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