I was so excited to finally have my first official date with her. We had been friends since college but had drifted to different cities and careers before both eventually settling in NYC. I was new-ishly single and had finally gathered the courage to ask her out. She was dealing with some family issues and was excited to get out and forget about her problems for a bit.
We met at a cocktail bar in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. She looked beautiful, wearing a white sweater and jeans, makeup done beautifully. She was femme but not overly so. Simple and elegant. Not awkward. Not like me. Maybe it was her personality, maybe it was the age gap (with her being 7 years my senior), maybe it was the fact that she knew she had a lot to offer. Smart, funny, caring, independent. I wanted to be with her and I wanted to be like her.
We chatted for a few hours over cocktails and snacks. I confessed to her that I had this crush on her for years. She blushed. Her cheeks were rosy for the rest of the evening. She kept complaining she was warm and took off her sweater, spending the rest of our chilly November date in a low V-neck tshirt. I tried to not look at her chest but it was so inviting. Just enough cleavage to pique my interest. Her arms and face were warm to the touch.
The bar filled as the night went on and it became hard to hear, so I invited her back to my place a few blocks away. I hadn’t planned on this but I also emergency cleaned beforehand just in case. I awkwardly asked to hold her hand as we walked, and slowly we made it back to my place. I noticed her getting seemingly winded talking as we walked, but assumed she was tired and a little drunk.
She paused quite often to catch her breath on the four flight walk up to my place. I stayed slow with her, but was getting concerned. Was she ill? Did she have asthma?
We made it into my apartment and she immediately collapsed in a chair. I rushed to bring her some water and she breathlessly heaved, “I’m sorry.....it took me....so long....to get up here....I don’t know....what’s going on....”. I patted her on the back and she took the water.
“hey, it’s ok,” I said. “take your time and catch your breath. are you sick?”
“No....” she said. “I just feel really out of breath and I feel like something is sitting on my chest.”
I helped her up and moved her to the bed, propping her up with pillows. “Let’s get you comfortable and see if helps,” I said. “Just try to relax. I’m here for you.”
She took a few deeper breaths. “Thank you”
I sat with her and her breathing seemed to return to normal. I squeezed her hand. She breathed deeply and grimaced in pain, throwing her head back as she moaned and gasped again for air.
“Oh my god!” I shouted, releasing her hand from my grip and grabbing her shoulders to try and hold her still and comfort her.
“I....can’t..breathe” she stuttered between gasps, her chest heaving.
I immediately lept to the other side of the apartment to grab my phone from my bag and call 911. A dispatcher picked up right away and I was back at her side rubbing her shoulder trying to keep her alert and comforted.
The dispatcher asked me questions about her medical history that I had no idea how to answer before instructing me to try and get her on a flat and solid surface in case she needed CPR before the ambulance arrived. I didn’t want to hurt her. While I’m strong I know I’m not strong enough to pick up another woman of my same stature. I noticed tears running down her face as I leaned in to try and get her up off the bed and onto the floor. I felt myself breaking down as I held her for that brief time.
“Hang in there, please..” I pleaded.
She was able to support her own weight getting off the bed and I gently lowered here to the ground. Her eyes were distant, she was gasping. The dispatcher told me to try and keep her alert by putting a little pressure on her sternum so I did, trying to reassure her the whole time that help was on the way and to please stay with me. After a few minutes though the gasping stopped.
I pressed my ear to her chest to try and hear if her heart was beating before tilting her head back, pinching her nose and giving her two breaths. I felt for a pulse in her neck and felt nothing so I got up on my knees and locked my hands in the center of her chest to give her compressions.
“Come on come on come on,” I whispered as I pushed down, losing count. The dispatcher recommended doing 30 and then 2 more breaths, and I repeated that cycle 5 times before the paramedics arrived. Her body was lifeless, shaking gently with each thrust. I didn’t want to hurt her but I didn’t know what else to do with her.
Once the medics arrived they immediately got down on the floor with her, cutting open her shirt and attaching her to an EKG as well as getting her intubated. A paramedic immediately began chest compressions while an IV was started. She went into VFib as a result of the injection into the IV and received her first shock, which jolted her upper body up off the floor ever so slightly, her breasts jiggling and head falling to the side. The EKG whined and compressions resumed again. More drugs, more minutes, another defib. Still no pulse. She wasn’t responding. It had been 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity.
They pushed drugs a third time to get a shockable rhythm. The vigorous compressions stopped after the pads charged to 360 and she was hit again. The shock left her still in VFib, so it was immediately followed with another. The monitor whined briefly after the electricity ran its course and then began to register a faint beeping. I watched her stomach rise and fall from the air supplied by the ambu bag.
“We have a pulse, let’s get her loaded up,” one of the medics announced




















