Cpr Is Life

I’m m italian Canada >NO ONE UNDER 18 or you will be blocked also love role play

[dr-jesusresus]

The Office Reckoning

Jesus adjusted the collar of his black button up shirt in the reflection of the office window. At just 23, he was one of the youngest analysts on the team. He had been feeling off all morning. A strange tightness in his chest that he chalked up to stress and too many late nights debugging spreadsheets. He powered through another email, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Then it hit.

A crushing pain exploded behind his sternum, radiating down his left arm like fire. His vision blurred. The room tilted. Jesus tried to stand, gripping the edge of his desk, but his legs gave out.

“Jesus? You okay, man?” his coworker called out.

He collapsed to the carpeted floor, gasping, the black fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest as he clutched at it. Voices rose in panic. Someone shouted for help. A woman nearby screamed.

“Call 911!”

Within minutes, the sharp wail of sirens pierced the building. Two paramedics burst through the glass doors, equipment bags swinging. They dropped to their knees beside Jesus, who was now unconscious, his long brown hair fanned out across the floor.

“Clear the area!” one medic ordered, a woman with steady hands. She ripped open his black button-up shirt, buttons scattering, exposing his chest. Her partner immediately started chest compressions, deep, rhythmic pushes right over Jesus’s sternum.

“One and two and three and four…” she counted aloud, the heels of her palms driving down with force. The other medic cut away more of the shirt for better access. Jesus’s body jerked slightly with each compression. His long hair shifted with the motion. A coworker stood frozen nearby, phone still in hand, whispering, “Come on, Jesus… stay with us.” …….

[dr-jesusresus]

1989

The Year was 1989. Rock and Roll still ruled the airwaves, spilling out of car speakers and bedroom radios, gritty guitar riffs, big choruses, and voices that sounded like they’d been dragged across miles of highway. It was the kind of music that made everything feel bigger than it was: your dreams, your anger, your nights that stretched too long. Cassette tapes clicked and rewound, posters curled slightly at the corners, and the world seemed caught between rebellion and something new just around the bend.At home, though, things were smaller. Quieter.The hum of a lamp. The soft buzz of a late-night station playing somewhere in the background. A half-finished drink sitting forgotten on the table. The kind of stillness that settles in after midnight, when the rest of the world feels far away. Something isn’t right. Time stretches in strange ways. The song changes, but you barely notice. The room tilts not dramatically, just enough to feel wrong. Breathing becomes something you have to think about, not something that just happens. A voice. Urgent now. Someone realizing. “Hey… hey, can you hear me?” The quiet breaks all at once. The calm is gone, replaced by sharp panic. Hands on your shoulders, trying to keep you upright. The music is abruptly cut off, leaving only voices and the sound of something falling to the floor. “Call 911. Now.” You’re lowered down, carefully but quickly. There’s a rush of motion, someone kneeling beside you, checking your breathing, your pulse. The room that felt so still moments ago is suddenly full of action, fear, and determination. “Stay with me. Come on, stay with me.”Then the rhythm changes again, this time not music, but hands pressing firmly, counting under their breath. CPR. Steady, urgent, or maybe just desperate. “One, two, three, four…”Each compression is an attempt to pull you back, to keep something going that’s trying to stop. Paramedics move fast when they arrive. There’s the sound of equipment being set down, the snap of something opened, the quiet efficiency of people who have done this before. The room fills with motion again. “Come on… you’re okay… just stay…”“Starting compressions.” Hands locked at the center of your chest. Then the rhythm began stronger, more precise now than before. Not rushed. “One, two, three, four…”“Pulse check….hold compressions.” A brief pause. Just a second or two, but it felt like everything hung in that space. “We got him back .” back but for how long……

[dr-jesusresus]

Bikini Blues

this story was written for @torment-steth-repeat @torture-steth-repeat newest post hope you enjoy

The apartment complex pool was empty except for the body floating face down in the deep end.

Torment.

She was wearing that loud, colourful bikini again. Her dark hair fanned out around her head like spilled ink. One arm drifted lazily, as if she were just taking the world’s most committed nap.

He saw her from the gate, dropped his board bag, and sprinted.

By the time he hit the water, he was already screaming her name. The splash barely registered. He hooked an arm under her chin, kicked hard, and hauled her to the surface.

He got her to the edge, rolled her out onto the burning concrete like a beached siren. No one else around. Just the cicadas and the smell of chlorine and the sun cooking the water off her skin.

As he leaned his ear to her chest, she wasn’t breathing.

He straddled her right there on the pool deck, knees scraping rough aggregate, palms finding the center of her chest. The bikini top had ridden up; he didn’t bother fixing it. No time for modesty.

He locked his arms and started.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Each compression drove her shoulder blades against the concrete with a dull, wet thud. Water streamed from her mouth and nose in rhythmic pulses. He counted aloud, voice cracking, the numbers echoing off the empty lounge chairs.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Her tattoo flexed under his hands like it was taunting him.

Thirty. He pinched her nose, sealed his mouth over hers, and blew hard. Her chest rose. Fell. Stayed still.

Again.

He shifted his weight forward, using every ounce of his weight.  Her body jerked with each hard compression. Her breasts glisten in the sun, a bruise starting to form with each push as he tries desperately to save her life.

“Come on, Torment,” he snarled, sweat pouring off him, mixing with the pool water already drying on her skin. “You do not get to die  like this.”

Another set. Another. His palms were raw, shoulders on fire.

Then it happened.

A choking, furious gasp. Her back arched off the concrete as she coughed up water. He rolled her onto her side instantly, hand between her shoulder blades, thumping hard while she coughed and retched and clawed at the air.

When her eyes snapped open ( furious, alive), they found his face hovering six inches above hers.

“You… broke my fucking ribs,” she croaked, in a joking way

He laughed, breathless and shaking, and collapsed beside her on the hot deck, staring up at the merciless blue sky.

“Yeah, well,” he panted, “you stopped breathing. I got creative.”

.........to be continued if liked, tell me what to add as well

[protectyaheart]

Is there anyone who needs to be resuscitated right now?~

[dr-jesusresus]

Fr anytime

[dr-jesuscpr]

"Breathe, Silvia" Part 4

The ambulance skidded to a stop beneath the hospital’s emergency bay lights, tires squealing softly as the rear doors flung open. The paramedics leaped into action, unloading the stretcher with practiced speed. Silvia, still pale and trembling beneath the oxygen mask, was alive but just barely.

“She’s got a pulse, but she’s circling the drain,” the female medic shouted to the ER team rushing toward them. “Oxygen at 15 liters. We need a crash room ready—she coded twice en route!”

Jesus jumped out of the rig behind them, stumbling slightly, his legs like jelly. “I—I’m going with her.” The older medic placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “This is gonna get rough in there. You sure?”

Jesus didn’t hesitate. “I’m not leaving her again.”

The paramedic nodded and waved him forward. “Then stay out of the way and don’t touch anything.”

They rolled Silvia down the hallway at a sprint, the stretcher wheels rattling against the floor, the fluorescent lights overhead flashing across her face like stuttering lightning. The air was heavy with urgency, monitors beeping, nurses barking out vitals, and doctors rushing to clear the path to the trauma bay.

As soon as they entered the resuscitation room, a team of ER staff surrounded Silvia like a pit crew. Her gurney was locked in place as her vitals were rattled off.

“BP’s dropping—she’s hypotensive again!”

“Pulse thready—getting weaker!”

“Push fluids, wide open. Get a second line in. Call respiratory and prep for intubation.”

“Remove everything,” one of the nurses ordered, snapping on fresh gloves.

Jesus stood just inside the doorway, pressed against the wall, his heart in his throat as he watched the team descend around Silvia. They began cutting away the last of her clothes with surgical shears swift, and efficient, The fabric fell in tatters to the floor, leaving her bare beneath the fluorescent lights.

Someone draped a thin sheet over her lower half, but everything else remained exposed. Electrodes were quickly reapplied to her chest, an IV was jammed into her other arm. Her skin was pale, a bluish tinge just beginning to creep around her lips.

Then her body gave a sudden shudder.

The monitor wailed.

“She's coding again!” a nurse shouted.

Jesus’s breath caught. “No—no, not again.”

“Flatline. Full arrest!”

The sheet was removed fully exposing her.

“Start compressions!” The lead Doctor said.

A nurse climbed onto a step stool beside the bed and began chest compressions immediately, her elbows locked, hands positioned firmly over Silvia’s sternum. Silvia’s body jolted under each thrust forceful. Her chest caved rhythmically beneath the medic’s weight, her head bobbing slightly from the movement, arms limp at her sides. Her breasts jiggled from the force.

Another nurse was already prepping the defibrillator. Gel pads were slapped onto her bare chest, the machine charging with a rising, electric whine. "shes in VFIB stand clear"

“Charging to 200 joules. Clear!”

Everyone stepped back.

Jesus froze as Silvia’s back arched violently, her body lifted off the stretcher as the shock surged through her. The sound of the jolt cracked through the room like a whip, and then silence.

"Flatline."

“Go again!” the lead doctor barked. “Start compressions. Epi, now!”

Silvia’s chest was once again crushed beneath the weight of compressions, She was surrounded by people doing everything they could to force her heart back to life—but her body remained unresponsive, pale, fragile.

Jesus couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

But he watched. He had to watch. If she was going to leave this world, he refused to let her do it alone.

A nurse glanced over at him, her eyes softening for a brief moment before she refocused on her task.

The female paramedic who had ridden with them entered the room quietly and stepped beside Jesus.

“They’re doing everything,” she said softly, her voice low. “Don’t lose hope yet.”

Another shock. Another violent jolt. Silvia’s body jumped, then slumped again. Her Breasts glisten with gel and her nipples hard.

The monitor beeped—then flatlined again.

Jesus felt something in his chest crack.

“Come on,” one of the doctors whispered under his breath as he continued compressions pushing down hard on her exposed chest, sweat now dripping down his brow. “Come back, Silvia.”

A nurse leaned over and gently ventilated her lungs with the bag valve mask, the whoosh of air keeping rhythm with the compressions. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

Then—

A beep.

Faint.

Another.

Then a rhythm.

“She’s got something!” someone cried.

The room froze.

The lead doctor leaned in, eyes on the monitor. “That’s a pulse! Sinus rhythm, weak but regular!”

“She’s back!” the nurse at her side confirmed.

Jesus let out a choked sob, his knees buckling. He grabbed the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his hands shaking, heart pounding.

Silvia lay motionless on the stretcher, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead, her chest now rising on its own, slowly, unevenly. Nurses covered her gently, rechecking lines, and stabilizing her vitals.

A voice called out: “Get ICU on standby. She’s not out of danger yet, but she’s back.”

Jesus could barely hear them. All he could do was watch her—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the slow blink of her eyelids as she stirred, weakly.

He reached out, gently touching her fingers, whispering, “You came back… You came back to me.”

Silvia didn’t speak, but her hand curled—just slightly—around his.

And that was enough.

should she live or die ?

[dr-jesuscpr]

"Breathe, Silvia" Part 3

The ambulance rocked, the sirens wailing as the paramedics worked tirelessly, the flashing lights casting shadows across Silvia’s face. She looked so small on the stretcher, her body almost swallowed by the sterile white sheets and equipment that surrounded her. The oxygen mask clung to her face, still keeping her alive—but just barely.

Jesus sat beside her, his hand never leaving hers. The pulse in her wrist was faint, barely perceptible, but it was there. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, the touch almost desperate.

"Please, Silvia. Please, just hold on," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The paramedic in the back with them, the older man, leaned over the stretcher, checking the readings on the monitor. His face was tense, the faintest trace of worry crossing his features.

“Vitals are still low,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the oxygen levels and the IV drip. “Her blood pressure’s tanking. Her pulse is weak. We need to stabilize her before we get to the hospital.”

The female medic, who had been working alongside him, looked at the screen, then back at Jesus. “We’ve got to keep her stable, but it’s touch and go. She’s not out of the woods yet.”

Jesus nodded, unable to speak. His heart was in his throat, a constant lump of fear that he couldn’t swallow down.

Then it happened.

A sharp beep sounded from the monitor. The rhythmic sound of Silvia’s faint pulse had disappeared. It was replaced by an alarming flatline.

“Shit!” the male medic swore, slamming his hand down onto the chest pad, checking Silvia’s pulse again.

Nothing. “She's in full arrest again!” he shouted.

The younger medic immediately swung into action. “We’re going to shock her again!”

“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient.” “Shock advised. Charging…”

Everyone froze. Jesus held his breath.

The ambulance jerked with the shock.

Silvia’s body arched violently—her back lifting off the stretcher as the electrical current coursed through her. Her limbs stiffened, her fingers curled in spasm. Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment—glassily, unseeing as if she were trying to focus on something, but there was nothing there.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the seizure-like movement ended. Her body collapsed back onto the stretcher, limp once more.

“Start compressions again!” the woman ordered, as she moved into position.

The male medic moved to her side, hands pressing down on Silvia’s chest with brutal force. Her body jerked violently again as if her chest was a ragdoll under the pressure. The sound of ribs cracking under the force echoed in Jesus’s mind, the sound of life being forced back into her fragile body.

Her head tilted slightly with each thrust, and the slightest tremor passed through her limbs, but her body had no more fight left. Every push of the medic’s hands felt like it was working against the very life that was left in her.

“I’m not letting you go, Silvia,” Jesus said, his voice cracking as he leaned over her, watching the faint movement of her chest rise and fall, a shaky attempt to breathe. “Don’t you leave me?”

The female medic, keeping her gaze locked on the monitor, gave the order.

“Push epinephrine—one more dose,” she said.

The younger medic grabbed the syringe and quickly administered the medication, as the male medic continued the chest compressions. The ambulance bounced over the uneven road, but they didn’t stop. They couldn’t.

“Please, please,” Jesus whispered, leaning close to her ear, his voice trembling with desperation. “I love you, Silvia. Stay with me. Don’t leave me.”

The paramedics continued their work, but this time, their actions were less frantic and more focused. Her chest rose with each breath they forced into her lungs, and with each compression, her body was showing signs of life. Her pulse, still weak, was steadying just enough to give them hope.

Her pulse begins to rise

The paramedics continued, stabilizing her as best they could, but Jesus was no longer desperate. He was just… relieved. His heart, which had felt as though it had been ripped from his chest moments before, was now slowly beginning to piece itself back together.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not sure who he was thanking, but thankful nonetheless. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Silvia’s forehead, his fingers trembling.

“Stay with me, Silvia,” he said again, this time with more certainty. “We’re not done yet.”

“Jesus…” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, so quiet he almost missed it. “I’m… so… tired…”

“You’re going to be okay, Silvia. You’re here. I’m not going to leave you.”

Then we pull up to the hospital ......  TO BE CONTINUED

[dr-jesuscpr]

"Breathe, Silvia Part 2

The sound of sirens pierced the night like a scream that refused to end. Red and blue lights painted the walls of the apartment in pulses. Jesus barely registered the sound of the front door being kicked open—his focus was tunneled, locked onto Silvia's unmoving face.

"Sir! Step back, we’ve got her!"

A pair of paramedics one older, with a salt-and-pepper beard, and a younger woman with a sharp, commanding voice rushed in with a stretcher and gear. Jesus scrambled backward, his knees aching from the relentless CPR, his chest heaving as if he were the one fighting for air.

"Unresponsive, no pulse, unknown downtime," he choked out. "She just collapsed."

"How long has she been down?" the woman barked as she dropped to her knees beside Silvia.

"Maybe five minutes..maybe more...I don’t know."

"Get the bag and monitor. Starting compressions again."

The older medic slid beside Silvia and took over immediately. His hands were larger than Jesus’, his compressions stronger, faster, deeper. Silvia’s chest bowed with each thrust her whole body rocked in place, her arms jolting stiffly, her head gently bobbing in sync with the brutal rhythm.

The younger medic snapped open the AED case and ripped open Silvia’s shirt, exposing her chest. She pressed two sticky pads down—one on her upper right chest, the other on her lower left ribcage. “Pads on,” she said. The AED spoke in an electronic voice:

“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient.”

Jesus held his breath, eyes locked on Silvia’s face—still, her eyelashes unmoving, her lips slightly parted.

“Shock advised. Charging…”

“Clear!” she shouted.

Everyone froze. Jesus held his breath.

The defibrillator delivered a jolt—Silvia’s body arched, her back lifting off the floor slightly, then dropped like a ragdoll. Her breasts jiggled her nipples were hard from the cold air. Still no sound. No breath. No twitch of returning life.

“Shock delivered. Still no rhythm. Resuming compressions.”

Again her chest collapsed under the weight of the medic’s hands. Jesus stared, helpless, as her body absorbed each movement but gave nothing back. Gasps of air are forced out as they push deep into her chest, no fluttering eyelids, not even a flinch. Her limbs trembled from the force but stayed limp, fingers curled unnaturally. Her face, once so expressive and full of life, now looked porcelain and still.

“We need an airway!” the woman called out, already tearing open an intubation kit.

She tilted Silvia’s head back, opened her mouth, and gently inserted a laryngoscope. Her movements were swift but careful, sliding the breathing tube down Silvia’s throat, then attaching a bag valve mask.

“Bag her...now.”

With each squeeze of the mask, her chest rose and fell, mechanical and forced. But there was no spark behind it. No return. Only the sound of rushing air, artificial and empty.

“Still asystole,” the male medic muttered, glancing at the monitor.

“No electrical activity?” Jesus asked, barely recognizing his own voice.

The medic shook his head grimly. “Flatline.”

“Push one milligram of epinephrine, IV.”

Jesus watched as the woman jabbed a needle into Silvia’s arm, injecting the medication directly into her bloodstream. Then more compressions. More air. Another shock.

Nothing.

“Come on, Silvia!” Jesus begged, his voice breaking.

The male medic glanced up at the monitor, his face grim. “Still nothing. We’ve lost electrical activity. We’re gonna need a miracle at this point.”

“No…” Jesus whispered, his hands trembling. “She can’t be… gone.”

“Let’s go again,” the female medic said, her voice firm, unshaken by the hopelessness in the air. “We’re not done yet.”

The medic started another round of compressions, pressing harder than ever, his hands pounding against Silvia’s chest her breast ripple from the force. Jesus watched, feeling like his own heart was being torn out with each push. Her body jolted under the force, her limp form barely responding. The only sound was the sharp, rhythmic thud of the compressions and the artificial hissing of the bag valve mask as the air was pumped into her unresponsive lungs.

“Clear!” the woman shouted again.

Then, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, the monitor gave a small, erratic beep.

"Is that—?" Jesus’s voice cracked.

The female medic’s hand shot to the monitor, adjusting the settings, her eyes darting to Silvia’s chest.

"That’s a pulse!" she exclaimed, almost disbelievingly.

“Come on, Silvia, come on…” Jesus whispered, gripping her hand tighter, unable to believe what he was hearing. Her pulse was weak and erratic, but it was there. A pulse.

Silvia’s body gave another shudder, this time her head tilting to the side as if she were trying to speak, but no words came. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, ragged and uneven.

The paramedics immediately began working faster, unconnecting the tube, giving her an oxygen mask, adjusting the IV line, and checking their heart rate. But despite the small victory, her body still seemed so fragile, so unwilling to cooperate with the revival.

“We’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak,” the woman medic reported, her voice now focused. “We need to get her to the hospital fast. Her heart’s still not stable.”

“I’m coming with her,” Jesus said immediately, standing up and getting out of the way as they moved her onto the stretcher. His hand was still clutching hers, unwilling to let go.

“We’ll need you to stay calm,” the male medic warned, as they prepared to lift the stretcher.

“I’m staying with her. I’m not leaving her,” Jesus said fiercely, his voice breaking as he looked down at Silvia, still so pale, still barely alive. “I can’t.”

“Alright. We’ll do everything we can. Just stay with her.”

The paramedics wheeled Silvia out, the stretcher rolling smoothly but quickly. Jesus followed, his heart hammering in his chest as he walked beside her, watching the rise and fall of her chest—barely there, but it was something. Her pulse was weak, but it was there.

For the first time in what felt like hours, he let himself breathe.

“Stay with me, Silvia. Just stay with me,” he whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED

part 1 can be found https://www.tumblr.com/dr-jesuscpr/780456114192105472/breathe-silvia-part-1

[dr-jesuscpr]

"Breathe, Silvia" Part 1

Jesus and Silvia had been dating since high school, inseparable from the day they locked eyes in gym class. Now both were 20, Jesus was 5ft 10 long hair with an average build, and a Gote with a Ghost face shirt on, and Silvia was 5 ft 4, with a slim build with perky breasts, dyed black hair, with a motley crew shirt on. They’d finally moved into a tiny apartment together, with fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling and a stack of takeout containers balancing dangerously on the coffee table. It was their Friday night ritual—blankets, popcorn, and bad horror movies.

Tonight’s pick was some zombie flick with low-budget gore and cheesy dialogue. Silvia was curled up beside Jesus, her head on his shoulder, blanket pulled up to her chin.

Halfway through the movie, she shifted suddenly, clutching her chest.

Jesus looked down. “Hey… you okay?”

Silvia didn’t answer. Her brow was furrowed, lips parted slightly, eyes blinking rapidly. Then she gasped, her body tensing, and slid off the couch to the floor as her strength drained in an instant.

“Silvia!” Jesus dropped beside her, panic already rising in his throat. Her breathing was shallow frantic, then raspy then… it stopped. He grabbed her wrist.

No pulse.

“Silvia?! No, no, no—come on!”

His hands fumbled for his phone, hitting 911 with shaking fingers.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My girlfriend...she collapsed...she’s not breathing she has no pulse—I think her heart stopped!”

“Okay, sir, I need you to stay calm. Are you trained in CPR?”

“Yes—yes, I am.”

“Begin chest compressions now. I’ll stay on the line.”

He dropped the phone on speaker and positioned his hands over her sternum, just like they taught him. Fingers interlocked, elbows locked, he started pushing.

Her chest rocked under the pressure, jerking slightly with each compression. The rhythm was brutal—one, two, three, four—deep and fast. Her arms moved stiffly with the force, her head lolling slightly to the side. Her body gave no resistance, only the weight of gravity. There were little heaves of air with each push, no signs of life.

“Come on, Silvia...breathe. Please.”

Thirty compressions.

He tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and gave two breaths. Her chest rose and fell—but then fell still.

No response.

He went back to compressions. The thud of his hands against her chest echoed in his ears, louder than the 911 operator, louder than the movie still playing quietly in the background.

Her limbs bounced slightly with each thrust, lifeless and limp. Sweat poured down his face as he worked. Tears were building now, hot and fast.

He leaned down again—breath, breath—nothing. filling her lungs with his hot air

Her lips were cool. Her skin was growing pale. Still no pulse.

“Please, Silvia. Please. Wake up.”

The operator’s voice crackled through the phone. “Paramedics are en route. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

But Jesus could feel it—the weight of her stillness. The terrifying quiet that pressed against his chest harder than anything else.

And yet he kept going. Because he had to.

Because she had to come back. TO BE CONTINUED.....

[dr-jesusresus]

New story

[dr-jesuscpr]

A Test of Limits

Silvia a 20 year old sat in the hospital room, the hum of the defibrillator’s standby mode filling the air. Monitors displayed her heart rhythm—a steady sinus beat—while her breathing came in shallow, measured draws. “Are you sure about this?” Dr. Elena Carrington asked again, her voice steady but laced with concern. Silvia nodded, her grip tightening on the paddles in her hands. She was determined to face her fear and fascination head-on, even if it meant walking the fine line between life and death. “I’ll start at 50 joules,” Silvia said, her voice trembling. Elena exchanged a glance with the head nurse, who stood nearby with an ambu bag in hand, ready for any outcome. The room was tense, the air heavy with anticipation.

Silvia pressed the paddles to her chest and exhaled slowly. With a deep breath, she pushed the button. The jolt, sharp and stinging, coursed through her body. Her muscles contracted involuntarily, and her back arched slightly off the bed. She let out a shaky gasp as the charge dissipated, leaving a faint ache in her chest. “How do you feel?” Elena asked, her eyes scanning the monitors. Silvia swallowed hard. “It… wasn’t what I expected. Let’s go higher.” “Silvia, we don’t need to—” “Please,” Silvia interrupted, her voice pleading. “I need to do this.” Reluctantly, Elena nodded. “100 joules. But this is it.”

At 100 joules, the effect was more intense. The shock hit her like a lightning bolt, forcing a sharp cry from her lips. Her heart skipped a beat, and the monitor briefly fluttered with irregular activity before stabilizing. Her breathing was ragged now, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. But the pull to go further was still there, stronger than her fear. “150,” Silvia whispered. “No,” Elena said firmly. “We’re stopping—” “I need this!” Silvia shouted, her voice cracking. The room fell silent. After a long pause, Elena sighed deeply. “150. But Silvia, this is dangerous.”

The shock at 150 joules was unlike anything Silvia had ever felt. Her body jerked violently, her arms flinging out as the paddles fell from her hands. Her heart rate spiked wildly before plummeting into a chaotic rhythm on the monitor. “V-fib!” one of the nurses called out. Elena rushed to Silvia’s side, checking her pulse. It was faint and erratic. “Silvia, can you hear me?” she called, but Silvia’s eyes were unfocused, her consciousness slipping. “Charge to 200!” Elena barked.

The team worked quickly, placing the defibrillator paddles on Silvia’s chest. The machine beeped as it charged, the hum growing louder. “Clear!” The shock sent Silvia’s body into the air, her chest lifting off the bed before crashing back down making her breasts jiggle. The monitor beeped erratically, but her heart wasn’t responding. “Start compressions!” A nurse climbed onto the bed and began straddling chest compressions, her gloved hands pressing down hard on Silvia’s sternum. Each push sent a ripple through Silvia’s body, her head jerking slightly with every thrust air escaped her mouth "Huff, Huff". The sound of compressions filled the room, accompanied by the mechanical beep of the monitor. “Charge to 300,” Elena ordered.

Once the paddles were charged the nurse stepped down they then fully removed the hospital gown Silvia was in. Silvia's body lay limp exposed under the defib paddles as they waited for the go-ahead the head Dr Elena shouted "Everybody stand clear" They replied clear and Elena pressed the shock button "Shocking" she said sternly.

The next shock was brutal. Silvia’s body convulsed violently, her limbs flailing as the energy surged through her. But the monitor fell flat only a long "beeeep" remained "She's Flatlining" a nurse said. “Resume compressions!” Elena shouted her voice tight with urgency. The nurse continued CPR, her hands interlocked over Silva's breast bone pushing down with hard force. Sweat dripped down her face as she kept up the rhythm. Silvia’s face was pale, her lips tinged with blue. The ambu bag delivered oxygen with each squeeze, but there was no sign of recovery. “Push another round of epi!” A syringe was quickly handed to Elena, who injected the drug into Silvia’s IV line. “Charging again. 360,” Elena said, her voice trembling now.

The final shock was devastating. Silvia’s body jumped higher this time, the paddles nearly losing contact with her skin. The team held their breath, watching the monitor for any sign of life. Her body fell back onto the bed with force making her breasts jiggle.

Nothing. Elena’s hands trembled as she signaled for compressions to continue. The nurse’s hands pressed firmly into Silvia’s chest, her ribs creaking under the pressure. Each breath forced into her lungs made her chest rise and fall, but the flatline persisted. Minutes stretched on, the team working tirelessly to bring Silvia back.

But as the clock ticked past the 20-minute mark, Elena hesitated. Her eyes darted between Silvia’s lifeless body and the unyielding flatline on the monitor. “Call it?” a nurse whispered. Elena swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked at Silvia. She shook her head. “Not yet. One more round.” The room continued to buzz with frantic energy as they fought to pull Silvia from the brink, the outcome hanging in cruel uncertainty.

The room was quiet now, save for the relentless monotone of the heart monitor signaling Silvia’s flatline. The nurses stepped back one by one, their faces heavy with the weight of failure. “Elena,” one of them whispered, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s time to stop. She’s gone.” Elena didn’t answer. Her focus was solely on Silvia, her hands moving with mechanical precision as she pressed down on the young woman’s chest. Each compression was harder to sustain, her arms burning with effort, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “Come on, Silvia,” Elena muttered, her voice cracking. “You’re stronger than this. Come back.”

She paused only to squeeze the ambu bag, forcing air into Silvia’s lungs, before resuming the compressions. Her tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, refusing to let emotion overtake her. The nurses exchanged glances, their faces etched with sadness. One of them spoke up, softly but firmly. “Dr. Carrington, we’ve done everything we can. There’s nothing more to try.” Elena ignored them, her tears spilling freely now. Her compressions grew slower, weaker, her hands trembling with exhaustion. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Silvia,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

The seconds dragged into minutes, each one heavier than the last. Elena’s hands began to falter, her strength waning as reality set in. “Elena,” the head nurse said gently, stepping closer. “She’s gone. You have to let her go.” For a moment, Elena froze, her hands hovering over Silvia’s chest. Her gaze lingered on the young woman’s pale face, so still and lifeless. She searched for any flicker of hope, any reason to keep going, but the flatline on the monitor was unyielding.

Her shoulders sagged as the weight of the truth finally crashed down on her. With trembling hands, Elena finished one last round of compressions, her movements slow and deliberate. When there was no response, she let her hands rest on Silvia’s chest for a moment, feeling the stillness beneath her fingers. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled back, her gloved hands falling limp at her sides. She looked up at the clock on the wall, the numbers blurring through her tears. “Time of death,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “2:47 PM.” Elena peeled off her gloves, the snap of the latex echoing in the silent room. She placed them on the tray beside her, her hands trembling. The nurses began to move quietly, shutting off the defibrillator and silencing the monitor. Elena lingered for a moment longer, her eyes fixed on Silvia’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The nurses stepped out of the room, leaving Elena alone with Silvia. The quiet was suffocating, the finality of the moment pressing down on her. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Silvia’s forehead, her touch gentle and lingering. As she turned to leave, Elena hesitated at the door. She glanced back one last time, her heart aching with the weight of loss. Taking a deep breath, she walked out, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

[dr-jesusresus]

New story

[seasonofhorror]

THE ADDAMS FAMILY

1991, dir. Barry Sonnenfeld

[dr-jesusresus]

is it to much to ask for this kind of love

[dr-jesuscpr]

Lila's Convulsions Part 2

The pulse in Lila’s chest had been weak but steady when the team had finished the resuscitation. After securing her vitals and adjusting her machines, the doctors and nurses gradually left the room, one by one. Her hospital gown, bunched up from the frantic CPR efforts, was left half-pulled up, exposing her abdomen.

Clara lingered at the door, her hand still resting on the frame. She could feel the tension in her own body starting to ease now that Lila’s heart was beating again. She took one last glance at Lila before heading down the hall, silently praying the worst was over.

Moments passed, and the room was left quiet again, the only sound being the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor. Lila’s chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, her body still. But something began to stir. A sudden, violent tremor rippled through her body. Her legs kicked, then her arms jerked uncontrollably.

It happened fast.

Lila’s body convulsed on the bed, her eyes rolling back as her muscles seized and contracted. The heart monitor began to beep erratically, signaling the impending crisis. She was having a seizure.

Clara, at the nurse’s station, noticed the abnormal pattern on the monitor, her heart sinking. "Not again," she whispered, grabbing the emergency phone.

"Dr. Jesus, we need you back in 302!" Clara shouted as she sprinted down the hallway toward the room, her shoes slapping against the tile floor.

Dr. Jesus arrived almost as fast as Clara, the crash cart rolling behind him. They burst into the room, finding Lila’s body rigid, her chest heaving irregularly, and her hospital gown still disheveled from the earlier resuscitation.

Clara’s eyes widened in alarm. "She’s seizing," she said, her voice tight as she moved toward Lila’s bedside. "We need to stabilize her, fast!"

Dr. Jesus nodded sharply, already preparing the crash cart. They had to act quickly. He pulled the gown further up, exposing her chest, and immediately placed the defibrillator pads on her bare skin. There was no time for modesty—only survival. Clara rushed to assist, her hands shaking slightly as she checked Lila's vitals, watching her body tremble under the effects of the seizure.

The monitor blared again. Her heart was in chaos, unable to maintain a proper rhythm. Clara’s pulse quickened as she glanced up at Dr. Jesus. He was calm but focused, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“Charging,” he said, reaching for the defibrillator paddles. “Clear!”

The first shock jolted Lila’s body upward, her chest rising violently before crashing back down onto the bed. The room fell eerily silent for a beat, but then—nothing. The flatline persisted.

“Starting compressions,” Clara said, her voice steadier than her heart felt.

She placed her hands firmly on Lila’s chest, pressing down with controlled force, her own breaths matching the rhythm of each compression. Her mind raced, wondering how much more Lila’s fragile body could take.

Dr. Jesus prepared the next shock. “Clear!” he shouted again, sending another charge through Lila’s unresponsive body. This time, the monitor flickered. A faint pulse. They had something.

Clara kept her eyes fixed on Lila’s face, searching for any sign that she was fighting her way back. But her body was still trembling, the seizures continuing to wreak havoc.

"Come on, Lila, stay with us," Clara muttered under her breath as she continued compressions.

Dr. Jesus injected a dose of medication to calm the seizure and stabilize her heart. Slowly, painfully, the tremors began to subside. The erratic jerking of her limbs quieted, leaving her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Her heart rate steadied, though it was fragile.

Dr. Jesus let out a deep breath, glancing at Clara, his eyes filled with exhaustion but also hope. “We’ve got her back—for now.”

Clara exhaled in relief, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She carefully pulled Lila’s hospital gown back over her body, covering her body again with a sense of respect and care.

Lila was stable for the moment, but they knew how close she had come, once again, to slipping away. Clara stayed beside her, watching her every breath, unwilling to leave her alone this time.

“We’ll keep her monitored closely,” Dr. Jesus said, his voice softer now. “But she’s a fighter. She’s not giving up.”

Clara nodded, placing a gentle hand on Lila’s arm. The machines hummed quietly in the background, a reminder that life could hang on by the thinnest thread. And yet, Lila had fought through it, her body weak but her will unbroken.

[xoma66]

The full video is available on our manyvid account, enjoy a short preview.

[dr-jesusresus]

amazing work

[dr-jesuscpr]

Lila Convulsions part 1

In the dim light of Room 302, the faint hum of machines created a steady rhythm, the only sound piercing the stillness of the hospital ward. Lila James lay quietly, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. It had been three weeks since she was admitted—three weeks of unanswered questions and an illness that gnawed away at her strength.

Lila had always been full of life, the kind of woman who could light up a room with her laughter. But now, her once-vibrant brown eyes were clouded with exhaustion, her skin pale against the stark white of the hospital sheets. Her family had come and gone throughout the day, sitting vigil by her bedside, waiting for any sign of improvement. But none came.

The nurse on duty, Clara, glanced at Lila’s monitor as she passed by during her evening rounds. The heart rate was slow but steady—nothing alarming, but nothing promising either. Clara made a mental note to check in on her again soon. It was quiet tonight, unusually so, and she welcomed the chance to catch up on paperwork.

Minutes passed. In the silence of the room, something began to change.

At first, it was just a flicker—a slight irregularity in the steady beep of the heart monitor. Then, another. Lila’s chest shuddered, her breaths growing more erratic. Her hand, once limp at her side, twitched involuntarily. The monitor blared, its high-pitched alarm slicing through the quiet.

Clara’s head snapped up. She bolted to Lila’s room, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment she entered, she saw it: Lila’s body convulsing, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. The monitor screamed with warnings—tachycardia, arrhythmia—and then, suddenly, the line flattened.

Cardiac arrest.

"Code Blue! Room 302!" Clara shouted, her voice shaking as she leapt into action.

Within seconds, the room filled with doctors and nurses. The crash cart appeared, and a flurry of activity ensued. Dr. Jesus, the on-call physician, took charge.

“Start compressions,” he ordered as a nurse prepared the defibrillator.

Clara began chest compressions, her hands pressing firmly into Lila’s chest, trying to coax her heart back into rhythm. She counted out loud, her voice a steady metronome, though inside, her thoughts were racing.

“Charging... clear!” Dr. Jesus shouted.

The room fell silent for a brief moment as the defibrillator delivered a shock. Lila’s body jolted violently, but the monitor remained flat. Time was slipping away, and the urgency in the room intensified. The team continued to work, determined to bring her back.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing changed. The rhythm remained unbroken no heartbeat, no sign of life. But Clara refused to stop. She pushed harder, her arms aching, sweat beading on her forehead.

“Come on, Lila,” she whispered under her breath. “Come back.”

And then, faint but unmistakable—a pulse. The monitor beeped, and the once-flat line jumped back into motion, a weak but steady heartbeat emerging from the chaos.

Relief swept through the room like a wave. The team slowed their frantic pace, transitioning to stabilizing Lila. Dr.jesus checked her vitals, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s back,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with relief.

Clara stepped back, her hands trembling as she looked down at Lila, who was now breathing again, though still unconscious. The battle wasn’t over, but Lila had made it through the worst of the storm.

As the adrenaline faded, Clara found herself standing alone in the room for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Lila’s chest. She had seen many patients teeter on the edge between life and death, but something about this moment felt different. Maybe it was the fight Lila had put up, or perhaps it was the way the light in the room seemed a little warmer now, a little more hopeful.

to be continued

[dr-jesuscpr]

Maddie's Arrest

As Maddie lay motionless on the hospital bed, the room was filled with an eerie silence. The heart monitor displayed a flatline - a stark indication that her heart had stopped beating altogether. The alarms had ceased their incessant blaring, replaced by an ominous stillness.

The medical team, their faces etched with urgency and determination, confirmed the absence of a heartbeat. A grim reality settled over the room as they prepared to initiate CPR. They positioned themselves around Maddie's bed, one of the doctors announcing, "We've got no heartbeat. Begin chest compressions."

With synchronized precision, they began chest compressions, pressing down hard and fast on Maddie's chest, striving to create the artificial circulation that her body so desperately needed. The room was filled with the rhythmic thud of their efforts, each compression a desperate plea for life.

The defibrillator pads were placed on Maddie's chest as the machine charged up for its first shock. The electric jolt surged through her lifeless body, causing her limbs to twitch involuntarily. But it wasn't enough to revive her.

The medical team continued their efforts, relentlessly performing chest compressions and administering medications, their faces a reflection of both fatigue and determination. Time seemed to blur as they fought to bring Maddie back from the brink.

As minutes turned into hours, the room remained consumed by the agonising sound of compressions, the alarms serving as a constant reminder of the dire situation. It was a desperate battle against time, a battle they couldn't afford to lose.

The heart monitor displayed a relentless flatline, a stark testament to the absence of life within Maddie's chest. The room was filled with a solemn determination as the medical team continued their relentless chest compressions. Their hands worked in unison, driving down on Maddie's chest with all their strength a bruise visible on her chest.

The defibrillator pads remained firmly in place, ready to administer another shock. The machine was charged and discharged once more, electricity coursing through Maddie's motionless body. Still, the heart monitor remained stubbornly devoid of any activity.

Hours passed, but the medical team refused to yield. Sweat dripped from their brows, and their muscles ached from the unending exertion, but their resolve remained unshaken. The room echoed with the sound of each compression, each one a fervent plea to awaken Maddie's dormant heart. Her body bounced under the compressions

The head doctor occasionally checked the monitor and shook his head in dismay, but he refused to give up. "We can't lose her," he muttered, his voice filled with desperation. "Keep going, everyone. We're not stopping until we have a heartbeat."

The alarms that had fallen silent for hours were now a distant memory, replaced by the relentless cadence of CPR. Time seemed to lose all meaning in that room, where every second was an eternity. The medical team's efforts were fueled by hope and an unyielding commitment to Maddie's life.

The heart monitor displayed that faint, erratic blip, a fragile lifeline in the sea of uncertainty. The medical team continued their grueling chest compressions, their determination unwavering, but the passage of time hung heavily in the air.

The head doctor, his face etched with both hope and anxiety, watched the clock on the wall. Every second seemed to stretch into an eternity, each compression measured against the relentless march of time. He knew that they couldn't continue this level of intensity indefinitely.

"hold cpr," the head doctor called out, his voice quivering with exhaustion and tension. The room fell silent for a moment as the team paused, their hands hovering over Maddie's chest.

The heart monitor displayed that faint blip, a flicker of life that threatened to fade away. The seconds ticked away ominously, and the room felt frozen in time.

With a deep breath and renewed determination, the head doctor shouted, "Resume CPR!" The room exploded back into frenzied action. The compressions resumed, stronger and faster, each one an urgent plea for Maddie's heart to respond.

the medical team continued their relentless efforts, the rhythm of chest compressions echoing through the room. The heart monitor remained a flickering hope amidst the looming specter of time.

As the clock on the wall continued to tick, the head doctor checked the heart monitor again. This time, the blip was slightly stronger, a fragile glimmer of promise. The room held its breath as they pushed on, each compression a frantic struggle against time.

The medical team continued their relentless chest compressions, their hands driving deep into Maddie's chest in a desperate attempt to revive her, but time was slipping away.

The head doctor, his voice heavy with sorrow, watched the clock on the wall. Every second felt like an eternity, and he knew that they couldn't continue. He called out "hold cpr"

The room fell into a mournful silence as the medical team paused, their hands resting on Maddie's lifeless body. The heart monitor continued to display a flatline.

The head doctor, his shoulders slumped in defeat, announced with a heavy heart, "Time of death. 19:38" The room seemed to close in on itself as the weight of the moment settled over everyone present.

The relentless rhythm of chest compressions had given way to a profound and haunting silence.

The medical team slowly withdrew, their exhaustion and sorrow palpable. They had fought valiantly, but in the end, time had been their relentless adversary.

As the heart monitor displayed a flatline, the room remained hushed, a somber testament to the fragility of life. the nurses then unplugged the wires and covered Maddie with a sheet.

[resusartist2]

[resusartist2]

[resusartist2]

I spent way too long perfecting this, but I'm genuinely thrilled with how it turned out. The photo doesn't quite capture its essence—I wish I had a better camera! This self-portrait dates back a few years, right after a really intense experience. Drawing it was incredibly tough, but it brought me so much healing afterward.

I'm grateful I don't have a picture of myself from that day in the ER—I try not to dwell on it. But there was something inside me that needed to express this on paper. I must've cried about six times before finding the courage to share it; honestly, I wasn't sure I ever would. That day was frightening, but it's led to so many beautiful moments since.

It's strange—what once seemed alluring now feels deeply romantic and beautiful in a whole new light. Creating this piece felt like a major step forward in my journey to feeling whole again. I don't usually name my art, but this one felt different. I've titled it 'Death of a Girl.' A part of me died that day, and embracing that has been part of my healing journey. Sharing this publicly for the first time feels like a step toward letting go and embracing what's ahead.