28/Female/UK/Autistic/Asexual/Likes light and dark cardiophilia. Also in a committed relationship. This blog is 18+ Please do not interact if you’re a minor. Avatar made with Picrew https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/480390
The somehow really hot auscultation part of a physical exam I gave a few months ago. Check my twitter SMDoctorBln for seeing how the boy gets edged and electrified.
I truly lack the confidence to embody the calm and clinical demeanour that a doctor would have. Especially when the doctor is a meaner one who isn’t above unethical practices.
On the other hand, I’m absolutely weak for being the one on the examination table, having my heart thoroughly monitored. Having gloved hands feel my pulse thumping beneath fingers, and guiding a stethoscope across my chest, is something that I cannot get enough of.
Lying in bed all ill and shit, and suddenly my brain has materialised an idea for an audio and locked onto it. Why do my best ideas come about when I’m feeling so physically run down?
Anywho, I’m invested in it because it has the potential to be a good story.
The Silver Screen Lives Forever Episode One: Pilot
I'm bound for Europe in a few days (I'm very excited), and felt that I should post something before I leave. Don't worry, I'm hard at work on "Natsuki's Doki Doki Panic" chapter 4, but it's pretty complex. Think of this as a preview for what comes after.
Once more thanks to @nursepunkdreams for editing.
Laura Kaube was the luckiest woman alive.
She had no doubts in this. How could she? She was as successful an author as any writer dreamed of being, and married to her childhood love to boot. She still struggled with anxiety and abandonment, but had worked hard to shed the fetters of labels like ‘hysterical’ and ‘orphan’.
The day began in the kitchen, as it always did. She sat at the table while Rachel put the finishing touches on their morning pancakes. Rachel was a fine cook, and even more fine a woman. Her voluptuous frame filled out her work uniform handsomely, giving the shapeless white button-up and modest skirt unmistakable definition. Silky, subtle brown curls lapped at her shoulders, still yet untamed—she’d throw it up into a neat bun for her shift.
Laura, by contrast, was plain. She had curves, sure, but couldn’t hold a candle to her wife. Rachel was intent on easing this insecurity, massaging it out with constant reminders of how beautiful she was, and before long, she, too, started to see herself as beautiful.
She was dressed in what she called her ‘writer’s attire’: a long-worn bathrobe, unmatched in its comfort. Her dark blonde hair, messily tied in a small ponytail, was also a staple of the look. She adjusted her large round glasses as she scrolled through the news.
“Aaand… pancakes are done!” Rachel said with a smile as she twirled over to place the wonder food in front of her wife. She took the seat across from her and simply delighted in the enthusiasm Laura had for her home-cooked meals for a few long moments. She always dug in so eagerly.
For a little while, they ate in silence, needing only to enjoy the other’s presence. It was all part of the routine. After, they would pass the afternoon with all manner of interesting discussion, diving into this and that until one of them noticed that the evening had also come and gone.
Rachel broke the quiet, clearing her throat. Laura glanced up quizzically.
“So, I’ve been talking to the adoption place…” she trailed off with a telling smile.
Laura’s eyes widened. “Have they…?”
Rachel nodded, giddy with excitement, and Laura leapt up from the table. She threw her arms around her, overcome with emotion, and kissed her hard. Rachel returned the passionate lip lock and slid her hands behind Laura’s head, being careful not to mess up her ponytail. They remained locked to one another for nearly two full minutes before separating.
“Now, nothing’s been finalized yet,” Rachel cautioned. “But they said we’re really good candidates.”
Laura continued to beam, holding her wife tightly.
“You’re going to be the best mother in the world.” Laura’s voice was low and sentimental. Her eyes sparkled, enamored with the future.
Rachel shook her head. “No, we are going to be the best mothers in the world!” She kissed her beloved again, softer this time.
The rest of breakfast went smoothly, both women still riding their collective high. Laura happily returned to her phone while Rachel picked up her current book. Time became hazy, and soon, they had both lost track of it entirely.
Laura glanced at her phone’s clock. “Um, Rachel… it’s almost a quarter to eight.”
“Ah, shoot.”
Rachel hurried to finish breakfast before moving to the door to put her shoes on. She snapped back up, saw herself in the mirror, and realized she’d forgotten to put her hair up. She rushed to the bathroom and absently brushed her hand along Laura’s shoulders as she passed.
Laura smiled fondly of her wife’s forgetful habits—she always managed to be quick enough to make up for it. She tore another big chunk off of a pancake and returned to absentmindedly scrolling down her news feed. Her eyes lit up at a particularly hilarious cat meme—the little guy was twisted into a weird crouch that reminded her of her own cat. Laura laughed… and pulled the unchewed pancake squarely into her trachea.
Rachel was putting the finishing touches on her hair when she heard one of the kitchen chairs clatter over. She raced over and found Laura hunched over the table. Her hands were around her neck—the universal sign for choking. Rachel roped her arms around her midriff.
This would be the second time Rachel had performed the Heimlich Maneuver. Months ago, on the other side of summer, one of Rachel’s coworkers had started choking right in the middle of lunch break. Her training had kicked in then and, naturally, she ended up being the hero of the day. Her thrusts into Laura’s stomach were forceful, focused; each one met with something that would have been a gasp if Laura could breathe. The obstruction remained stuck at first, but Rachel was stronger—with one last heave and a little help from Laura’s gag reflex, the hunk of fried batter was forced out with a splat.
Rachel staggered back. Her hands found the countertop. Laura bent forward, bracing on the kitchen table as she gasped, desperate to catch her breath.
For a few seconds, the room was silent, save for the sound of their labored breathing.
Rachel recovered first and rested a hand on her back. “Laura, are you okay?”
Laura didn’t answer; stock still aside from her ragged pulls of air. The rough Heimlich had opened up the top of her bathrobe, baring her chest. One hand clasped between her breasts over a long surgical scar, and the other remained locked on the table’s edge, knuckles white.
“Laura?” Rachel moved to face her.
Her eyes were terrified pin pricks.
“… heart,” she murmured.
Rachel eased her down to sit on the floor with her back against the cupboards. She pulled out her phone, pressed the emergency call button, then took Laura’s hand.
“Laura, it’s going to be okay. Hang on,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice level. Laura was hyperventilating now. That worried her.
The line picked up. “What’s your—“
“My wife is having a heart attack,” Rachel cut her off. “She has a history of heart problems… she’s breathing right now, but it’s fast and uneven…”
“Alright, ma’am. What’s the address?”
Rachel rattled off the requested information posthaste and urged them to hurry.
Laura suffered. She wouldn’t call it pain—it was more of an awful, visceral blooming inside her chest. She kept pulling air as fast as she could, as though she could keep up with her fast, irregular heartbeat, but it was in vain.
“Rachel…” she wheezed.
“I’m here, my love.” Rachel squeezed her hand.
Laura’s vision swam with a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. She tried to say something. Anything. I love you. I’m going to be fine.
Instead she choked and moaned and retched. Rachel put an arm around her shoulders as she spilled half-digested breakfast and stomach acid onto the kitchen floor. Then she went rigid, shivering for a moment before going limp in Rachel’s arms.
“Laura!” she cried out. Her training kicked in. She laid her wife down carefully, delicately, and struggled to ignore her own pounding heart as she pressed her ear into Laura’s chest.
Silence.
Rachel’s fingers raced to the woman’s throat. She pleaded that she was just imagining things.
No pulse.
“What’s happening?” asked the voice of the 911 operator.
Rachel shook herself. Laura needed her now more than ever. “She—her heart stopped. I’m starting CPR.”
She took in a quick breath before forcing her weight down on Laura’s chest. Her sternum sank, crushing her heart against her spine; forcing blood through her arteries to ever hungry organs. Her ribs recoiled when Rachel let up the pressure, and the blood would flow back into her heart. Then again.
And again.
And again.
After thirty compressions, she tilted her head back and pinched shut her nose. She pressed her lips to Laura’s. She tasted like vomit. Trying not to retch herself, Rachel reflected on the kiss they had shared just moments earlier, how passionate she had been.
This time, Laura did not react to the kiss.
Rachel breathed into her once, then twice. Her hands centered over her surgical scar and she returned to pushing into her heart. Laura’s breasts swayed with each thrust delivered.
It was hard for her to separate herself from the fact that she was performing CPR on her wife. Just last night, Rachel was tracing those breasts in the throes of passion. She began to cry, dotting Laura’s chest with her tears.
The first sob was more of a choked wheeze. She stumbled in her compressions before pushing down harder.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Rachel desperately forced air into her again.
Don’t think about it. Thirty more. A few centimeters deep. She’s gonna die. Don’t think about it. She noticed Laura was turning a bloodless blue. She was always a little pale. Never got enough sun. Don’t think about it.
More breath.
Don’t think about it.
“Please, my love… don’t do this. Take a breath,” Rachel begged. “Where is the ambulance?!”
“Just three more minutes. Please try to continue CPR if you can,” said the operator.
Rachel nodded, steeled herself with a deep breath, and dug back into compressions. She was tired now, her own heart sprinting with the exertion. The ambulance couldn’t come soon enough.
~~~
A few minutes earlier…
Miriam Sanders was the luckiest woman alive. A tall woman with her hair dyed red, she had attained her dream job of paramedic, passing her time literally saving people’s lives. She had also found love on the job with her coworker Simone Davenport, a truly beautiful woman in spite of, or maybe because of, her rough edges.
Miriam was making out with her girlfriend. Her hands cupped Simone’s ass; Simone explored Miriam’s breasts as she did. She kissed Miriam’s neck, shifting lower to slide under her shirt. Her fingertips pawed at the cups, threatening to explore the stiff nipples beneath.
“Oh—Simone…!” Miriam moaned.
A sudden, jarring ringing broke the trance they were in, and they instantly moved to their stations. Miriam stuck her head into the driver’s cabin and found the rookie driver scanning over the case information. “What we got?”
“Female, late twenties, cardiac arrest. History of heart problems. Infarction triggered when she choked on breakfast.”
Miriam nodded. “Airway?”
“Clear. It’s just the heart now. Wife’s performing CPR.”
Simone readied the equipment as the ambulance shot off. “Ready to save a life, Miri?”
Miriam smirked. “As always… the quicker this gets done, the faster we can get back to our business,” she punctuated with an exaggerated wink.
Simone rolled her eyes.
The ambulance arrived speedily, hurrying to a halt outside the residence. Miriam pushed the back doors open and jumped down with a little flourish. Simone followed close behind with the stretcher.
Oh, shit. Miriam was sprinting for the door before she had fully processed the information. Simone called out to her, but she didn’t hear. She pushed through the too-familiar door, through the too-familiar entrance and turned into the too-familiar kitchen. She found Rachel hunched over Laura’s lifeless body, crying and pleading through another round of CPR.
Don’t think about it. Miriam rushed to Rachel’s side. “Rachel, we’re here.”
Rachel finally looked up. Her makeup was running and her button-up was stained with sweat.
“Miri…?” she said, struggling to adjust.
The medic gently nudged her aside and launched into fierce compressions. “What happened?”
“We were eating. We were just eating! And she choked really bad… and that triggered her heart condition and now she’s—she’s dying and…”
Rachel blubbered on while Miriam worked. She was singularly focused on the task at hand. She would not call time on her best friend’s wife.
Simone finally caught up. “The fuck you run like that, Miri—? Oh. Oh, shit.”
“C’mon—set up the monitor!” Miriam ordered impatiently. She pressed her lips to Laura’s, internally a bit flustered at the gesture—she was Rachel’s wife, after all.
Simone expertly attached each of the five leads of the ECG to the patient and switched the monitor on. The reading was discouraging: the flatline of asystole.
Miriam took the reading quickly and dutifully continued compressions. “BVM on me. Set up a cannula for one mig epi.”
Simone slid the bag valve over and made port on her chest with practiced ease. She promptly stabbed the needle through the rubber stopper and pushed the epinephrine through just as Miriam finished the most recent cycle of compressions. She gave her two quick hits of air before hammering into Laura’s sternum again, desperate to force the drugs through her system.
For the next few minutes, the scene repeated. Miriam administered CPR while Simone ventilated her. Before long, Laura was intubated, but the monitor didn’t let up its alarm. Her heart remained stubbornly still. Rachel continued to cry, begging her wife to hang on between strained pulls of air.
“Switch,” Miriam said. She ceased compressions and Simone seamlessly took over. “Giving her a second dose.”
The epi was pushed through. Simone thrusted hard into Laura’s chest while Miriam worked the bag.
They exchanged a worried glance. Laura’s heart just wasn’t responding.
The piercing cry of the flatline droned on. Rachel knelt down and took Laura’s hand. She kissed her knuckles and murmured something indistinct into them, still sobbing.
Miriam had been counting. Nine minutes since arrival. Twelve for us to get here.
“That’s twenty-one total,” she breathed, inaudible to her company. That was bad, even with the continuous CPR.
“Laura!” Miriam snapped, overcome with emotion. “You listen to me. You’ve lived through this before. You’re a married woman now—you can’t just leave whenever you’d like. You’re only twenty-eight years old, for crying out loud. I forbid you from dying.”
Simone finished the cycle with one last hard push.
“Switch. Another mig of epi.”
Miriam took over compressions with renewed conviction.
“Pushing epi.”
They were running out of time. Legally and via hospital protocols, they had a little more than five minutes left. If Laura’s heart remained in asystole, they would have to call it.
“Come on…” Miriam muttered.
Simone was beginning to look very solemn. Rachel was still a disaster, bordering on belligerent.
Then, a miracle. The ventricular fibrillation alarm lit up and sounded off.
Miriam was off the bag and priming the defibrillator immediately. She set the charge at maximum and settled the capacitors on the proper landmarks—sternal and apex—and waited for it to finish.
“Rachel, you need to get back,” Simone said. She forced her back when her words fell on deaf ears.
The defibrillator chirped. Miriam glanced around, making sure everyone was at distance.
“Clear!”
Laura’s body twisted up, arching her back in a painful, awkward posture. She slammed back down, the impact forcing her modest breasts to jiggle and her head to loll.
The monitor paused, then scrawled out ventricular fibrillation once more.
Miriam grunted in frustration and set the machine to charge again.
Rachel scooted forward, but resisted the urge to take her hand. Simone squeezed her shoulders as the defibrillator finished charging. “Come on, my love… you can do this. Keep fighting. Just a little more.”
“You heard your wife! Come back to us, Laura. Everyone’s clear…!”
Laura’s body arched to meet the defibrillator once more. She fell back with a harsh thump. The waves of the monitor smoothed out.
Asystole.
Rachel was apoplectic. She wailed and shook in Simone’s arms. Miriam tossed the paddles to the side.
“No!” Miriam yelled as she forced Laura’s heart to beat. “You don’t get to do this. Give her more epi.”
Simone shot her a forlorn, cautioning look.
“Do. It,” she spat.
“Please, Laura… please, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” Rachel’s shouting was loud, almost omnipresent. She reached out, but Simone caught her and held her back.
Miriam muttered a near constant stream of curses through the CPR. In her heart of hearts, she knew they’d missed their shot. Even if they managed to induce fibrillation again, it wouldn’t be Laura anymore. It would be a body.
But Miriam was stubborn. I just need something to hold onto. Something to—
Simone’s hand was on her shoulder.
“It’s been five minutes since the last epi shot,” she said gently. She was obviously hurting for her—for both Rachel and Miriam.
Miriam blinked back her tears. She reluctantly stopped compressions. “Check pupillary reaction.”
Simone flashed her penlight in each of Laura’s eyes. Miriam pulled the stethoscope from her neck.
“Wait… what are you doing? Why are you stopping?” Rachel choked out. She watched helplessly as Miriam pressed the bell against Laura’s chest, above the dark bruise on her sternum.
Miriam took a stiff breath in and let her autopilot take over. “Code has been ongoing for twenty-three minutes, with twelve minutes before medical intervention. The patient has been in full arrest the whole time, aside from a brief run of v-fib. There’s no electrical activity, no heart sounds.” She struggled to keep her voice steady and dug her fingers into Laura’s neck. “No pulse.” She glanced at Simone, who shook her head.
“Pupils fixed and dilated,” Simone added softly.
“No. No. Laura can’t die,” Rachel growled, gritting her teeth. “Bring her back.”
“We’ve given her four doses of adrenaline and continuous CPR to no effect.” Miriam turned off the screeching patient monitor. “Laura Kaube. Time of death: nine-seventeen A.M.”
Rachel clutched at her wife. She screamed and shook her violently, as if she could simply wake her from her sleep, but Laura remained limp in her arms.
“Please, Miri… couldn’t we—couldn’t we shock her again? She can’t be…”
Miriam wanted to answer her friend, to console her, but the guilt of failure stole her ability to speak. She punched the floor in anger.
“Rachel, there isn’t anything to shock,” Simone explained. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
Rachel broke down all over again, collapsing fully into her grief.
“Let her,” Miriam said when Simone moved to restrain her again. “Let her have these last few moments. Go get the body bag.”
Laura was ghostly pale and unsettlingly still. Undeniably, a corpse. But still Rachel beat at her chest, impotently jabbing at the arrested muscle within.
Miriam grabbed her hands. “It’s too late. We did everything we—“
“I’m not letting you take her!” Rachel tried and failed to wriggle free. “We can—“
“We can’t!” Miriam cut her off. “Are you hearing me? We can’t. I would never give up if there was even the slightest chance. But there isn’t. Her eyes are fixed, Rachel. She’s brain dead. She’s gone. I’m so sorry—“ she choked up, “but she’s gone.”
Miriam embraced her oldest, dearest friend, and they wept.
Rachel sucked in a steadying breath and gently broke away from her. She tenderly folded Laura’s hands over her stomach, lending her the appearance of simply having gone down for a nap.
“She always worried this would happen. Said that we shouldn’t get married because she wouldn’t live long enough. I didn’t care.” Rachel picked up Laura’s glasses and set them back on her face, her touch lingering on her ears and the bridge of her nose. “We were so happy, Miri. For as long as I had her…” she pressed her fist to her mouth to stop herself whimpering, “we were happy.”
She knelt down and gave her wife a final kiss. Simone returned, body bag slung over her shoulder. She set it down next to Laura.
Any minute now, Rachel thought. She watched on, numb, as they discarded the leads and endotracheal tube and placed her inside. I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Any minute now.
Simone slowly closed the bag. The zipper swallowed her legs first, then her navel, chest and scar, and finally, her face and head.
Laura Kaube was dead. Aged twenty-eight years. Cause of death: heart attack.
A heavy silence fell over them. Miriam got up, walked over to the camera, and turned it off. Across the room, Teresa turned her camera off as well.
Rachel perked up.
“Did we get it?” she asked, whipping off her tears.
Teresa’s forehead creased as she reviewed the footage. “Yeah, I think so.”
Rachel and Simone both jumped up and cheered. At their feet, the body bag jerked and writhed. Rachel pulled the zipper down, laughing and apologizing as Laura coughed. Already, colour was seeping back into her body as her heart restarted. She offered her a steadying hand and pulled her to her feet, hugging her as she regained her balance.
“Shot was good?” she asked, still a bit dazed. The wall of nods and smiles around her told her everything she needed to know.
“Wait!” Miriam threw up a hand as she cycled back through the stationary camera recording. Her face scrunched up in displeasure. “The shot was fucking off! Goddamnit!”
The group rushed over to review together. Indeed, the top third of Laura was cut off as she sank to the ground, with Rachel's head ducking out-of-shot every time she gave her breath.
Laura groaned. Rachel glanced around sheepishly.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again. Maybe Teresa can stay here and film since we already have the ambulance footage. That way, we only have to redo the first part,” Rachel offered.
“You mean the clearly better idea that I had? Yeah, sounds good.” Teresa pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Hey! Rachel’s idea had merit!” Laura punched back. “The fixed angle would have given that cinema variety you keep asking for.”
“It’s vérité, love, and Teresa has a point. It won’t be that long a delay. Let’s restart in an hour.” She glanced at Laura for confirmation, who nodded rapidly.
“Alright. Sorry for being snippy,” Teresa replied.
“So, what are we supposed to do?” Simone asked. Both she and Miriam stood awkwardly to the side.
“You know how to set up a camera?” Teresa said.
Simone shuffled over and began to fiddle with it while Laura fetched the carton of milk from the fridge. Miriam took a seat at the table and raised her glass, which Laura dutifully filled. They both drained their glasses at the same time, ravenous after the work.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Miriam said as she set her glass down in quiet satisfaction, “isn’t this, like, really morbid? Like—I don’t understand why you had to go and make it so sad, Rachel.”
“I mean, the videos where people don’t survive do really well,” Rachel stated matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but you added all this sad stuff. Like you crying over her body, and that you were going to adopt a kid. A kid? Come on. It seems kind of extreme.”
Rachel leaned in and rubbed her jaw in thought. “I guess it’s a lot, but tragedy can be sexy too.”
Miriam sighed. “No offense, Rachel—but I don’t think anyone’s out there saying Hamlet’s sexy, just to pick a random example.”
“I have to take the blame for this. At least a little,” Laura cut in playfully. “I thought the tragedy could be this sort of ironic or cathartic thing. ‘Cause what if I never got this way? What if I didn’t become immortal? My life could have ended exactly like this.” The bruise on her chest faded away with each word she spoke.
“I didn’t know they had gay marriage in the 70s,” Simone deadpanned.
“Come on, you know what I meant.” Laura huffed and jutted her lip.
Rachel was quickly scrolling through her phone. “I looked up sexy Hamlet and there’s lots of results, Miri. So I think you're wrong about that.”
“That’s not what I—”
Teresa spoke up. “If you take such issues with the story, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I tried to, but you just spoke over me.” Miriam crossed her arms.
Teresa rolled her eyes. “Fine. Next time, we’ll do a happier scenario for you. But I think it’s too late to change anything for this shoot.”
“I know that,” Miriam replied. “I just wanted to restate my misgivings.”
Teresa nodded and turned to Laura. “How are you holding up?”
She gingerly ran her hands over her chest, the bruise from earlier now completely vanished. “I’m alright. Pretty sure a rib is fractured, but fine otherwise.”
“Sorry, dear.” Rachel said with a frown.
“I think it was Miriam, actually.”
“Jesus, it just isn’t my day,” Miriam quipped.
“Can we slow down on the milk, you guys? We just got that, and it has to last us the week,” Rachel mentioned sternly.
A quiet fell over the group for the next several minutes, only broken by the occasional refilling of a water glass or a short exchange of words. Periodically, Laura would run her hands down her chest, checking if the rib had reset. She would then cast a sad gaze to the rest of the group and shake her head, until, finally—
“We should be good to go now,” she reported.
Teresa sighed in relief and shot to her feet. “Alright. Laura and Rachel, get set. Simone, Miriam—don’t get in the way. Let’s take it from the top.”
Everyone scattered into their positions.
“When you say don’t get in the way…?” Simone questioned.
“Just don’t be in the shot. Stay behind me. Or go outside. Or any other thing that won’t interfere.” Teresa was kneeling, moving her hand rapidly in front of the camera for reasons unknown to them.
“Okay… well, see you guys in a few!” Miriam waved and left the premises with her girlfriend on her arm.
Rachel joined Laura. She had turned on the stove and was already pouring pancake batter into the skillet. “You ready, my love?”
She nodded, ablaze with enthusiasm. “Always.”
Teresa took her post. “Three! Two! One! Action!” Laura Kaube was the luckiest woman alive.
It's not a phrase I often use personally but I do think the cardiophile community as a whole lucked out with the phrase "heart horny." It's alliterative, it's short at just three syllables, it's balanced between sounding sweet and being raw as fuck. Great work everyone
Does anyone have a preference for how the Doctor wears the stethoscope during a resus roleplay scenario?
Looped over neck (Pic 1)
Earpieces hanging around neck (Pic 2)
Earpieces around neck, chestpiece tucked into pocket (Pic 3)
Not being worn, but the stethoscope lays on a surgical cart (Pic 4)
Voting ended onApr 27, 2025
The thought randomly occurred to me. I’d love to hear everyone’s opinions.
Here’s my thoughts on each one;
Looped over the neck: A solid classic. The position us cardiophiles all know and love. Looks very professional. It looks good if you like your doctor working your chest in a hospital setting. Swings in time with each compression. Though it takes a little longer to deploy, the movement is aesthetically pleasing nonetheless.
Earpieces around the neck with chestpiece hanging: Also a classic, though I see this one more in content like BioMed and OPandER’s works. I like it because it’s more easy to access, slot the earpieces in, and the chestpiece is near arm level. Good for efficient doctors who need to get that stethoscope on your chest, stat. Also swings in time with each compression, though not as much as when it’s looped over the neck.
Earpieces around neck, chestpiece tucked into pocket: Same as above, but with the chestpiece neatly tucked into the pocket, it makes it easily accessible too, as the doctor don’t have to reach far after inserting the earpieces.
Not being worn, but the stethoscope lays on a surgical cart: This isn’t one I’ve seen in content, but it has good potential for darker roleplays. You lay on an operating table, surrounded by cardiac monitoring equipment. A surgical cart lays nearby, laden with all sorts of fun tools. A defibrillator, cardiac drugs in syringes, electrodes for the ecg, an ambubag, and a stethoscope. A pair of gloved hands reach for the stethoscope, you’re at the doctor’s mercy now.
