just think it would be fun to be the hero for once. And you don’t need a hero,” said Catarina, tapping at the beast’s chest and the long dead heart beneath. Angelique wanted to argue, but she also couldn’t be sure the organ hadn’t been eaten by worms before she returned as the undead. She went on, “You’ll take one for me, won’t you? I have one in mind.”

“How could I deny you anything?” replied Angelique.

So they walked through the nightlife in search of their damsel. Catarina adored her angel’s every form, when she took on the aspects of a man with a more rigid and bat like face, or a great black dog, or sometimes even when she was only a cloud of fog clinging to her naked skin and filing her lungs. Angelique had a better cock in some forms than any man she’d known, yet lately she had felt the ache for a living one. She missed taking a man in her hand and feeling it twitch with his heartbeat. Plus, if she got to be the hero for once, she thought it would be fun to ride someone in and out of the little deaths, the petit morte, that her beast had perfected. Their search brought them to the back alley of the perfumer’s shop.

“Lucien,” whispered Angelique, plucking the owners name from the ether, “Come down, Lucien, and let us in.” Catarina bounced a little on the balls of her toes. Ever since having seen this man on her last trip into the city, she’d thought about the older perfumer and what he would look like between her thighs, or with Angelique taking him in a masculine form from behind. Tonight though, she had something else in mind. She practically squealed with delight and clapped quickly as the bolt on the door audibly came undone and Lucien opened it for them.

Angelique could not fault her for her attraction. He was handsome and broad, old enough to be Catarina’s father, but he wore each line well. A little gray peppered his beard and temples, stark against his otherwise dark hair. His rich coffee colored eyes were dull under her spell, mouth slightly agape. The two of them entered with his permission and stood amidst his workshop.

“This is well enough,” Catarina announced. She shoved a few of his implements off his work table, which smelled of every oil and perfume which had ever soaked into its wood, and took him by the shoulder to sit on the edge. She hiked up her layers of skirts and petticoats and climbed so she sat astride him. She nodded to her beast and the beast rolled her long fingers in the air. Lucien sucked in a breath, eyes regaining their light. “Wh-What? Where…” He looked to find himself in his workshop. Upon seeing her he gasped and tried to scramble back, only to find himself pinned under her, and his strength oddly lacking. “I was sleeping, I- what’re you doing here?” Catarina pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush, dear one. You’re still asleep.”

He stared at her with wide, entranced eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. With her mane of gold curls and the freckles going down her nose to the top of her breasts, rounded by her corset. Something whispered in his mind that she was right, he was still asleep. He had to be. She urged him down with his back against the workshop table and he went without complaint. He saw her eyes slide to the far corner, but he didn’t see the thing in the shadows.

“My mind has conjured a beauty,” he whispered in a sort of reverent tone. Catarina smiled, leaning over him to place her delicate fingers against his jawline and tilt his head up. Her mouth devoured his with a hunger, and she reveled in the feeling of his warm aliveness. She felt a pang of foreign sadness inside her the same moment she allowed herself to appreciate his body, and she sent a soothing pulse of thought back to her creature. ‘My heart only belongs to you’, it said without words. The shadows seemed to hum appreciatively, and the pitiful feeling melted away from her mind.

The dream woman, who felt all too solid and real to Lucien, slid her hand up over the soft down on his belly and trailed up to his chest. She shifted, and he moaned a little in his throat when he felt she wore no underthings, and her warmth and wetness soaked against him. She was already deeply excited, but he didn’t know the real reason why. He couldn’t have imagined what lay in store for him.

She coiled her hands in the hem of his nightshirt and with surprising strength, ripped the thing to the middle, then grabbed hold of it again to rip the rest of the way to the collar. Lucien tried to assure himself this was merely a dream, and the garment would be well when he woke up. Then she leaned over him and sealed her mouth over one of his nipples and he thought no more of the torn shirt.

“Slower.”

Something whispered in his mind and he jolted slightly. His heart, which had been speeding up and beginning to pound under the dream woman’s hands and warm mouth, suddenly stumbled as if at war with itself. It was as though some invisible hand had clutched the organ and held it still before it beat too fast.

Catarina smirked, still suckling at the hard bud of his nipple. She dug her teeth into it a little and rolled it between her jaws, winning a small hiss. She released it, laying her body across his to claim his mouth instead. He made a muffled noise of surprise when her tongue plumbed between his teeth, but relaxed after a moment and returned the kiss.

“Slower.”

Another stumble. This one hurt though. He felt the uneven beat in his temples and in his stomach, hissing in a breath. “Mmh,” he mumbled, pulling away slightly. “My heart… feels funny,” he told the dream woman.

Catarina circled one of his nipples with her index finger. “Oh? Poor thing. Maybe you’re dying in your sleep.” His eyes went wide and she giggled, tongue poking out between her teeth. She glanced at Angelique again, and again her angel whispered, “Slower” into the air and into Lucien’s heart. He groaned, clutching his chest with one hand. She slid down and freed him from his trousers, and despite his growing panic, he was still growing hard at her movements. His cock jumped when his heart tried to correct for another stumble and beat particularly hard.

“What is this?” he groaned, feeling the sluggish beat as his heart struggled seemingly without cause. It moved slow, he could practically feel each lapping wave of blood in his circulation. The growing spaces between tides was beginning to hurt, and more than that, they worried him.

Catarina sat back up astride him, her hands braced against his chest. She rolled her hips so her sex merely brushed against his hardness, teasing between her lips. Her aching clit throbbed with her pulse, and when she slid his shaft over the hood there, both of them moaned. Her head fell back as she continued to rut against him, feeling the flushed heat of him. Angelique, when she took on a man’s shape, would be kind enough to warm her dead flesh at the fireplace so she could mimic these sensations while inside her, but this was different. Real alive warmth. It was the only thing she really missed from human partners. That, and lying in the afterglow with an ear to their chest as they drifted back down from heaven.

Lucien was sprawled against the workshop table in a tug of war between panic and ecstasy. Her wet cunt slid up and down the length of him, and he wanted to grab her hips and spear her to stop this agonizingly slow game. But his limbs felt weak. His head was growing fuzzy. It didn’t feel like a dream, but some twisted and sinful nightmare. He expected to wake up and see a succubus draining the breath from his lungs. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really was dying in his sleep. Air was becoming harder to draw in, and his heart wasn’t contracting all the way.

Catarina tugged at the neckline of her dress, her ample breasts spilling over the hard ribbing of her corset. She lay down across the perfumer’s naked chest, her weight constricting his breathing all the more. “Shhh,” she soothed, cupping his face in her palm, her thumb tracing over his quivering lips. “You have nothing to fear, dear one.” Then she slid her hand up to pinch his nostrils, sealing her mouth over his to give him a breath. His chest rose under her and she felt his lungs expand with her air. He expelled the excess in a puff when she broke the life giving kiss. Reaching between them, she finally took hold of his stiff cock. The fear and adrenaline warring with her beast’s instructions to his heart had done little to soften him. She gave him another breath, and when she reached the end she gave him a little more than needed, his ribs rounding beneath her. Then she slid him inside her as she let go and he gave a breathy moan.

She felt amazing. Her tight, warm walls enveloped him and the aching need he’d felt waned. He bucked his hips once, twice, but his body was too weak to thrust up into her. Her arousal dripped down the crease of his thighs and cooled against his skin when it hit the air. The succubus, which he now was convinced she was, began to rock against him. His length tapped now and then against her cervix and she groaned, still holding his nose closed for respirations. He was not aware, but he was the largest cock she’d ever taken from a human. He wanted to moan and voice his pleasure the same as her. He wanted to grab her hips and drive himself into her again and again. But his breaths wouldn’t come, and his heart refused to speed up into that delirious, hammering bliss he’d always known during sex. The succubus was kind enough to give him breaths between thrusts, and all he could do was rumble in the back of his throat when he had the breath to make noise.

Catarina sat back, pressing her palm firmly against the apex of his heart. She slowed her gyrations to be in time with the slow beat she felt there. His fingers tightened against her hip, his mouth gaping without her breaths. He tapped a few times in a mute plea for her oxygen. She smirked down at him. “Angelique,” she called to the shadows. The corner of blackness chuckled as two eyes reflected in the sparse moonlight tilting from the nearby window.

The creature rolled her fingers in the air again and spoke her command to the poor trapped man. “Your lungs…” The perfumer looked towards her corner and finally saw, with wide and naked fear on his face, what lie there. “Do you feel the last wisp of air being squeezed from them?” As she said this, she rolled her fingers into her palm and tensed her hand. His chest spasmed. Then it went still as his lungs arrested.

Catarina began to buck her hips faster as his hand fell away from her leg. His head lay tilted to the side, his eyes wide and mouth hung open. His heart stumbled beneath her hand, and she kept one against his ribs and slid the other against his thigh to feel the weak swell of his femoral. Her stomach tightened, her breath quickening as her climax drew near. Hands appeared from behind and slid over the planes of her corset. Angelique took hold of the middle of her restrictive finery and tore it in one motion. Catarina sucked in a completely unobstructed breath and cried out. Arms encircled her as she slammed him into herself, smoothing over her exposed belly and dipping between her legs to her and Lucien’s joining. Her swollen clit was a raw bundle of nerves when the vampire’s claw glided across its surface. It took only a few moments of Angelique’s cool hand fingering her there before she came, screaming and bucking. She felt the perfumer’s heart, which had been locked in a sort of half death- beating, stopping for long moments, beating twice, shaking, lub… lubdublub… lub…- until finally it ceased at the moment of their shared orgasm. His warm seed spilled inside her and she collapsed back into Angelique’s waiting arms, bosom heaving. Lucien’s cock twitched inside her, the last movement of his body before he began to soften with the lack of blood flow.

Catarina swiped her hair back from her face and took a moment to catch her breath. “Ah,” she sighed, “Thank you, darling. You’ve given me quite a gift. I’ll grant you one in return.” She took his face by the chin and rolled his head back up to look at her, his eyes empty, his pupils blown wide. She chalked that up to his pleasure fueled heights before the drop into cardiac arrest. It would be a shame if he remained dead.

She laid across him again and gave him her breaths, his body pliable and yielding to her. She briefly rutted against the curve of his cock once more, shivering with sensitivity after being so thoroughly sated, then planting her hands in the middle of his chest. She shoved up into his heart, forcing his ribcage in. His shoulders shrugged inward and the force rippled out through his entire body. Her breath quickened and she grew excited all over again. She grunted as she drove another quick compression down into his sternum, watching how it rounded his toned, furry stomach, rocking his head back. Catarina had never been the one doing the saving. The rush was immediate and consuming as a wildfire. I am holding his life in my hands. I am the only thing between this man and oblivion. She found herself panting out little breaths as she started the compressions in earnest, rising up a little on her knees so she could use all the strength in her body for his sake.

Angelique slid to the head of the workbench, her eyes flickering between the dead man and her dove. There was a light in her love’s eyes that set the vampire alight. She truly was enjoying this. It gave her every sort of satisfaction to have given her this gift, something she knew her love had longed for so long. The jealousy she had harbored began to ebb as she watched her dutifully pound into the perfumer’s chest. She leaned down, her lips just brushing Lucien’s ear, her cold cheek pressed to his, which was growing paler. “My lady will be awfully disappointed if you do not live,” she whispered so only his barely tethered consciousness heard, “Your heart must beat again for her, Lucien. Come back.”

Cold lips brushed his ear. The succubus’ sex brushed warmly against his soft cock, jerking against her with every brutal pump against his heart. His heart had stopped. He really had died in his sleep, he thought. But he knew he wasn’t sleeping now. No corner of his imagination could conjure this up. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even roll his eyes in their sockets. They were planted straight ahead where they had drifted at the moment of his death, staring up at some point between the ceiling and the succubus’s face. His vision bobbed with his head, every compression forcing it to swing her face in and out of his line of sight. She really was beautiful. A belle mort. He knew somehow she had been responsible for his death. Now, she was working desperately for his resurrection. It didn’t make sense. But he wanted to do as the voice commanded. He wanted to come back.

Truthfully, there was little left in Lucien’s life worth continuing it. His wife had died last spring of the fever sweeping the lower city. His daughters had died in their cradles the years before that. He had nothing but the stinking perfume shop to fill his days. If he had died, buried inside this beautiful demon sat astride him now, currently shoving her delicate hands against his chest, he wouldn’t have complained. He would have met the devil, for surely a succubus would have damned his soul to hell, and he would have accepted an afterlife of punishment for those few moments of bliss.

She paused her rhythmic pounding and leaned over, kissing him again. Her breath was so warm. It smelled sweet, and tasted of ambrosia when her tongue briefly flicked his own. He knew then that he wanted to come back. He wanted to please her. He would dedicate the rest of his life to this vision who had stolen it from him. Beat. Beat for her, useless thing. Bats pour elle, espèce de sac inutile.

Catarina was panting by now, sweat standing out on her skin and beading between her breasts. Dread had started to well up in the bottom of her stomach. Had she really killed him for good? “Angelique?” she asked, looking over at her beast, “Is it too late? Have I lost him?” The yellow discs of her eyes in the darkness turned towards the dead man’s chest and focused on the vanishing warmth within him. His heart struggled behind his ribs. It beat once, then stopped. Half the chambers moved, but the others wouldn’t pump. “Listen,” she told her. Catarina lay down on top of him and rested her ear against his chest.

“Poor dear,” she breathed out, “You really are trying to be strong, aren’t you?” She had no way of knowing how badly he was trying. Screaming in his mind for his heart to beat, trapped in a dying body. She pinched his nose shut again, tipping his head back as she rose once more. “Then I won’t give up either, dear one. Your heart is safe in my hands.” It was a contradiction to her actions, considering she had been the one to make it stop in the first place. But Lucien believed her. She didn’t want him to die. For the first time in so long, he didn’t want to die either.

She returned to her compressions with renewed vigor, throwing her whole weight behind each measured blow. It had been about twelve minutes of struggling cardiac activity, and her arms, her shoulders, the core of her stomach, were all getting sore. Angelique never tired when she played the hero, and Catarina was on the verge of asking her to help. “You’ve got this,” her beast purred. It wouldn’t be so sweet a victory if she wasn’t the one to claw him back. Angelique tipped her face against his once more and whispered again, “Come back, little one. Focus on those weak beats and make them strong again.” As she spoke, she skated her hand down his ribs and felt them bow to Catarina’s thrusts. Her preternatural eyes watched his heart struggle, and went from unevenly beating now and then to fluttering.

Catarina let out a frustrated growl when she felt his heart stop altogether, no longer even trying to beat. The quivering was too weak for her to detect. “Please, take a breath. I won’t be able to take if you really died,” she panted. Angelique moved to the side of the workbench, easing Catarina back a little. “Just a moment, dove.”

She raised her fist up and thumped him hard between the line of his nipples. The quivering heart, jolted by the kinetic force, beat once and then descended again into fibrillation. She struck him again. This time, it beat for a few seconds, then shook uselessly again. The third time, Catarina tried. She brought up both hands, clutched together in a fist, and beat the organ hard enough his entire body jolted from the force of the blow. But his eyes closed and he drew in a rasping breath as finally, it worked. Lucien was alive. She was giddy with endorphins as she sat back, breathing hard.

“Good show,” Angelique chuckled, wrapping an arm around her love and squeezing one of her breasts, soaking in the way her heart pounded from the exertion of resuscitation.

Catarina giggled, cupping Lucien’s face. “Apologies, dear one. That was more than you bargained for, wasn’t it?” She leaned down to give him a breath and ease his rasping. She startled a bit when he lunged up and, with what little strength was left in him, kissed her passionately and with great desperation and hunger. She pulled back, a little shocked. He propped himself halfway up on his elbows, looking up at her. His eyes were manic and round, black as a deep well given how blown out his pupils were.

“My lady,” he wheezed, “I am yours.”

[defibrillate-the-hidden]

An audio remix of @prismgenixz70 self resus video posted with permission thanks so much for letting me work on this project

[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.

[kk095]

Life and Death in the ER: Dr Lindsay

*Good evening everyone, I hope all is well. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback on my last story Alexa's Arrhythmia! I'd like to try something a little different with the story you're about to read. Although it may not be everyone's cup of tea, I think it's a great opportunity for you guys to get to know some of our go-to characters a little better. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!*

Aside from medicine, Dr Lindsay’s passion in life is running. The cute, sporty tomboy doctor we all know and love was a college track star at the D1 college she attended once upon a time ago. Believe it or not, Lindsay had legitimate Olympic aspirations, and at one point in time, she was set to qualify for the United States women’s track team. But fate had other plans, which came in the form of a sudden, severe ACL and LCL tear in her left knee. Reconstructive surgery was performed and she of course recovered, but Lindsay definitely lost her X factor. Even though Lindsay could still run circles around 99% of humanity as a 33 year old with a bum knee, she lost that slight edge all those years ago, which is all it took for her Olympic hopes and dreams to go up in smoke. Sometimes Lindsay thought “what if?” in regards to her potential professional sports career, but at the same time, being an ER physician fulfilled her in a different way.

Lindsay truly embraced her role as a doctor and caretaker in the emergency department, always going the extra mile for her patients and thinking outside the box to try to save them. Time after time, Dr Lindsay found herself in the midst of life and death struggles in the trauma bay, always seeming to have her hands inside the chest of a beautiful woman. But right now, somewhere in an alternate reality, the role was reversed, with Lindsay being the beauty fighting for her life in the all too familiar emergency department.

The room Lindsay found herself in was quite a scene. A cacophony of sound hit anyone the instant they set foot in the room. Alarms and monitors were going off. Orders were being barked. Footsteps pitter-pattered around the room. The high pitched, electrical whirring of defibrillators charging echoed around the room from yet another unsuccessful shock. The tension was palpable.

All across the floor of the room, various items were strewn about. Wrappers from bits of medical equipment were tossed to the ground. Empty, used up blood transfusion and IV bags found themselves discarded. Lindsay’s bloody, tattered clothes also wound up on the light colored tile after a brief encounter with a set of shears. Small droplets of blood made a trail leading from the room’s entrance, all the way over to where the trauma room table was.

On the table, underneath the harsh, bright, fluorescent overhead light was the center of attention for the room’s occupants. Dr Sarah, Nurse Nancy, and Nurse Heather worked as a trio, each lady knowing their role inside out, backwards and forwards, from A to Z. Everyone knew their jobs at an expert level, but it was easier said than done for the emergency department’s triumvirate to maintain composure and impartiality, considering a friend and colleague was the poor soul requiring their lifesaving services this time.

Nurse Nancy, the 20+ year veteran of the ER who’s been there, done that, and seen it all stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging, sending much needed air into Dr Lindsay’s lungs. The stress, chaos, gore, and shock that came with being an ER nurse never fazed Nancy, especially after being exposed to such things for over two decades. But in this scenario, Nancy struggled. This wasn’t a stranger on the table tonight. Nurse Nancy couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of the ER’s go-to, unanimously loved leader being the one on the table this time. Heck, Nancy couldn’t even bring herself to look down at the table, not wanting to see her friend’s face, or the overall shape she was in. There was a knot in Nancy’s stomach, and her heart was racing. She hoped and prayed Dr Lindsay would pull through, but as each minute ticked by, each one faster than the last, Nancy’s hope was soon replaced by dread.

Heather, our emergency team’s dependable, hardworking nurse who regularly showed her moxie, stood off to the side of the table, tasked with keeping an eye on the heart monitors in order to note any changes, as well as pushing meds and setting up any equipment Dr Sarah may need. Heather’s eyes were trained on the heart monitors, which displayed a squiggly, sinuous, unorganized line. That squiggly line Heather watched signified something called ventricular fibrillation- a situation where a patient’s heart is twitching instead of actually beating, typically requiring a defibrillator shock in order to restore normal cardiac activity. Ventricular fibrillation, commonly known as v-fib amongst healthcare professionals, was something Heather has seen more times than she could count during her handful of years as a nurse. However, Heather found herself stunned when eyeing the heart monitor, coming to the stark realization that a familiar face was the one being resuscitated this time.

Dr Sarah, the cute, petite, nerdy redheaded doctor who, for all intents and purposes, was Dr Lindsay’s right hand man and most important ally in the battlegrounds of the trauma bay, stood right up against the table, doing anything and everything to bring her fellow ER doc back. Sarah had her gloved hands inside Lindsay’s chest, which was splayed open earlier in the struggle via a clamshell thoracotomy. The redheaded doctor’s hands were firmly wrapped around Dr Lindsay’s boggy, fibrillating heart, vigorously massaging away. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Sarah’s internal compressions. “come on Linds… come on….” Sarah uttered under her breath, trying to fight the overwhelming emotions that attempted to consume her. “You were just talking to us Linds… Come on…” continued Sarah, trying to will Lindsay back amongst the living.

Sarah composed herself for a moment. “Let’s shock her again. Recharge the paddles to 30, Heather.” Ordered Sarah, stepping up to the plate. Heather did what she had to do. She set the crash cart to 30 joules and hit the charge button. The high pitched, electrical whining of the internal paddles charging filled the room as Heather handed Sarah the large, spoon shaped devices. Sarah pulled her hands out of Lindsay’s chest cavity and grabbed ahold of the internal paddles. Dr Sarah lowered the internal paddles into the gaping chasm of an incision site, around Lindsay’s erratically fluttering heart.

While her friends worked urgently to save her, Lindsay laid on the table, stripped completely nude, her toned, athletic body on full display in a room full of familiar faces, the violating nature of that fact going to the wayside due to the dire essence of the situation. Lindsay’s sandy, light brown hair was tied back in a messy bun or ponytail of sorts, being held in place with a black headband. The doctor’s icy, sky blue eyes remained open, her pupils the size of dimes, staring up above with a full blown death stare etched onto her face. She was intubated, with the ET tube being secured by a blue tube holder around the area of her mouth and lips. IV lines stuck out of both her arms. Her torso was littered with EKG electrodes and wires. A chest tube stuck out the left side of Lindsay’s ribs, redirecting blood and trapped air outwards. The rest of her upper torso, and belly to a lesser degree, were soaked with a combination of both blood and betadine. However, Lindsay’s chest was the main sight of shock and awe. Her chest had a large, crude, gash just below the nipple line, extending the entirety of her chest horizontally. Not only was there a massive gash, her sternum was sawed in half, and her chest was splayed open via a clamshell thoracotomy. A metal rib retractor sat dead center in her chest, keeping everything open. A large, metal vascular clamp stuck up and out of the incision site. Sarah could also be seen holding the internal defibrillator paddles in place in anticipation of a shock.

“Paddles charged. Everyone… CLEAR!” Dr Sarah called out, everyone else stepping back from the table. THWACK. The shock was delivered. “mmmph…” Lindsay moaned softly, her torso twitching sharply in response to Sarah’s shock. The trio paused after the shock. The monitors beeped fast and loud, everyone’s eyes looking over to see if there was a change. “Come on… she’s still in v-fib. I’m going again at 30. Everyone…. CLEAR!” shouted Dr Sarah, immediately shocking Lindsay again. Lindsay’s shoulders shrugged forward and her arms shivered, a wet thump being heard. Like before, Dr Lindsay’s heartbeat was unable to be restored. Sarah decided to up the ante, shocking her friend and coworker at 40 joules during the next go around. “MMMM!” Lindsay moaned louder, as if she could feel the stronger intensity of the shock. Again, v-fib persisted. “I’m going again at 40! Everyone…CLEAR!” Barked Sarah, determined to keep going. The next shock caused Lindsay’s toes to scrunch up hard at the far end of the table, showing off the bright white nail polish on her toes, along with the wavy, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 11 feet she was always so self conscious of.

Sarah wasn’t giving up, and neither was v-fib, so the fight was on. “Going again at 40! Everyone… CLEAR!!!” Sarah passionately yelled out, shocking Lindsay once more. Lindsay’s torso shot up and plopped back down hard all within the span of a second. The monitors kept alarming, but by that point, the trio tuned out the noise of the monitors, considering they were well aware there was a major problem. In the seconds after that shock, Lindsay’s heart fluttered and danced weakly for a moment, before coming to a sudden, complete stop. The heart monitors flatlined, and Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless inside her cracked open chest. Lindsay’s beautiful blue eyes stayed wide open, staring up above, almost as if she was watching her friends determine their next move.

The flatline on the monitors was an absolute gut punch for everyone. Sarah stood there holding the internal paddles, deep in rumination about her next move. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy shined a pen light into Lindsay’s eyes. Lindsay’s pupils were the size of dimes, completely blown, not reacting to the pen light in the slightest. “oh… poor baby…” Nancy uttered, placing the pen light back in her breast pocket. “Pupils fixed and dilated.” Nancy continued, informing everyone, shaking her head. Heather looked over at the heart monitor. “Asystole on the monitors, down 37 minutes.” Added Heather. There was a collective pause after Heather’s words. Nancy didn’t say anything, but she went ahead and detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. The two nurses looked over at Sarah, knowing they’ve done all they could for their friend, but needed Sarah to make the final call.

Dr Sarah stood there shell shocked. Sure, Sarah has lost patients before- any ER doctor has. But this was different. This was a coworker. A colleague. A leader. Someone she looked up to. But most importantly, this was a friend. Sarah felt morally and emotionally obligated to continue resuscitation efforts. How could she just give up on Lindsay? At the same time, Dr Sarah viewed the situation clinically and logically. She knew that all possible options were exhausted. An asystolic patient with a downtime of 37 minutes and blown pupils was too far gone for additional interventions. With all this in mind, Sarah snapped back to reality, eyeing each member of the trauma team. Dr Sarah didn’t say a word to any of them. Finally, her eyes looked over at the clock that sat on the back left wall of the room. Sarah gently placed the internal paddles back down on the crash cart, then peeled her blood soaked, latex gloves off, her heart racing, eventually making the dreaded announcement. “Time of death, 8:08pm…” Sarah’s voice wobbling, on the verge of tears.

Nobody said a word, but everyone knew exactly what to do next. Nurse Nancy switched off the flatlined monitors, silencing the once noisy, hectic room. Heather disconnected the EKG electrodes and removed the IVs from each of Dr Lindsay’s arms. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the open thoracotomy site, obscuring Lindsay’s inert, motionless heart from view. A toe tag was then filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled against the fine, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of Lindsay’s feet. Lastly, a cover was placed over Lindsay, concealing the hauntingly beautiful gaze forever etched onto her face. Unfortunately for Lindsay, a cruel twist of fate- and perhaps irony resulted in her dying in the very place she spent so much of her time. In this alternate reality, Dr Lindsay was now the hottie who laid toe tagged and under a sheet in the emergency department.

[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.

[breathlessangelrh]

[waywardserpent176389053]

Natsuki's Doki Doki Panic Chapter Two

Here is the second chapter, this time with editing provided by the talented @nursepunkdreams.

Circling Darkness

At first, Natsuki could only feel the throbbing of her heart. It was hummingbird fast, uncountable, and as tentative as the slight beat of their wings.

And it hurt. God, did it hurt. As though someone had sunk several needles into her chest and her heart was being forced to contract around them.

But that wasn’t quite right. Her other senses trickled in one after another. More pain. The soft hiss of compressed air; something strapped to her face, and a scattering of smaller somethings attached to her chest. A shrill, rapid beeping…

She winced. She was in motion, for sure—whoever was driving had hit some rough road. She tensed and tried to focus on something else.

Natsuki finally opened her eyes. She recognized the interior of an ambulance right away and tried to take it all in. An intravenous line snaked into her arm, and a dozen EKG electrodes covered her naked chest. A green mask fitted around her face fogged with her every breath.

Her vision wouldn’t quite focus, no matter how much she willed it to, and her thoughts didn’t fare much better. The whats, the whys, the hows of everything—it all escaped her.

“Hey there.” The paramedic noticed her wandering eyes. He gently touched the side of her face to center her gaze on him. “You just rest, okay? You’ve been through a lot. We’ve got you.”

She wanted to demand some answers, but was distracted by someone touching her shoulder. It looked like…

“It’s okay. I’m here too,” Monika reassured her in a soft tone. She watched worriedly as the other paramedic inched his stethoscope around her chest. “You fainted in the club room… so we’re just going to the hospital for a checkup. That’s all.” She placed her hand in Natsuki’s.

The paramedic let out a short sigh when he finished his examination and replaced the instrument around his neck.

“Still tachy. ETA?” He called out to the front.

“A minute, if that.”

Natsuki allowed herself to take some relief in that. The hospital would fix everything, right?

“Ah—” Her breath caught with a particularly painful spasm of her heart. The patient monitor sounded off with a new alarm as the spasms continued, and her hopes began to wane.

“She’s throwing some strong PVCs,” the paramedic said. He looked concerned scanning the monitor’s readout. “Hanging out around 180—pulse ox is dropping…”

Natsuki didn’t understand what the words meant. She looked to Monika for context and found her looking down at her, tense with worry—even more so than before.

That couldn’t be good.

“We’re here,” Monika gently relayed the information to her with a hand on her face. “I’ll be close by, okay…?”

She barely registered what she had said. There was a bit of jostling, some fussing by some unseen hands and the voices attached to them; the panel lights flashing overhead… but all she could focus on was her heart, beating out of control. It skipped and stuttered along in double-time, threatening to give out…

Then she came to a stop. She thought she glimpsed a sign that said ‘Cardiac Care Unit’, but she didn’t have time to think about it further. Suddenly her body was aloft, and then manhandled into position on a new bed. On every side, people were a blur of activity and an indiscernible torrent of medical jargon she couldn't hope to understand.

“Hi there Natsuki, are you with us?” One of her attendants spoke loudly and clearly, but still with a reassuring lilt. She waved her hand in front of her face. “There you are. You’re at the hospital, okay? Your heartbeat is very irregular, and we need to give it a little jolt to get it back to normal…”

She continued talking, explaining, but the words faded. On her opposite side, another medic was readying a defibrillator. She’d seen them, in movies, of course—but never in real life. The heavy capacitors were placed on her chest: one under her collarbone and the other under her breast. The team stepped back, and the man holding the paddles shot her a sympathetic look.

The shock was sharp and sudden, so much so that she hardly grasped that it had happened at all. She gasped, the trace read flat, and she became hyper aware of her heart. For a second, she was able to trace every part of her rebellious cardiac organ. Every blood vessel, valve, nerve, all of it; as though she could view it in a three-dimension space…

Then the muscle contracted. Once more, blood rushed to the rest of her body. She started to hyperventilate. The sensation—the awareness—was overwhelming. The monitor continued to broadcast a rhythm that was far too rapid.

“No change—still v-tach…”

She braced for the worst. The twin capacitors settled onto her chest once more.

The second shock struck her. The muscles of her back tightened and thrust her body against the defibrillator paddles, as if trying to buck them off. Her heart clenched like a fist, the electricity forcing a contraction. She slumped back onto the bed and her heart relaxed, still for a moment, then one beat… another…

No third beat. Natsuki’s heart, tired from all it had been through, merely twitched and spasmed.

She felt like she was sinking. The action around her grew more frantic—one medic rushed forward to compress her chest, another grabbed a bag-valve mask as her breath fled her lungs in a drawn out wheeze.

Her vision frayed into darkness at its edges. She feared the worst, but…

She could still see.

A medic frantically worked her chest, caving her ribs with every shove. Another tore off her mask and replaced it with the bag valve. She squeezed the bulb fast and steady, raising her chest with each repetition. It brought an ache in her ribs to her attention, and she found herself with the wherewithal to wonder if it was broken. Having barely finished her thought, she also noticed the pain of her ordeal was rapidly subsiding.

This is so embarrassing… Natsuki thought when her head was a little clearer. She hadn’t bared her chest for anyone in recent memory, but now a whole half dozen—or more—got to behold her pathetic body. She could feel her small breasts jiggling with each thrust, and going by what parts of her body felt clothed… she was only wearing her pink panties and white socks.

Natsuki thought she might expire fully right then and there.

She was reminded of the gravity of her situation then. She was fucking dying.

No… no! Not like this! She couldn’t reconcile with it. Her life had been utterly terrible for so long—it was only just getting good. She had a nice place to live! A crush on a cute girl! And she most certainly did not deserve to die from a sudden heart attack. She still needed to graduate, start a bakery… have sex at least once—not put into a casket at the ripe old age of fucking eighteen.

The compressions stopped, and the defibrillator was placed against her once more.

Please work, Natsuki begged. The current rippled through her and arched her back. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, all she saw was light. It rapidly gave way to darkness.

The void lingered just long enough to make her think this might be it. But she realized—she could still think, and then, she heard the noises around her. They were muffled, as though coming from the next room over, but enough for her to cling to for dear life. There was an alarm—shrill, persistent; a backdrop against the desperate voices of the team working her code.

She became aware of the compressions resuming next—suddenly acutely aware of her ribs being forced down; of her sternum pushing into her heart. The weight moved the arrested muscle down, stopped only by her spine; her ribs growing more pliable and fragile by the second. Beneath her chest wall, the organ was squeezed like a rubber ball; the valves within forced open as the blood was ejected. She could feel it—the blood pushed through the hungry arteries… and could discern, somehow, that it wasn’t nearly as effective as her heart beating normally. Between each thrust, her heart would swell as the blood rushed back.

All of this, in less than a second. But time dilated beyond all meaning now. The artificial rhythm continued at pace, and Natsuki felt the cadence with exacting clarity. Her heart continued to twitch. It reminded her of a plate of gelatin being shaken.

It occurred to her then—she hadn’t really considered her cardiac health all that much. Sure, she’d been a bit worried about it recently, but she didn’t think about it as a distinct part of her. She supposed she’d abstracted it somewhat—it having took on the appearance of a classic cartoon heart in her mind's eye, rather than the complicated mass of muscle it actually was.

Natsuki tried to give herself a shake. The present moment was far more pressing than this weird little detour her mind had taken… she needed that heart to beat again.

The compressions let up and air flooded her lungs. She relished the feeling. Breathing was good…

More of that, please…

She was met with more compressions. It would have been a relaxing cycle, if not for the mortal terror of it all.

Attempting to shift her mind elsewhere, she thought of her heart again. She could feel it so clearly, after all… perhaps she could figure out what the hell was wrong with it. She imagined turning it over in her hands, looking for anything amiss.

Her mouth being forced open broke her train of thought.

Oh… that’s kind of unpleasant… she thought dreamily as the endotracheal tube was guided down her throat. She wanted to gag, but didn’t, and when air came again at last, it inflated her lungs even more than before.

Alright, tube… I forgive you, Natsuki thought, still dazed. She allowed herself to luxuriate in the newfound oxygen and expected the cycle to resume, but it didn’t—instead of the hands ramming her heart, she felt two familiar weights against her chest.

Natsuki steeled herself as best she could.

Please, shocky things… please work—

The defibrillation forced her eyes open for a moment. Her heart, as with every shock before, locked up and ceased its twitching. She could see her chest arching against the paddles; the large, ugly bruise that had settled between her breasts; the breathing tube taped in place at her lips, and the many medics desperately trying to save her.

Maybe she was imagining things, but… she thought they didn’t look particularly hopeful. Her organ had stilled. There was an agonal contraction after a long pause, and then it started quivering again.

Natsuki groaned. The shock had hurt like hell. And not only that, but it had failed to revive her. At the very least… the pain was evidence she was still alive. It had to be. She tried to recenter herself, but—

They must have increased the voltage. The electricity snaked through her muscles, pulling each one taut as the current leaped from one paddle to the other. Her spine bowed and her heart seized with the current. She could trace the individual nerves of the organ as they fired all at once, the muscles at their end squeezing with as much strength as they could spare. Then—as before—it relaxed and returned to spasming.

Natsuki was getting a little frustrated now. Weren’t they supposed to call out ‘clear’ or something? A little more warning would be nice…

The compressions returned, and she began to riddle over her fibrillating organ once more. There must be an issue with her nerves—they were still sending out signals, but not the right ones. That must be why her heart was shaking instead of contracting. She traced her own cardiac nerves, trying to find which ones weren’t working, not sure what she would do if she found the right one…

The paddles were placed around her heart again.

Okay… gotta focus, she thought, with newfound determination. When the shock comes, I gotta force that nerve to—

The defibrillation rocked her body. Her heart contracted; its electrical signals scrambled. Natsuki traced the current…

There!

At the top of her heart, there was an entire cluster of nerves firing all at once from the external current. One of those nerves stood out to her, and even though she couldn’t tell how… she knew that was the one.

The charge dissipated, and her heart fell still. It stayed still.

The sinking feeling from earlier came back tenfold and Natsuki fought hard to keep her head above water. She was suddenly so cold, and the sounds from outside grew ever indistinct. She could only just barely make out the team’s voices…

“Asystole…!” One attendant shouted.

“Losing her!” She heard another cry.

The sensation of the chest compressions returned to her, but numb and distant.

Her life flashed before her eyes. Memories from the early days, when her mom was still around… those fleeting peaceful moment between the shouting matches and slamming doors. She hadn’t taken Natsuki with her, when she left—and she’d always blamed herself for that.

She was a pitiful child, after all. There were the years where she barely had any friends—thin and destitute, scrounging around for whatever food that man left for her—never enough to fill her. She was reminded of learning to bake, so she wouldn’t starve over summer break, and the comics she gorged herself on to give her any sense of hope.

More recent images flashed before her. Like joining the Literature Club and meeting all of her new friends.

That man being arrested, freeing her at last.

Planning for college. Baking new things—not for survival, but for fun.

All of it so recent. And so, so short.

Natsuki suddenly saw that all she would amount to would be a girl who never got the chance to really live—who got only the smallest taste of a good life before it was cruelly snatched away.

The darkness boiled around her; the cold threatening to consume her.

No!

She was not going to die!

Natsuki desperately thrashed against the death that surrounded her. She could still feel her body—the chest compressions, the air pumped to her lungs; the faint sounds of the efforts to revive her. She pushed upward, as if swimming towards the surface of an endless lake.

Natsuki had spent years reading manga. She tended toward slice of life and comedy—stories of girls just hanging out and having a good time, but she had read a bit of everything. Horror, romance, erotica, dramas, sometimes even action/adventure, if she was feeling a bit bored of her usual fare.

She envisioned herself as the protagonists of one of these adventures. Downtrodden, bloody—but standing up and defying the odds nonetheless. The second wind was coming.

She was going to survive this.

In her mind’s eye, she wrestled with her heart; begged it function. She pleaded and coaxed, and then, she was overwhelmed by an awful, acidic burning sensation in her veins. It moved closer to her heart with each press on her sternum, and she felt sick about it, but she knew it was likely the doctors still trying to save her and tolerated it as best she could.

The drugs soon arrived at her cardiac center. Nerves, once quiet, began to fire again. Slowly at first, then swiftly gaining speed—before long, the muscles attached returned to their unconditioned shaking.

Yes! Natsuki reveled in her triumph, even though it was largely the drugs that had done the heavy lifting.

Come on! Hit me again, shocky things!

As though the team could hear her, the weights of the paddles were promptly settled onto her chest again. Natsuki readied herself, but her timing was off. The fibrillation continued, and she prepared for the next jolt.

Three, two, one…

Another current rolled through her and she rode along it, pouring every ounce of her will into forcing her heart to beat once more. The cardiac muscles tightened, then relaxed, then remained still.

The darkness swirled around her. Natsuki clung to the light.

That was supposed to work, damn it!

Time was dilating again, and the creeping coldness settling in was fogging her mind. The distance between the compressions and voices stretched on further and further, as though she were adrift at sea, being pulled further and further away by the unforgiving yet undeniably gentle tide…

She felt more acidic drugs pouring into her veins and thought—for a scant moment—that her heart would react and start spasming again. But the organ did not respond. The voices of the medics cut in and out, hazy; painfully indistinct. Despite her senses failing, she still picked up the droning cry of the monitor, a flatline certainly running across it. In her altered state, it signaled to her that there was some great, terrible predator stalking around her, waiting to take her into dissolution.

My name… she thought desperately. It’s… my name is Natsuki. I like good manga, cute things… and baking! She tightened her focus. And… I love my friends, Monika, Sayori, and Yuri. God, Yuri… if I live for anyone, it’ll be for you!

She held onto this thought loop for dear life. A shield against the tide, against the cold, against the predator stalking near… if she could just hold onto herself… her friends…

Something changed. It was hard for her to focus on other things, but this was different. The compressions had stopped, but her heart wasn’t twitching. The asystole alarm continued, although distorted, as if she was hearing it underwater.

Oh… they gave up… she thought, despondent.

After all that, despite everything, her time was up.

The immense void moved in.

Yuri…!

She was numb, completely and utterly, but… there was no doubting it. She was being cut open. She struggled to remember why that might be happening.

Was she… dead? Was this a morgue; an autopsy? Something cold forced her ribs apart, snapping them like twigs.

That hurt. That hurt!

She remembered the names of her beloved friends and focused on the pain.

If I can still feel pain… then I must be… still alive…

Something new invaded her chest. They wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Hands, maybe. Blood shot through her arteries.

Natsuki rallied.

They haven’t given up! They’re still trying!

Her mind was scattered, but she tried to focus. She centered her attention on her stubborn heart.

Come on… work! Do something!

More drugs. It all felt so terrible, but she grit her teeth and didn’t dare break her focus.

A flutter. Then another, then her whole heart was thick with fibrillation once more. She could feel it so clearly; it was injured, weakened from its ordeal. The repeated shocks, the drugs, the lack of oxygen… and something deeper.

Some small thing that had always been there.

Natsuki lacked the vocabulary for it, but she knew, more than anything, it was the root cause. It wasn’t her nerves misfiring for seemingly no reason—it was this. This little thing she didn’t have a name for.

This flaw.

Small metal discs were placed against her heart.

Mini shocky things… she thought hazily. She knew she didn’t have much fight left. The creature stalked, just outside her perception, she knew—waiting for her to slip up.

Wait for the right—

Her heart was the sun as the charge smashed into it. Even though the capacitors were smaller, it was many, many times more intense.

Natsuki shook it off and readied herself. Her heart continued to shake meaninglessly.

Heh… rule of threes, she thought wryly. It’s now or never…!

The third hit. As her nerves sparked and fired; as the cardiac muscles clinched; as blood sloshed forward from the artificial beat—Natsuki took hold of one thought and bent all her will towards its success. She screamed it, howled it, bellowed it:

BEAT!!!

The heart relaxed as the charge dissipated. It was still.

Then, a nerve fired. Others followed. The muscle contracted—dared to contract.

And again. Then it stumbled, but caught itself.

Ba-dup… ba-dup… ba-dup…

If she could, Natsuki would have collapsed out of sheer relief.

She’d lived. She’d fucking lived.

She knew that her heart was still in poor shape; that she wasn’t out of the woods just yet. But that didn’t matter.

For now, she was alive. The rest could come later.

A new darkness rose around her, a friendlier one—a blanket of simple unconsciousness. She took the offer; she was exhausted in her bones. Her friends' faces rushed past her; she’d kept them. Held on so tight. Let them guide her back to the world of the living.

“I’ll see you soon, okay…?” she murmured, too quiet and indistinct for anyone to hear.

Her heart continued to beat. It was battered… and Natsuki knew, deep down, than it wouldn’t last much longer in the grand scheme of things. But for now, it would fulfill its function. Softly, as if exhausted itself, it beat.

And Natsuki lived.

[heartmassage]

Sauna Arrest

3 987 / 5 000

I was working at the pool as a lifeguard at the time. You have to start your career somewhere. There is one day I will never forget... Once I was transferred with a friend to the sauna area. Many narrow passages, different types of saunas. Probably the best part of the pool to watch over. "I guess no one will drown in the sauna" - I joked, justifying my easy work.

I was totally naive... That day I learned how difficult rescue operations in the sauna are. Walking around the facility on Tuesday (Tuesday was a day when there was usually no one, or maybe there were few people)

I heard a scream from one of the sauna chambers. Concerned, I approached the Finnish sauna. Through the open door I saw a man (an elderly man) throwing ice at a woman lying on the ground. "Help, she must have overheated!" He screamed.

When I saw this I quickly realized what was happening. "Marry!, we have a big problem, quickly, CPR bag!" I shouted to my friend, also the second rescuer. I saw perfectly what happened...

A woman lying on the ground weighing easily over 230 pounds. First thing, I wanted to get her out of the sauna. I had a big problem with that but the guy helped me and we threw her limp, hot body on the cold tiles.

I knelt down, checked her breathing - nothing, no pulse was felt. I quickly ripped her one-piece swimsuit at the neckline. Her huge breasts spilled out to the sides, revealing the place where I would soon get my fingers tangled. I started CPR on straightened arms. I pressed her chest as hard as I could, but it didn't resemble the compressions performed on the training mannequin.

She was huge. I had the impression that I couldn't break through her chest to properly perform a heart massage. However, I pumped her furiously. Vomit was coming out of her mouth. The obese woman's body was pulsating rhythmically and her breasts were bouncing strongly every time I hit her chest.

After a while, Marry appeared with a resuscitation kit. "Get her some air and do artificial respiration!" I ordered my colleague. Unfortunately, inserting the oropharyngeal tube was difficult due to her mass and how hard I was shaking her body by performing cardiac massage. "The ambulance is on its way," Marry announced. However, I tried to focus on properly resuscitating the woman. Her body was making strange splashing sounds every time it hit the tiles. My hands on her chest seemed terribly small.

We started giving her oxygen - but to no avail. Merry took out the lifepack and put the pads on her chest. "Analysis, it's VFIB!" "Charge 360!" "Clear!" The woman's body jumped and only a flat line remained on the monitor. "No reaction! Now you pump." I changed with my colleague, but her small hands were not even able to reach the patient's heart with a blow. I had to pump her again. It seemed like an eternity to me. The paramedics arrived at the scene.

They deployed their defibrillator and started strong chest compressions. They defibrillated her about 4 times before the sinus returned. The problem occurred when trying to put her on the stretcher, but with effort it worked.

However, the woman's heart had had enough of her lifestyle. She stopped right after they put her in the ambulance. Through the ajar door I saw Lucas massaging her enormous breast.

I saw her huge belly jump high with each blow between her big tits. "Nothing fucking nothing" - I heard the sounds of the paramedics. However, her heart jumped on. Between the series when Lucas brutally pumped the obese woman, they loaded the defibrillator over and over and shot at her. I saw her legs tense and relax after the shot. They shocked her over 12 times!

Then she went back to a flat line. I watched her body jerk as they worked on her. They put so much meds in her that they burned her heart several times. The roar of Lucas and the creaking of the stretcher she was on stopped...

"Time of death - 4:56 pm"

[resus-memorial-prod]

new video out !

[breathlessheartbeat]

The subject was restless today. It had paced its cage like it sensed it was that time again. To collect samples, to test their limits. They had not idea.

As they were put on the table, it grumbled and growled until they managed to get the IV done, pull the restraints closed and place the oxygen mask in place.

The gas hissed as it left the canister and went straight for the mask.

The subject felt it wasn't oxygen right away. The smell was wrong, the temperature, the feeling of it. It started to fight the restraints, it's back arching off the table. The knees bent, the arms pushing upward, but the binds had been designed to keep them there. It tried to shake off the mask, but it was on tight.

The results became clear soon after. With all that effort, they couldn't help taking the gas in. Their muscles started to shake until they gave out, their back banging against the table.

Their mouth fell open, slack. Their eyes widened in horror, pupils dilating. The muscles spasmed now and then as the subject clung to the last of consciousness. Then, they were ready for another procedure.

The doctors took off the mask. The lead doctor checked their teeth, their tongue. Then, shone a light in their eyes. Pressed their neck, their chest, the inside of their tighs. Someone was writing down all they were saying. The subject couldn't understand it.

The doctor came back and held their neck. They pressed both sides of it, where human tonsils would be. They massaged it again and again until the subject's fangs came out. They drip drip drip their poison onto their mouth. The subject couldn't swallow. They started shaking, the desire to do so not great enough to actually do it.

Their body spasmed, completely involuntary, trying to take a breath. They were choking, choking on their own venom. Their tongue managed to move, hanging out of their mouth, displacing some of the liquid enough for them to take a wet breath.

"Heart is reacting. So are the lungs," said the assistant. "They're not immune to it."

"Maybe they're less vulnerable to it. Let's ride it out," the doctor replied.

Perhaps, undrugged, the subject could have fought her own poison. As it stood, even when the doctor put their head to the side to drain the poison out of their mouth, they did not stand a chance.

They harvested it straight from the fangs until it filled a syringe. Showing it to the subject's glassy eyes, they injected it straight into their heart.

Even before they took off the syringe, it was bobbing with the overdrive the heart was sent on. Gasps came up from their lungs, quicker and louder until they were difficult and agonal. The body rebeled, spasmed. Then, it went still.

"Less than a minute", recorded the doctor. "Get the antidote. Let's get them back online."

[hiddendreamsstuff]

A little (time called) resus fantasy that asks you to use your imagination as to how we got here. Feel free to DM with your ideas. 😁

You are naked from the waist up. You have a blanket over your bottom half to give you some sense of dignity. They are pounding on your already bruised and battered chest endlessly. Your chest caves so deep with each one at this point. Your ample chest is exposed and your breasts show the impact of the doctor's compressions. You arm hangs partially off the table, bouncing with each one. You have a tube down your throat and the nurse is pumping air to you through it with a bag.

Leads are connected all over your chest measuring all of your vitals, of which there are none at the moment. The monitor makes a high pitched buzzing sound. The team around you is working tirelessly as I watch them from the corner of the room.

One nurse is giving you resuscitation meds through an IV in your arm… A doctor is doing compressions because all of the nurses in the room have exhausted themselves doing so for the better part of an hour….Another nurse is charting…. The other continues filling your lungs with air…. The final one stands by the monitor, paddles at the ready….

It’s your third code today. The others were short; a minute or two at first, then ten. You have been shocked nine times in total. Five of them were at 360j during this code alone. You have maxed out on drugs. But your heart has not had electrical activity for over 20 minutes now

… it’s been too long; I can tell- you look different- there is a void in the room…

Another doctor comes into the room. She sees the “time down” reading on the monitor. It says 47 minutes 52 seconds. She goes to the doctor doing compressions and puts her hand on her shoulder. “She is gone. You have to let her go” she says earnestly.

“She’s young” they say.

“She is healthy” they say.

“Can we go just a few more minutes?” One begs.

The doctor doesn’t stop right away. Then she pauses with her hands still on your chest then slowly pulls them away across your breast. The nurse does not stop breaths until the doctor sighs deeply and tears well up. “She has been down 48 minutes 35 seconds. We have to call it….Time of Death: 15:42…”

Now your body’s still. I sink to the floor.

No one else moves right away. Then, the doctor rips off her gloves and yells, “Damn it! I can’t believe we’ve lost another one!” and leaves the room. The other doctor follows her out to the hallway. I watch the nurses start unattaching leads, remove the tube from your throat, and pull the blanket up to your neck.

You are gone. There was no saving you. What is left for me?

[severedfromthesource]

Heart of the Forge

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3

Original concept by @emptycalories-splitlip Something is slipped into Adam’s medication, Tav races to stabilize him. This part features M resus, M rescuer, EKG, seizures, conscious mouth to mouth, conscious defibrillation.

It was evening when Gustav returned for the daily round of meds. A Fetcher he didn’t recognize followed closely on his heels. He didn’t recognize them most of the time, they aged out into more useful jobs or simply no longer found the work of caring for the Forge all that appealing. This boy was a bit older than the usual lot. Most found more permanent positions on the Pennydurren by the time they were fourteen, and this kid was sixteen at least, with the acne and peach fuzz to prove it. Still, Gustav was hardly one to judge a late bloomer. He hadn’t grown his last few inches or facial hair until he was almost nineteen. He pushed aside his questions as they walked past engineering side by side.

“Enjoy being a Fetch,” he sighed, plumes of soft grey smoke spilling from his nose. “You’ll miss it when they place you somewhere permanent.” “Imagine I will, sir,” said the boy, staring down at the tray of colorless paste, the cup of little pills, and the small vial sat beside it. He hadn’t looked up yet. Tav watched his throat work for the tenth time and arched a brow. “You alright?” “Heat’s just getting to me, sir." "Ah. You're from the lower cars, then. This place is a sauna compared to the cold back there.” He rolled his shoulders, dislodging a bit of sweat on his collar to let it roll down between his shoulder blades.

The kid tried very hard not to shake perceptibly.

As they entered the engine room, Gustav once more snubbed out his cigarette on the wall. “Where do sheep spend their vacations?" he called out, voice echoing on the metal walls of the chamber. Adam grinned, setting down his book and rising to greet him. "I don't know, where?" He slid his hands in his pockets and replied, rolling from his heels to the tips of his toes and back as he inflected, "The Baaaahamas." That won a genuine laugh from the Forge and he crossed to the two of them, taking his place at the angular throne in the center of the room. The cables protruding from his back looped into the divots carved into the back of the chair and Tav rolled a tray table in front of him. The Fetcher placed the tray of food and medication down and took a step back like it was poised to bite him.

Tav gave him a glass of water and gave a cursory look over of the various pills, noting the stamps of authenticity on gel caps and tablets. Satisfied, he handed them off, and Adam chucked back the small cup of pills into the back of his throat. Once he'd washed them down, he tilted his head, opening his mouth for the Keeper to inspect his tongue. He took him by the chin, turning his face from side to side to check his cheeks and said simply, "Up." to get him to lift his tongue. Once he was sure he wasn't cheeking any of it, he patted the Forge on the side of his face.

Adam wasted no time, hunkering over his flavorless meal with a spoon. "You're a new face," he pointed out conversationally, gesturing with his silverware. "Always a new Fetch pattering around the halls," sighed Tav, retrieving his stethoscope for a quick listen, which Adam was kind enough to stop wolfing down his dinner and allow him. His heart pounded, strong as ever, the chambers moving in a shadowplay behind his sternum. The kid watched this all, trying to force his breathing and heart to slow. "He looks a little pale," said Adam. "He's from the lower cars. Probably the first time he's had any kind of heat in his bones, I'd be shivering too," Tav replied.

The Fetcher thought he might be sick. He watched the Forge scoop another shovelful of mush and stuck it in his mouth, smiling at him around the spoon. He knew, staring into that kind face and those warm brown eyes, that he had made a terrible, irrevocable mistake. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking. The Keeper perked at that and rounded on him. "What was that?" His knees were shaking wads of gelatin as he turned and fled the chamber.

Tav's stomach turned to lead. "What the-" He took a few hesitant steps towards him, unsure what was happening, only knowing that it filled him with an unknowing dread. His eyes went from the boy's retreating back, shoving at the button to open the glass door and stumbling through, back to Adam. His gaze snagged on the empty cup as terrible realization dawned on him. He seemed to understand at the same moment, staring wide eyed at the cup and back up at Tav. Something had been tampered with.

"Do they not vet these fucking Fetches anymore?" he spat as he turned on his heel and bolted back to Adam's side. He was already barking orders over his comm watch, "Anyone nearby sees a kid booking it for the lower cars, grab him. Gimme an engineer, now. A medic too, if we can spare it." He didn't want to say they might have to switch to auxiliary power, mainly because he didn't want to think of it. An idiot separatist, smuggled into the Forge's quarters. Allowed to touch his food and medication. He was running through the list of dead men in his head when he felt Adam's warm hand on his other wrist.

"Tav," he said shakily, looking up at him with watering eyes. His mind ground to a halt. The urgency was stopped dead by the overwhelming need to comfort, and he knelt in front of the larger man to take his face in his hands. "You're alright," Tav murmured, not believing himself. "We just... we uhm-" His throat dried up. His initial response was to get him to throw up whatever he'd ingested the kid might have tampered with, but he knew the dangers of that. If it did damage going down, it would do damage coming up, and it might not even all come up. Not to mention the risk to his airway depending on the poison. It had to be poison. That was not the reaction of a boy innocently handing off food to the heart of the Pennydurren. "We..." he tried again, and again came up with nothing.

Adam's blood swelled in his ears. The light playing against his ribs and heart flickered with the rabbit quick gait of his pulse. Something acrid, a mild bitterness he hadn't noticed while he was eating, was creeping up from his throat to his tongue. Tav's stricken face wasn't doing anything to bely his fears. Something in the Forge's expression made him move and he shifted to stand, tilting his head up. "Just sit tight, alright? I'm right here, I'm not letting anything happen to you." He immediately went to fetch the EKG machine, leads, and a few other pieces of medical equipment they'd rarely had call to use outside the annual checkups. He deposited his load at Adam's feet as the Forge tried to get air into lungs that felt like wood in his chest.

Tav placed the leads in six spots across his collarbone and sternum, and connected them to the bulky monitor at his feet. It warbled as it flickered to life, mirroring his racing heart. Already it had climbed to 100 beats per minute, his chest rising and falling quicker. His Keeper wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his sinewy upper arm and was halfway through inflating it when one of the engineers stepped through the doorway.

Marsh was a man Tav had only had brief interactions with, and he had hardly got the question out when the Keeper hurriedly informed him, "That Fetcher was some kind of plant. I think he was trying to poison Adam." "Christ," the other man said, already rolling up his sleeves as he made for the engine chassis, "Who'd be so blindingly stupid? We’ll be sitting ducks without a Forge." "I have no idea, I need you to keep the pressure valves from blowing. His heartrate is spiking." Again, a large, soft hand fell over Tav's own. Comforting platitudes rose up until he looked up into the face of his Forge.

Blood leaked steadily down one nostril. "Tav," he ground out, the ancient monitor whirring louder as his heart shot up to 150 bpm and kept ticking up and up. "I can't... can't keep my eyes open." Even as he said it his head drifted back and snapped forward again, his dark lashes fluttering. His hair spilled across his face. It was paling quickly, his normally deep olive skin blanching, first around his cheeks, his hands, his feet, then spreading from the outside in. Blood pulled from his extremities, drawing into his torso to try and keep his vital organs fed as his body rang alarm bells that something wasn’t right. In the other cars, lights brightened and flickered, radios crackled from the sudden interference, and systems began to overheat as his taxed organ pumped too hard for his body and the Pennydurren both.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Tav hurriedly reassured him, cradling the back of his neck with a slightly shaky hand. He glanced once more at the monitors, his stomach bottoming out as the crackling display read 170 bpm. He was fully in tachycardia. Tav’s breath shook as he tried to control his breathing. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone. Not Adam, himself, or the hundreds of people who would be forfeit to the fog outside the Pennydurren if the Forge went dark. The fog, and the things inside of it.

He pumped the pressure cuff until it finally gave him a reading, but it had no good news to share. Adam’s blood pressure was skyrocketing the same as his heart rate. It wouldn’t be able to sustain itself like this. Already Tav could see the the ventricles snapping out as the heart filled a little and recoiling as it squeezed out only half the amount of blood his body needed. If even half. He scrambled for the emergency hatch nearby which stored all manner of antiarrhythmic medications. It had something for every contingency. If his heart beat too fast, if it beat too slow, if it wasn’t beating at all. Tav shivered at the last thought, nearly dropping the vial of amiodarone as his hands shook especially hard. Beside him, Adam’s breathing had turned into noisy, sucking inhalations.

“Try to breathe deep for me,” he told him as he drew up a dose into a syringe. “In through the nose, out through the mouth, try to hold it for a few seconds.” “It hurts,” Adam ground out through a clenched jaw, “T-Tav, it… hurts to breathe…” “You gotta do it anyway, alright? Even if it hurts.” He held his forearm still as he slid the needle into a vein, steadily depressing the plunger. The amiodarone flooded into his system, and Tav rubbed a gentle circle over the injection site with his thumb as he drew away.

Marsh cursed from across the room, struggling to secure a panel of the engine which had begun to bulge and strain against its riveting. It shuddered in tandem with the ventricles in Adam’s chest, like the machinery was a crude model demonstrating what was going wrong with his heart. “Damn thing’s about to pop,” he growled, and then it did, a sharp metal sound popping like a cork as one of the bolts shot off and ricocheted off the floor. “We gotta switch to auxiliary power, he’ll overheat half the train’s systems at this rate.” “Just do whatever you need to do!”

Tav was busy hauling the defib unit up from the emergency hatch. It had sat unused for decades, and he wasn’t even sure if it had any juice left, but the thing came to life when he hit the power button, ready to shock his heart into working order. He could see the shadow of Adam’s heart starting to skip and quiver every few beats, stumbling to keep up with itself. His head was slumped forward against his chest, his eyelids weighed down. He couldn’t even sit upright. Tav thought absently how he could work better with him on the floor or a bed, but knew the ports and cables hung from his back would prevent that. “Adam,” he began, cracking on his name, “C’mon, stay with me. Stay with me, kid.”

He grabbed a tube of conduction gel from the kit and applied a good amount on the metal plane of the defibrillator paddles, rubbing them against one another to spread it evenly. He clicked the 100j mark and watched the bar climb as it charged. Adam’s body shone with sweat, his breathing deteriorated into swallow sips at air. Tav needed only a glance at his chest to confirm he had gone from a dangerously high heart rate to ventricular fibrillation. The shadow of his heart was quivering uselessly. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured more to himself than to the Forge, who was likely past understanding him by now. He settled the paddles between the EKG leads on his sternum and to the side of his ribs, the gel making them slick against his sweat soaked chest. He jabbed the discharge buttons.

Adam felt the mule kick him in the chest. His muscles spasmed painfully, head jerking back on his neck, the muscles of his chest jumping and his arms flinching inward. He loosed a pathetic sounding groan as the charge dissipated from his muscles, unable to do much more than sit there and whimper. There was another electric whine and he felt the cold metal squish against the spots the gel had made the first time. No, he thought but couldn’t find his voice, Tav, please, you have no idea how bad that hurt. There came another click and another violent current, rippling across his muscles. He managed to find his voice enough to yelp that time, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw in air and he began to moan on every exhalation.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Tav was saying but Adam couldn’t hear him. This was a deeply necessary pain he was inflicting, but it was still pain, and it hurt his own heart to do this to his friend. A spiteful voice called him a coward for even thinking that. Adam was more than a friend, they both knew it, but Adam had been too shy for confessions and Tav too stubborn. Now he was staring into those heavy lidded eyes as they glistened with tears, and he had the horrible sinking sensation of being too late. His chest ached to hear the crackling wheeze of his breaths, and he set the defibrillator down for the moment. His heart was beating too fast still, but it was beating instead of shaking uselessly, which was something at least. Tachycardia was only a little preferable to v-fib.

He rummaged in the emergency kit and cursed when he could find no oxygen mask. Wiping his sweaty palm off on his pant leg, he stood above the Forge and leaned his head back against his shoulders, mindful not to overextend his airway. “I’m gonna give you some air,” he told him, but words had long stopped making sense to Adam. He swiped at the blood under his nose with a thumb. He pinched the Forge’s nostrils closed with one hand, the other resting on the arch of his throat. He blew hot air into his mouth. Adam’s cheeks bulged, his throat flexing with the intrusion of another person’s breath forcing its way down into his lungs.

Delirious with pain, the mouth to mouth felt like one more agony to add to the list. It forcibly expanded his chest, warring with his own breathing patterns, and he moaned out the intrusive air against Tav’s lips. Just kiss me normally. Let me kiss you without all this awfulness. Another breath breached the sanctum of his airway. He felt the warmth of tears sliding down from the corners of his eyes. When the seal made of their mouths broke, he sobbed, and became aware of the hands holding his face. They were the last thing he was aware of before the lights abruptly switched off.

“I promise I’m helping,” Tav was telling him, running a thumb over his sweaty brow. “I know this… this must all hurt like hell, but I’m helping.” “How’s he doing?” Marsh called out, fighting one of the huge switches to activate the backup generators. Tav glanced at the heart monitor and growled, “God damn it- he’s fibrillating again!” He released his hold on his face and went to scoop up the paddled again, until he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

Adam’s chest bucked unexpectedly. Tav paused, taken slightly aback. His shoulder jerked forward off the back of the chair and he went still. Then it jerked again, and Tav had only a moment to react before Adam locked up in a seizure. The Keeper crashed into a seated position in his Forge’s lap, standing his shaking body up so he could press him against his chest. “Christ,” he sobbed, unable to contain himself a moment more. He was cracking in two. He held tightly to his charge as his body shuddered, shaking violently against him. Adam was bigger than he was, better cared for, and a few times Tav was nearly knocked out of his lap by the surging waves of his seizing. He held tight, hooking his feet under a panel of the chair to keep him there as he cradled his thrashing body. He pressed his cheek against the other man’s and heard his teeth click and grind.

“Please,” Tav whispered in a broken husk of a voice, “God, please…” Adam’s head knocked against his Keeper’s temple until a pair of large hands slid between them and kept his head still. He looked only briefly to see Marsh on the other side of the chair, helping to still his tormented body. Tav squeezed him a little harder and nodded his thanks.

He could feel Adam’s muscles tensing at random intervals under his hands. His throat gurgled as the muscles there were caught in the tide of spasms. His heart, dangerously overtaxed, had fallen out of fibrillation and back into tachycardia. It was pounding hard against Tav’s thin ribcage, where his own heart hammered in fear. It felt like Adam’s would punch out from his sternum and crack Tav’s ribs with the intensity at which it was beating. “It’s okay,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “It’s okay, I’ve got you… I’ve got-“

Then the pounding stopped.

[defibrillate-the-hidden]

Found this online. I don't know the source, unfortunately, but thought it was worth a share if you know the source please lmk and lmk if it ever needs to be removed. Edits made due to Tumblrs puritan overlords