All about hearts

I love reading all posts and writing stories about hearts and many other medical things.  In my 40s. I do not interact with under 18 y/o, or support underage content

[resusheart]

The Night Shift

Tonight, he was in charge of the post-surgical recovery unit, and the hours crawled by slower than usual. The monitors hummed softly, the fluorescent lights buzzed, and every second seemed to stretch thin across the quiet ward. Boredom gnawed at him. He wanted something—anything—to break the monotony.

Only one patient lay in the bay that night: a young woman, mid twenties, fresh from an emergency appendectomy. She was stable, still under light anesthesia, her breathing slow and steady. According to her chart, she had no listed contacts. No family. No one waiting. No one to call.

He stared at the file longer than necessary. The stillness in the room began to twist inside him.

The idea came to him like a whisper. He told himself it was curiosity—clinical curiosity. He’d been experimenting, after all. Testing limits, learning what the body could endure. And he really ejoyed it.

From his locker, he retrieved a small vial. It wasn’t part of hospital stock. He’d synthesized it himself months ago, a neuro-modulator with unpredictable effects. It wasn’t supposed to be used on humans—but tonight, there was no one around to stop him.

He moved quietly, careful to stay outside the view of the security cameras. With practiced precision, he drew the clear liquid into a syringe and slipped it into her IV line. Just a few milliliters. Enough for excitment and pleasure.

Then he waited.

At first, nothing happened. The monitors remained steady, her pulse slow but strong. Then, a minute later, the heart rate began to climb—100… 120… 140. He pretended to notice only when the alarm blared.

He called for the attending physician, his voice calm but urgent. “Doctor, we’ve got a problem here.”

By the time the doctor arrived, the patient’s heart rhythm was spiraling out of control. Ventricular tachycardia. She was crashing fast.

He joined the team as they began resuscitation, taking the lead with practiced efficiency. He placed himself over her, giving the best compresions he could while the whole code team of the hospital stormed the area. He was the one saving her, keeping her heart beating now. With every compression he could hear the air coming out of her mouth in short bursts. The doctors began pushing drugs, but they were useless against the agent he had injected into her, that would wear out after about 20 minutes, when they would probably be nearing the end of the code. Then it would become undetectable, even during an autopsy if it got to that. His compressions were steady, his face the mask of a professional under pressure. No one noticed the faint tremor of anticipation in his hands, or the faint smile that flickered at the corner of his mouth when the defibrillator pads were placed.

The shock made her body jerk violently, her heart flatlining before sputtering into chaos again. Around him, nurses confirmed medication doses, time stamps, orders—but he heard only the rhythm of the beeps, the rise and fall of chaos.

To everyone else, he was the calm center of the storm—the hero of the night.

Inside, he was ecstactic, watching, calculating.

To avoid any suspicion, this time, when someone offered to let him rest from doing compressions he accepted and switched to bagging her. He was very careful to give a full insuflation every time someone asked them to stop for a pulse check. He loved the sight of the bag going white with mist as it was filled with air that came out of her lungs and how it turned transparent again when he pushed air into her. This was the dance that he loved, the excitement he craved. The dance of life and death.

She was shocked time and time again, each time her body convulsing with the electricity that ran through it, and each time her heart proving to be unable to convert to a stable rythm. They got a pulse back for around 20 seconds and she converted again to PEA, Pulseless Electryc Tachycardia, they kept working on her and pushing drugs. Then, by what seemed like a miracle to all ecept him, she went into V.tach and when she was shocked once more they got a pulse back.

When, after twenty five endless minutes, her vitals finally stabilized, relief swept through the room. The attending clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work. You really caught it early. Without you she wouldn't have made it.”

He nodded, expression neutral. “Just doing my job.”

But as the others filed out, he looked back at the still figure on the bed, monitors blinking a slow, steady rhythm once more.

He didn’t feel guilt. He felt aroused.

He watched as they took the intubated patient on a portable ventilator to the ICU and he settled in his desk doing paperwork, waiting happily for his shift to end.

[resusheart]

The Night Shift

Tonight, he was in charge of the post-surgical recovery unit, and the hours crawled by slower than usual. The monitors hummed softly, the fluorescent lights buzzed, and every second seemed to stretch thin across the quiet ward. Boredom gnawed at him. He wanted something—anything—to break the monotony.

Only one patient lay in the bay that night: a young woman, mid twenties, fresh from an emergency appendectomy. She was stable, still under light anesthesia, her breathing slow and steady. According to her chart, she had no listed contacts. No family. No one waiting. No one to call.

He stared at the file longer than necessary. The stillness in the room began to twist inside him.

The idea came to him like a whisper. He told himself it was curiosity—clinical curiosity. He’d been experimenting, after all. Testing limits, learning what the body could endure. And he really ejoyed it.

From his locker, he retrieved a small vial. It wasn’t part of hospital stock. He’d synthesized it himself months ago, a neuro-modulator with unpredictable effects. It wasn’t supposed to be used on humans—but tonight, there was no one around to stop him.

He moved quietly, careful to stay outside the view of the security cameras. With practiced precision, he drew the clear liquid into a syringe and slipped it into her IV line. Just a few milliliters. Enough for excitment and pleasure.

Then he waited.

At first, nothing happened. The monitors remained steady, her pulse slow but strong. Then, a minute later, the heart rate began to climb—100… 120… 140. He pretended to notice only when the alarm blared.

He called for the attending physician, his voice calm but urgent. “Doctor, we’ve got a problem here.”

By the time the doctor arrived, the patient’s heart rhythm was spiraling out of control. Ventricular tachycardia. She was crashing fast.

He joined the team as they began resuscitation, taking the lead with practiced efficiency. He placed himself over her, giving the best compresions he could while the whole code team of the hospital stormed the area. He was the one saving her, keeping her heart beating now. With every compression he could hear the air coming out of her mouth in short bursts. The doctors began pushing drugs, but they were useless against the agent he had injected into her, that would wear out after about 20 minutes, when they would probably be nearing the end of the code. Then it would become undetectable, even during an autopsy if it got to that. His compressions were steady, his face the mask of a professional under pressure. No one noticed the faint tremor of anticipation in his hands, or the faint smile that flickered at the corner of his mouth when the defibrillator pads were placed.

The shock made her body jerk violently, her heart flatlining before sputtering into chaos again. Around him, nurses confirmed medication doses, time stamps, orders—but he heard only the rhythm of the beeps, the rise and fall of chaos.

To everyone else, he was the calm center of the storm—the hero of the night.

Inside, he was ecstactic, watching, calculating.

To avoid any suspicion, this time, when someone offered to let him rest from doing compressions he accepted and switched to bagging her. He was very careful to give a full insuflation every time someone asked them to stop for a pulse check. He loved the sight of the bag going white with mist as it was filled with air that came out of her lungs and how it turned transparent again when he pushed air into her. This was the dance that he loved, the excitement he craved. The dance of life and death.

She was shocked time and time again, each time her body convulsing with the electricity that ran through it, and each time her heart proving to be unable to convert to a stable rythm. They got a pulse back for around 20 seconds and she converted again to PEA, Pulseless Electryc Tachycardia, they kept working on her and pushing drugs. Then, by what seemed like a miracle to all ecept him, she went into V.tach and when she was shocked once more they got a pulse back.

When, after twenty five endless minutes, her vitals finally stabilized, relief swept through the room. The attending clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work. You really caught it early. Without you she wouldn't have made it.”

He nodded, expression neutral. “Just doing my job.”

But as the others filed out, he looked back at the still figure on the bed, monitors blinking a slow, steady rhythm once more.

He didn’t feel guilt. He felt aroused.

He watched as they took the intubated patient on a portable ventilator to the ICU and he settled in his desk doing paperwork, waiting happily for his shift to end.

[soberscientistlife]

Vaccinations are safe and thy work

[resusheart]

This is a very important remainder, you can do it where you live and y find this isn't a conspiracy to end us all but maybe, just maybe, facts.

[deaenx]

Heart Beneath the Surface

Female Reader x Male

Deep inside of me is this feeling. Bubbling and pulsating. Warm like a fresh cup of tea. It’s sweet, delightful.

I’m swelling with this feeling. It’s almost maddening. Like an itch you cannot reach to scratch. It's a feeling that dances on the edge of joy and terror, a blend of hope and fear, like the sweetness of honey laced with the bitterness of waiting.

I know the way to Aiden's place. I’ve been there before. Today, I dressed with care, choosing something both comfortable and appealing. I’m wearing a cute, flowy dress that moves with me, the fabric soft against my skin. It’s easy to take off but still stylish enough to catch his attention. My hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and I’ve added just a touch of makeup to bring out my eyes. I want to look good for him, but I also want to feel confident in myself.

“I’m here,” I sent a text message. As I wait for him to open the door, a thousand thoughts race through my mind. Will he feel the same? Can he see how much I need this?

"Hi." I smile, my heart pounding in my chest. Aiden wears a crisp white shirt and blue jeans, looking neat and well put-together. He is cleanly shaven, his jawline sharp and defined. Rather tall, he stands with a relaxed confidence. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, the strands catching the light as he moves.

"Hey. Thanks for coming." He steps aside, his eyes searching mine for a moment longer than usual.

"Thanks for inviting me. May I use the bathroom? It’s been a long day." I hope my voice doesn't betray my nerves.

I make my way into the bathroom, plug the sink and turn on the water. The pipes are deep underground so it’s extra cold. I watch the water swirl around my fingers, feeling the chill seep into my bones. The cold is a stark contrast to the fire raging inside me. I hold my breath and plunge my face into the icy water, the shock a temporary escape from the storm within.

I hold my breath, plunge my face into the icy water. Calm down. My body engages the mammalian dive reflex and my heart rate slows.

Knocks on the bathroom door.

“Are you alright?” I swing my head upwards and inhale quickly. “I’m fine… gimme a moment!” I say, still trying to catch my breath. “Good.”

I dry my head with a towel and make my way into his office.

On his desk, a computer screen glows softly, displaying an anatomical diagram as the desktop background, a testament to his medical studies. The shelves around the room are lined with medical textbooks and journals, their spines bearing titles like Gray's Anatomy and The Lancet. A model of a human heart sits next to a stack of notes, and a framed certificate from a recent medical conference hangs on the wall.

Opposite the desk, there is a black exam table, reminiscent of those found in a doctor’s office. I carefully remove my dress and place it on a chair beside the desk. As I lay down on the table, I feel the cool surface against my back. In this moment, I became his patient.

As I settle in, I notice a black stethoscope hanging around his neck, a symbol of his dedication to his studies.

I’m craving the attention.

“I will check a few things first…” he says as he rummages around in his desk for a while.

He pulls out a small, black case, the corners worn from use. Inside, the EKG machine lies nestled, wires neatly coiled. 

“Surprise. I finally fixed it.” Our own EKG. He first plugs it into his PC. The screen flickers to life, displaying flat lines that soon transform into peaks and valleys as he attaches the leads to my skin. 120 bpm already. Damn.

“Nervous? No need to be.”

Yeah, nervous, right. The feeling is now like a big bubble inside of me, and I want to burst it and spill its contents.

The cool, sticky pads of the leads adhere to my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I focus on the beeping of the machine, each beat a reminder of the vulnerability I'm exposing.

“All seems fine,” he stated, looking at the screen for a good 30 seconds “but I want to listen just to be sure.”

He takes off his stethoscope, the familiar black tubing dangling from his neck as he inserts the earpieces into his ears. I watch him closely, feeling the anticipation build inside me. He holds the chest piece, the cold metal catching the light for a moment before he places it on my chest.

He starts on the right side of my sternum, listening to the aortic area. His eyes narrow in concentration, his fingers lightly pressing the diaphragm against my skin. 

I glance at the EKG monitor—my heart rate is still elevated, hovering around 114 bpm. He notices my gaze and smiles reassuringly. "It's alright," he murmurs, his voice soothing.

He moves the chest piece to the left side of my sternum, just below the clavicle, to listen to the pulmonic area. His brow furrows slightly as he listens, his head tilting ever so slightly as if trying to catch a faint whisper. The cool metal sends a shiver down my spine, but I focus on the warmth of his presence.

Next, he shifts the diaphragm to the tricuspid area, just above the xiphoid process at the base of my sternum. He listens intently, his fingers steady and gentle. I can feel the pressure of the stethoscope against my skin, grounding me in the moment.

Finally, he moves to the mitral area, placing the stethoscope over the apex of my heart, just below my left breast. He lingers here the longest, his expression softening as he listens. The closeness of his hand to my heart, both literally and figuratively, makes my chest tighten with a mix of vulnerability and connection.

His eyes flick back to the EKG screen, then return to meet mine. "Your heart sounds strong," he says, his voice a blend of professionalism and personal concern. "But I want to listen just a bit longer, to be sure."

He adjusts the stethoscope slightly, his focus unwavering. I close my eyes, tuning into the sensation of his touch. Each beat feels like it's syncing with the ebb and flow of my emotions, the steady rhythm a counterpoint to the bubbling feeling inside me.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally removes the stethoscope, his fingers brushing against my skin as he does. He takes out the earpieces and drapes the stethoscope around his neck again. "All seems fine," he states, his tone calm and reassuring. "Your heart is awesome, just like you."

[purity-in-heart]

I love how you start the story, most of all, in the first two paragraphs.

[resusheart]

Excellent writing, with so much atention to detail. I love it

[medfetishgirl]

The Good Doctor Part 2

Previously: 

“You worked so hard on that last patient… such vigorous compressions…” He whispers in her ear, “I am going to work just as hard to save you, I promise.”

She can only lie there for the next few minutes as her breathing becomes more irregular, then agonal, then goes still, potassium paralyzing her diaphragm as he listens and feels her heart stutter arrhythmically, beating in fits and starts as the medicine takes full effect. He curls her right arm above her head so he can kneel closer to her chest. Sliding a hand behind her neck, he gently tilts her head back, jaw falling open. He pinches her nose with one hand while covering her lips with his and blows as hard as he can. He watches her chest rise high with the inspiration, then fall, and he does it again. Her eyes are rolling back in her head at this point, and he decides it’s time to get things started. Hitting the code button on the wall, Tom starts yelling “Hey, I need some help in here - we’ve got a full code! Bring me a gurney and a backboard!”

Part 2:

Tom jerks her scrub top up, not bothering to check for a pulse before straddling her limp body, interlocked hands between her breasts. He keeps his arms straight and pushes down as hard as he can, her chest caving inward several inches each time, rapidly compressing the heart between the sternum and spine. He pushes fast and deep, with good recoil, looking into her lifeless eyes as her head rocks slightly, eyes unfocused.. He hears people running down the hall and for a minute, he can’t believe what he has done, that he has taken it this far… but there is no turning back now. Her life is now completely in his hands.

“Oh my God, it’s Sarah!” one of the nurses exclaims as she enters pushing a gurney with a backboard on it. “What happened?”

“Sudden cardiac arrest. I was walking by and saw her collapse, started CPR right away. Does she have any cardiac history?“ 

“No, she’s healthy as far as I know.”

“Someone take a look at her EMR, tell me any allergies, meds, cardiac risk factors. We need to get her up and on the monitor, she needs a line, and start bagging her.” He climbs off of her and they work quickly to roll her onto the backboard and lift her onto the gurney with only a brief pause in compressions as the rest of the code team rushes in.

Grabbing equipment from the crash cart, a nurse tilts Sarah’s head back, quickly inserting an oral airway before creating a tight seal around her mouth and nose with a mask and squeezing large lungfuls of oxygen into her with an Ambu bag, chest rising and falling. 

One of the other nurses has grabbed scissors from the cart and slices through the front of Sarah’s scrub top, pulling it out of the way as Tom continues compressions, one knee on the lowered gurney, leveraging his weight and leaning in on each push until her ribs creak, then pulling all the way back up, allowing for good recoil. The nurse then slides around the doctor’s arms to cut through the front of Sarah’s black bra, the force of the compressions immediately pushing her large breasts out of the cups, which then fall to the side, straps still wrapped around her shoulders.

Word has spread that the code is Sarah and doctors and nurses come flooding into the room to help. As the nurses work around him to place ECG electrodes and large defib pads on her chest, the doctor feels a sharp flash of arousal as he steals a glance at Sarah’s face, eyes still half open and airway jutting out between her teeth as her head rocks back and forth with the rhythm of the CPR. Someone else is starting an IV in her arm. The nurse with the scissors is now making quick work of her green scrub pants, cutting quickly up each leg and then slicing through her black panties. Soon she is nude except for the wires and leads and tubes, just another patient being coded by the team. No one bothers with the pretense of a gown or sheet in this life or death situation.

“All right, leads are on, let’s pause CPR and see what we’ve got.” Everyone backs away from Sarah’s nude body, looking up at the monitor as Tom feels for a pulse in her groin, shaking his head after a few seconds. "V-fib - charge the defibrillator to 200.“ The doctor resumes compressions while the charging sound starts, stopping only once he hears the definitive instruction to clear. Everyone complies and he presses the shock button, shooting electricity between the pad on the sternum to the apex one under her left breast. He can see the effect of the current as it passes between the pads on Sarah’s chest, lifting it slightly as her head twists to the side. Her whole body pulls inward and twitches violently, then quickly quiets again, jiggling breasts the last part of her to still. Her head is brought back to center, tilted back with mask pressed tight, two breaths squeezed in, chest rising and falling with each pump as multiple hands feel for pulses on her neck, arms and groin.

It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“OK, let’s get back on the chest.” Nick, an RN who is a muscular marathon runner, touches Tom’s shoulder and slides into his spot, taking over compressions. Tom hadn’t realized how hard he was breathing; high quality CPR is exhausting. Sarah is in good hands with Nick, though - he is pushing down hard and fast with arms straight, her breasts jiggling and stomach puffing out with the force of each compression. 

The doctor watches all of this reflected in the beeps and tracings on the monitor as he touches pulse points in Sarah’s groin and wrist, feeling the strong but artificial pulse generated by Nick’s chest compressions, which makes his own heart skip a beat. “Strong pulse with compressions - she’s even got a radial.“ 

"IV’s in.”

“Push an amp of epi.” He watches as compressions are paused briefly so she can be ventilated, chest rising twice with the squeezing of the bag valve mask. “She needs an airway. Is anesthesia here?”

“I paged, but they’re held up in the cath lab." 

"Okay, I’m going to tube her then,” the doctor says, as he stands and walks over to Sarah’s head, pulling on gloves. “I need a laryngoscope and a 7.5 ET tube. Can you hyperventilate her, please?” The nurse complies as the doctor gloves up, squeezing the bag fully as she uses her other hand to maintain a tight seal over Sarah’s nose and mouth, her head tipped back to keep her airway open. After 5 breaths, she pulls the mask away and removes the oral airway as the doctor tilts her head even further back, easing the blade of the laryngoscope deep down into Sarah’s throat until he visualizes the slack vocal cords. He slides the tube down between them, inflates the cuff with a syringe. Compressions are paused briefly as the nurse ventilates her through the tube, chest rising as the doctor listens for bilateral breath sounds. When he confirms the placement with a nod, compressions are resumed as the nurse secures the tube with tape, sliding the guedel airway back between her teeth as a bite block. 

“We need to figure out what caused this. Interns? What is the most likely cause of sudden cardiac arrest?”

“Ischemic heart disease - she could have had an MI or a stroke.”

“Valve disease or cardiomyopathy are more likely for females  . Could also be a PE…

"No record of hypertension, hyperlipidemia, or cardiac issues in her EMR. No medications, last seen 6 months ago for bronchitis.”

“What about toxins? No known exposure, but this could be an accidental overdose… or a suicide attempt." 

"How do you want to work her up?”

“We can do a quick echo her during the next pulse check to see if her heart is enlarged and look for PEs.”

"Good. What else?”

“Draw blood and urine for labs - CBC, cardiac enzymes, electrolytes, BNP, TSH, blood gas and a tox screen, BAC and acetaminophen level.." 

A nurse grabs a kit and starts prepping to place a Foley catheter in Sarah’s bladder while a phlebotomist draws blood, CPR continuing all the while. So much frantic activity over a lifeless body, eyes still half open, breaths being squeezed into her lungs via the tube between her teeth. 

Hard to believe that only a couple of hours ago she was part of the activity on the other side, trying to save a patient in cardiac arrest. That is when she caught his eye, so confident and capable. It was the first code they had worked together, and she was spectacular - calm and focused, giving strong compressions, anticipating meds and procedures. He wonders if she ever thought about being on this side of the resuscitation. He wonders if that ever excited her the way he feels right now.

"You want Narcan?”

Tom thumbs her right eyelid and shines a small flashlight into it, watching the pupil constrict before repeating with the left eye, then shakes his head. “It can’t hurt, but this doesn’t look like an opiate OD - pupils are normal, equal and responsive to light. She’s getting good circulation.” He can’t help but wonder if Sarah can feel any of this, especially with such good artificial circulation… her brain is getting enough blood flow that she could be aware of everything happening to her right now… feeling each deep compression, each breath pushed into her lungs, hands touching the most intimate parts of her body…  “Okay, let’s hold up for a quick echo.” The hands come off only to be replaced by gel and a transducer probe, which he moves quickly around the chest, staring intently at different views of the quivering muscle on the screen. “Heart is fibrillating, but isn’t enlarged… no fluid around it… chambers filled with blood… no sign of PE…”

“That’s 10 seconds.” Compressions are resumed. 

“Could just be idiopathic ventricular fibrillation.”

“That’s a diagnosis of exclusion. We need labs before we go down that road.”

“They’re being run right now.”

“Get another amp of Epi ready. She needs a central line.“

"Way ahead of you,” the resident said, finishing up the catheter in her neck and emptying a syringe into it. “1 mg of epinephrine in.”

“Let’s circulate that.” The resuscitation continues and he glances at the clock. 14 minutes.

“Stop compressions.” Nick complies, wiping sweat from his forehead. “V-fib, let’s charge to 200 and shock her again." 

Her body jerks and then stills, but her heart is now completely still, reflected by the flat line on the monitor. Hands feel for pulses in her groin and neck but there is no movement. 

"Asystole" Holy shit. A few minutes ago, this woman was healthy, talking; now, she is clinically dead. The echo probe in the subcostal view confirms her heart is completely still. The only sound he hears is the ventilations being forced into her lungs. 

To be continued…

[resusheart]

I loved this story when I read it several years ago, I never got to see the ending though. Does anyone know where I can read the rest of it?

[cprlovers]

Goth Chick

Goth Chick didn’t wake up in the hospital, she came to. She remembered what it looked like from last time, it looked just like this time. Goth got her GHB dosage wrong again and was paying the price. 

Goth felt something in her windpipe; it felt slightly less worse than the time she took a shot of vodka down the wrong way. She knew it was that damned breathing tube again, and that damned ventilator was pumping her chest full of air against her will to do it herself. Goth reached up to yank it out, finding her black nailed hands bound to the bed she tried to shake the tube out of her black lipped mouth but the residual effects of the GHB make her too weak right now. The rustling of her attempts to free herself brought the attention of the ward nurse. Goth heard her coming, and with a few seconds to think she decided to play dead. The nurse tried to rouse her, that failing she did the usual assessments with her stethoscope, pulling the cover off Goth’s chest to expose her black bra and electrodes. The nurse then paused the ventilator for several seconds to see if Goth was breathing for herself yet. Goth laid there quietly as the air flowed out of her lungs, making no attempt to inhale. It was uncomfortable, but no worse than the time she let someone hold her underwater until she passed out. The nurse resumed the ventilator, and walked off. Goth was a great actress, especially when the role was playing dead. Goth was sure she was alone, then worked to free herself from the wrist binders holding her to the table. Her left hand came loose, quietly, she loosened her right. Goth reached up to rip out the tube in her throat, feeling her way around the tape when she had a second thought. “Hey, I’m already in the hospital, hooked up to all this stuff, like they really saved me from something.” Goth’s mind grew blacker: “What if I let them kill me? They can get me back, yeah. I could really be undead. I could talk to god, satan, that senior who killed himself my junior year.” Goth thought about it, remembering last time she was here. If she pulled out her tube or unhooked the ventilator, they’d just hook her back up. No good. Cutting a EKG lead would be too easy to see, but wait! She remembered an old speaker wire that looked normal but was broken inside. That’s it! “They’ll think my heart stopped, then shock me dead!” Goth Chick had recovered enough strength to set about her task. She slowly slid the sheet down, exposing her torso. The staff had cut away her t-shirt, and cut the seat of her panties to insert a foley catheter into her bladder. “Shit, another awful tube in me!”, she thought to herself. But they left her leather skirt and belt on her, the belt that hid a buckle knife. Made in Taiwan, the blade didn’t have a great edge, but a good tip that could plunge into the thin insulation of her EKG wire. Goth pulled the wire onto the handrail, then began stabbing. Several stabs and a slight tug, the steady blips on the monitor stopped, followed a few seconds later with the familiar whine of an arresting patient. Goth quickly resheathed her knife, and plunged her hands back into the cuffs. She didn’t want to give her sabotage away, and she didn’t want to do anything stupid like stop the doctors from killing her! The nice thing about a teaching hospital is you never know who you’re going to get. Fortunately for Goth’s intentions, her staff immediately began coding her without so much as a cursory carotid pulse check. Some nurse jumped on her bed and began crushing her chest! The nurse stopped while someone cut away her bra, then began pumping again. The ventilator was disconnected, and a bag was used to fill her aching chest, then the air was squashed out again “C'mon, kill me!!”, Goth thought as she tried to remain expressionless. Goth felt the effects of cardiac medications start their way through her body; cold, hot, fainting. She deliriously heard the magick words, “Clear!” Bam!! Goth felt the pain of the shock, like when she bit the electric fence at a field trip to a dairy farm. But she wasn’t dead yet. Goth was paralytic, the shocks and the drugs pinned her down, she couldn’t save herself if she even wanted to. “Kill me…” The interns never noticed the disturbed sinus rhythm when the paddles were applied, just the squalling of the flatlined monitor above Goth’s head. Bam! Another shock. Bam! This time Goth couldn’t feel the sting, for her heart had stopped and the pain eclipsed anything the interns could do to her. “Kil…” The resident ER doctor moved to Goth Chick’s bed. He checked her pulse: nothing. He then asked the interns the usual questions. Then he grabbed the paddles and placed them on Goth’s chest. He glanced over his shoulder to check the charge and noticed the defib’s monitor. Perplexed, he then looked at the bedside EKG, then the defib again. “Oh, SHIT!”

[resusheart]

I can't get enough of this story. I could read it a hundred times. Such a creative individual, hehe. Love it

[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.

[resusheart]

Loved it. I miss writen stories so much, this is a breath of fresh air!

[valcaira]

Attention Whump Community!

Clogging disability tags is a massive problem that we need to address. Many tags, especially those surrounding permanent injuries, paralysis, vision loss and certain illnesses have become unusable due to being flooded with unrelated things. Yes, that includes your writing. Those tags are not for you. It's isolating, frustrating and depressing to try finding a community and other people who share your issues but all that comes up is whump, fandom shit, gifs, headcanons, etc.

I'm newly paralyzed. I have looked at many tags surrounding paralysis, trying to find support, a community, anything of people struggling with the same thing. Nothing. There's barely anything for us in the general disabilty tags. I am BEGGING you to understand and recognize how AWFUL it is.

So, I have a proposition. A tag you can and should use exclusively for disability content in whump writing. Not any other tag surrounding disability, lest you'll clog it up.

#disabled whumpee

It's tempting to use more specific tags, I get it. Due to being in the whump community myself I know #medical whump is already a tag. You have those tags. Use them. Don't use the disability tags. Don't clog up the few spaces us disabled people have.

[intubatedangel]

Shellfish Surprise : Chapter 1

Hey everyone, here’s the start of my latest series. I’m aiming for this series to be a little bit shorter than the last one, though given that was over 24,000 words, that shouldn’t be too hard. As usual this first one is mainly setup, but I hope you enjoy it. Comments are encouraged, it really does help motivate me.

Story Index

***

It was his second day on the job at the little corner sandwich shop. Yesterday he’d been on the counter, clacking away with the rugged old till. It had gone well, especially with the extra business caused by the incident on the river putting the city’s streets into gridlock. Only a half dozen patrons had complained about the wait, and those were quite rapidly shut up by other customers queuing out the door.

Today, he was working in the kitchen. It was still early, so they were preparing the pre-made sandwiches that customers could grab without having to wait. The manager had given him a quick run-down on recipes, most of them quick and easy, a slice of this, a handful of that and a spoonful of the other. He had made good progress, all the Ham Salad and Cheese medley were done, now he just had the Prawn Mayo and the Chicken Mayo left to do. Supposedly the quickest way was to dump a whole load of mayonnaise into a tub, then throw in the punnet of cooked prawns or chicken pieces, depending on the sandwich. He did just that, spooning the mayonnaise from the large blue bucket into two tubs.

Keep reading

[resusheart]

Sucha a great story by @intubatedangel. Absolutely loved it

[clarepreed]

Not for the Faint of Heart, Pt. 2

Story Summary and Content - 4,869 words. Larissa has long term side effects from her multiple hypoxic injuries. First aid, status epilepticus, respiratory arrest in an ambulance.

--

Part One

Mitchell

Mitchell leaned back on his heels next to Larissa’s unconscious form. “HELP, GOD DAMNIT!”

He rubbed her arm, shook her lightly, touched her face. “Baby, you have to wake up. I can’t get a signal, no one is here, I don’t know what to do.”

She didn’t respond, so he grasped her shoulder, fingers searching for her trapezius. He squeezed the muscle, just as he’d seen EMTs and nurses do. It made him wince to pinch her like that, but he was rewarded when she grunted and moved her hand up toward her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need you to wake up. I don’t think I can carry you all the way to the car, and I’m not leaving you alone here.” Mitchell stroked her face and then leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I love you. Please open your eyes. Larissa!”

She made a faint noise, but didn’t open her eyes. 

He thumped his fist on the rock, frightened and frustrated. Then he took a deep breath and grabbed their clothes and their shoes. He threw his shirt and shoes on, and shoved her clothes and shoes into the bag. Then he slung the bag onto his back.

“Alright, baby. I’m going to carry you as far as I can, and see if I have cell service closer to the car.” He had a sinking suspicion he wouldn’t; he remembered streaming radio cut out as they were pulling in, which meant the device had lost signal long enough to run through its buffered song list.

I have to do something. She can’t stay here unconscious indefinitely and come out of it okay. 

He looked down at her, trying to figure out how he was going to carry her down the trail. He couldn’t cradle her in his arms that long. The last time he’d carried her that way had been a stretch, with his arms shaking by the time he’d set her down. 

He thought he could attempt a fireman’s carry, but was worried he’d drop or hurt her trying to get her into position. He also didn’t know if she’d be able to breathe properly slung over his shoulder like that. 

He didn’t want to drag her. 

He crouched down beside her. “Larissa, I really need you to wake up and help me. Larissa!”

She made another noise, a low moan, and her eyes opened.

“Hey! Hey, oh, God… Larissa, can you hear me?”

Her eyes shifted around, disorientation evident on her face. She coughed and rubbed at her nose, but she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze in one place. Then she started muttering. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she looked agitated and tried to push herself upright.

He had to help her, and then he was afraid to let go lest she flop over and strike her head on the rock. She was mumbling louder now.

“Go home… need to go home… need… go home…”

“Baby, you need to go to the hospital.” Keeping an arm wrapped around her, he shrugged out of the backpack. “I can put some dry clothes on you, is that okay?”

The day was warm, so he thought it would be alright to put her clothes on over her wet suit. The bigger problem was holding her up and dressing her simultaneously. He slid around behind her, leaning her against his chest, and unzipped his pack.

She couldn’t seem to stop moving, though her movements were weak, and when he briefly wrapped his arm around her chest, he could feel her heart hammering. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He slipped her shirt over her head and worked her arms into the sleeves. She didn’t fight him, but she wasn’t helping him either. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do. Perhaps he should be dragging her to the trailhead in nothing but her bathing suit, bringing her that much closer to help. Or he was giving her time to recover so she could help him help her.

He heard her make a sniffling noise, and shifted her in his arms so he could see her face. She was crying, tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He gathered her close and rocked her. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

A few minutes passed like this, until he heard her speak: “Mitchell?”

“I’m here.”

She took a deep breath, coughed hard. When she spoke again, she sounded hoarse and slurred her words a little. “What… happened?”

He stroked her cheek, still rocking her. “I think you had a seizure. You were still in the water and you breathed some in. You’re going to be okay, though.”

“Seizure…”

“I need to get you to the car. We don’t have cell service out here…”

She coughed and let out a sigh. “I can’t do it.”

“I will do most of the work,” he said, “but I need a little bit of help. Let’s start with your shorts.”

They got her shorts and shoes on, though he had to lay her back down to safely put her shoes on her feet. When he was finished, he slipped the pack on and leaned over her. She’d closed her eyes, and he grasped her shoulders and squeezed them. “Larissa!”

She opened her eyes after a couple of long seconds and focused her eyes on his. “Tired…”

“I know, baby. I need you to try. I’m going to stand you up, just lean on me.”

“Did I… die again?”

He couldn’t answer her. His throat spasmed. He cleared his throat and shook his head. 

He leaned over, cupped her face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I… love you… too,” she breathed.

He gave her a quick kiss and then helped her back to a seated position. She seemed to be less disoriented, though her limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

“On three, baby. One, two, three!” He hauled her to her feet. She struggled, sagging against him, fighting to keep her legs underneath her. The effort made her cough and clutch at her sore chest. “I’ve got you, I’m so sorry…”

It was too much to ask of her so soon. He pulled her up against him, draped her arm over his head, and shifted his stance so that his knee was between her legs. Then he ducked under her armpit and slipped his arm around her knee. He squatted, letting her weight drape over his shoulder and retaining his grip on her wrist. When he stood, she was draped across his shoulders.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.” He heard her cough and mumble something unintelligible. 

He trudged up the trail, trying to remember how far he needed to carry her to get her to the parking lot. This side trail alone was a half mile, and he thought it was another half mile down the main trail to the parking lot.

That’s… what? Twenty minutes? I can do that.

Except he only made it about five minutes up the trail before he realized she was hyperventilating. He stopped, tipping forward so that he could set her on her feet, his arms wrapping around her. Her legs immediately folded. She was coughing and gasping, chest heaving rapidly. He lowered her to sit down on the ground and saw that she was crying again.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I c-can’t breathe like that.”

“Don’t apologize, you couldn’t help it and I needed to know.” He took a deep breath, not wanting her to see how worried he was. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Just breathe easy for a few minutes, okay?”

He helped her lean back against a tree and held her hand as she slowed her breathing and stopped crying. She looked like she could fall asleep there, her eyes heavy-lidded and her movements slow.

“Hey,” he said, his voice loud. “I need you to stay awake.”

She blinked her eyes and looked at him. “You should walk to the car and call for help.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.” He bit back the urge to remind her of what had just happened to her. 

She blinked again, an odd expression on her face. “I think… I think…”

“What?”

Larissa let out a strange cry and stiffened, her back arching and her head hitting the tree with a thunk. He saw the whites of her eyes.

“No, fuck!” He reached out and pulled her away from the tree, laying her awkwardly on her side across the tree’s roots. He heard her when she started breathing again, labored drags through gritted teeth. Her arms and legs started thrashing rhythmically, and he cupped one hand under her head and pressed the other to her hip, trying to keep her steady without holding her down. 

“Oh my God!” he heard a man say. “Tim, there’s someone having a seizure down here!”

Mitchell looked up and spotted two men on the trail above him, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Do you need help?” the first man asked.

“Yes!” Mitchell said, emphatically. “This is her second seizure in less than twenty minutes. I don’t have a signal and this is as far as I was able to get her back up the trail.”

“I can run back to the car,” Tim said. “I’ll call 9-1-1 as soon as I get service. Babe, do you want to stay here or come with me?”

“Please,” Mitchell said. “If… When she comes out of it, I’ll need help carrying her out. We don’t know how long it will take for EMS to get out here.”

“I’ll stay with them,” the first man said. He tossed Tim the keys. “Be careful, okay?”

“You, too,” Tim said, before turning and breaking into a run.

“I’m Warren,” the man said, crouching next to Mitchell. “Does she have seizures often?”

“No.” Mitchell tried to keep the despair out of his voice. “At least, I don’t think so. She has some health problems, and I thought she fainted in the water, but when I pulled her out, she was seizing. She stopped and I got her as far as here, and now…”

“She had a seizure in the water?”

“Yes,” Mitchell said, his voice quiet. Larissa was making a low grunting noises and a small amount of foam had frothed up from her mouth, but he thought her convulsions were starting to slow. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe dirt off her face. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay…”

“What’s her name?”

“Larissa.” He watched in relief as the convulsions stopped, and Larissa relaxed against the ground. “I’m Mitchell. Larissa, can you hear me?”

He slid his hand out from under her head and held it in front of her lips, leaning close to listen. It took him a number of agonizing seconds to determine she was breathing, though on the slow and shallow side.

“Is she breathing? Do you want to try to move her now?” Warren asked.

“She’s breathing, but I’m worried about moving her like this, we won’t know if she has trouble breathing as we carry her.” He leaned close to her ear. “Larissa! I need you to wake up!”

She didn’t respond, and he sat for a moment, trying to think through what he needed to do. Finally, he looked up at Warren. “Let’s move her. Ideas? I carried her across my shoulders for about five minutes, but she was conscious and said she couldn’t breathe like that.”

“Okay. If we can get her up, why don’t we try draping her arms over our shoulders and keeping her upright with us?” Warren gestured to demonstrate. 

“That will work. Thank you. Ah…” Mitchell looked down at Larissa. “I’ll move her onto her back and then we can sit her up and lift from there. Does that sound correct?”

“Sounds good,” Warren said. He watched as Mitch carefully turned her onto her back as best he could given the uneven trail. Then the two of them sat her up, her arms limp and floppy. Mitchell tipped her head back, letting her neck hyperextend. Then they each pulled one of her arms across their shoulders and wrapped one of their arms across her back, grasping the waist band of her shorts.

“Ready?” Warren asked.

“Let’s do it.”

They were both taller than Larissa, so her toes only scraped the ground as they walked. The trail was a little narrow for three people side-by-side, but they managed. 

“Larissa,” Mitchell called. “Wake up.”

To his relief, even though she didn’t open her eyes he could hear her breathing. She was wheezing a little, but her breaths were regular and seemed deeper.

Rhododendron growing on either side of the trail reached out and snagged them as they hiked, but Mitchell did his best to ignore it, only having to stop once to rip a small branch free from his pack. She made a moaning sound when they stopped, but didn’t open her eyes.

Finally, they were out on the main trail, which meant all that remained was a half mile of gentle descent. They managed a jog, both of them breathing hard by the time they reached the quarter mile point.

“Larissa!” Mitchell gasped. “Come on, wake up!”

Warren piped up: “Ma’am, Larissa, we need you to open your eyes!”

Then he asked: “Is this normal? To be unconscious like this after a seizure?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about seizures. She… She wasn’t breathing when I pulled her out of the water, I don’t know if that’s affecting her now.”

Larissa’s head suddenly dropped forward, and she let out a groan and a huff of air. He felt her arm briefly tense around his neck.

“Larissa?” He tried to peer at her face.

“Do we need to stop?” Warren asked.

“No, we’re so close. Larissa, we’re almost back to the parking lot. Help is coming. You’re safe, you’re going to be okay.”

“Tim!” Warren called out.

Ahead, Tim and someone who appeared to be a park ranger were jogging up the trail. Mitchell allowed the tiniest bit of relief to trickle through him, but he didn’t stop moving, not even when the two groups met up.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Tim said. “And I ran into the ranger on my way back; she radioed in as well.”

“I’m Michelle,” she said, hurrying alongside them. “She had a seizure? What’s her name?”

“Larissa.” He was running low on energy, sweat dripping off his nose and running down his back. “She had two. The first one she was in the pool at the bottom of the falls.”

“She’s breathing?”

“She is now,” he said.

“Let me help,” the ranger said. “Stop for just a second.”

Warren and Mitchell complied, and she backed up in front of Larissa and picked up her legs, holding one on each side of her and taking some of Larissa’s weight off the men. They carried her around the gate at the trailhead, down the path by the bathrooms and picnic tables, and into the grass next to the parking lot. Then they laid her down. Mitchell rolled her onto her side and crouched beside her, his hand on her back.

“I’m going to drive up and meet the ambulance,” the ranger said. “Direct them in. Are you all right here?”

“Yes, please do that, thank you. I have her.”

Tim and Warren shared their water with Mitchell, who’d left both water bottles behind at the swimming hole. 

“It won’t be too much longer,” Warren said. “There’s a rescue station not far from here. We passed it on our way in.”

“Larissa!” Her hair was drying. It was still in a pony tail, though it was starting to fall. She had bits of leaves tangled in her hair. He took a minute to untangle the hair tie, trying to be gentle.

“How long have you been together?” Warren asked, watching him.

“A year.” He plucked the leaves out and looked at her hair, thick and damp, puddled in the grass. “I was going to ask her to marry me today.”

“Ask her as soon as she’s awake and lucid,” Tim said. 

“Tim,” Warren said, glancing over at his boyfriend. “Let the man make those decisions for himself.”

“I just mean that he might be tempted to wait for another romantic moment. He should do it as soon as she can consent.” Tim shrugged. “That’s what I would do.”

Mitchell pulled her hair back the best he could and put the hair tie back in. She would have braided it, and he knew how, but he could hear the ambulance siren in the distance.

“He’s right,” Mitchell murmured. “I’m not going to wait. She just needs to pull through today.”

Tim and Warren both stood, striding out into the parking lot and waving their arms. Mitchell wanted to feel relief at the sight of the ambulance, but he was too busy with Larissa.

She’d started seizing again.

He concentrated on keeping her on her side, airway open, face sloped down so her saliva could drain toward the grass. She’d bowed up like she had before, her breathing temporarily stopped. Then she’d drawn in breath and started jerking. Now she was foaming at the mouth and breathing in short, groaning gasps.

Then the paramedics were there, peppering him with questions. He answered as best he could.

“Larissa, thirty-eight. Mitchell, her boyfriend. I have medical POA…”

“No, no history of diabetes. Or seizures, as far as I know. No, she’s not pregnant. She’s on birth control, and she had her period last week.”

“She had the first one in the water and… she stopped breathing. I got her breathing again and she regained consciousness, but— No, no she wasn’t quite herself. She had another seizure, and that one seemed to end and she didn’t wake up… this is her third seizure in, I don’t know, around forty-five minutes, I’ve lost track of time.”

He watched them inject her with something, and put long blue trumpets down each side of her nose. They fit an oxygen mask to her face and pricked her finger, hooked her up to a monitor and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“Do you need one of us to get anything out of your car? I heard you mention Power of Attorney.” Tim had stepped up behind him. “They might let you ride with her.”

“Better make it fast,” one of the medics said. “We’re about to package her up for transport. I’ll let you ride in the back in case she comes out of it and needs help communicating.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Thank you.”

Mitchell sprinted to his SUV and opened the glove box. He had a certified copy of the Power of Attorney form, and copies of some of Larissa’s other documents, both in a folder and on a flash drive. He shoved everything into his pack and locked up before sprinting back. The medics hadn’t been kidding; they had her on the gurney and were wheeling it to the ambulance with the help of Warren and the park ranger.

Tim handed him a plastic bottle of water. “Ranger had this for you. Listen, uh… best wishes. We’ll be thinking about both of you.”

“Thank you,” Mitch said. “Both of you. Thank you.”

They were headed down the road before he realized he didn’t have their contact information and couldn’t reach out to let them know how she was doing.

Inside the ambulance, he was surprised to see the paramedic start an IV despite her jerking limbs. He must have made a noise; the paramedic looked up at him and said: “Lots of practice. I’m giving her a second medication for the seizure.”

An alarm started pinging and the paramedic removed the oxygen mask, leaning close to her face. He called up to the driver: “She’s in respiratory arrest.”

He attached a bag valve mask to the supply of oxygen and pressed it to her face, squeezing the bulb and keeping his fingers lapped over her chin despite the jerking of her head.

Mitchell hadn’t known before he’d fallen in love with Larissa that stress could cause physical pain. His scalp hurt, like he’d been yanking on his own hair. She was starting to turn gray again, and when the paramedic had switched masks, her lips were tinged with blue. She’d stopped making noises, but the gurney was still rattling as her body jerked. He wondered if she would be in pain later, assuming she ever woke up.

He needed to tell her parents, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Right now, they thought she was out of touch because they were hiking. They wouldn’t miss her until later.

A few more minutes passed like this, with alarms pinging and the gurney rattling. 

Eventually, she stopped convulsing.

“Good,” the paramedic muttered. “Now, just breathe for me.

Her body unfurled, going completely limp. Mitchell watched the paramedic briefly set down the mask and press his stethoscope to her chest.

“I need to suction her,” the paramedic said, giving her a breath. “What’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes, we have to reroute due to festival traffic.”

The closest hospital was in a small town outside of park land. They were having an arts festival; Mitchell and Larissa had discussed dropping by after the hike. Now he was cursing his entire plan for the day. 

“Please, hang on, baby…”

“I’m suctioning out aspirated fluids and any leftover stream water,” the paramedic said. He’d pulled something over from the side, and Mitchell watched him squeeze the bag twice before setting the mask down again and slipping his gloves fingers inside her mouth. He inserted the end of a tube beside his fingers, and then there was a loud motor noise and a wet rattle. The procedure didn’t take long, and then he retracted the tube and started bagging her again, his eyes on the monitor.

After a moment, he sat the mask down and quickly reached into a compartment and brought out an airway that Mitchell recognized from before. The paramedic held it against the side of her face and before he inserted it, rotating it and then resting the flanged end against her teeth. Then he replaced the mask, squeezing it rhythmically.

Her hand was hanging off the gurney and Mitchell reached out instinctively, clasping it between both of his.

“My partner is keeping the ER up-to-date,” the medic said. “They’re expecting her. She’ll be in good hands.”

Mitchell cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Her hand was cold. He brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers, realizing as he did that this was where his ring should have been by now. His face grew hot, and he felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Good girl,” the paramedic said suddenly. Mitchell looked up at him. “Heart rate is coming down, her oxygen is up, blood pressure is stabilizing. Just what we want to see.”

“ETA two minutes,” called the other medic.

The paramedic bagging Larissa lifted the mask and leaned close. “There she goes. She’s breathing on her own. Larissa! Can you hear me?” He disconnected the mask he was using and replaced it with the oxygen mask.

“Thank God,” Mitchell said, his voice cracking.

The ambulance came to a stop and the door opened shortly after. Mitchell placed her hand on the stretcher and watched, his heart pounding, as the fingers of her empty hand curled and reopened. 

Larissa, hours later

When she opened her eyes, everything was too bright. Her head was killing her, and she dragged her hands up to cover her eyes. There were things attached to her hands; something clunky clipped to a finger, and something stinging taped to the back of her hand. She couldn’t keep her hands up and they slipped from her face, bumped against the plastic mask over her nose and mouth, and landed on her chest.

“Larissa!” Someone grasped the hand with the block clipped to it. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Mountain View General.”

She didn’t understand. The last thing she remembered…

She blinked and cast her gaze in the direction of the voice. Everything was blurry. She tried to speak, heard herself moan instead.

“Are you in pain?”

She was. Absolutely everything hurt. Her head was pounding, her chest flared with pain with each inhale, and all of her muscles and joints were screaming. At the same time, she felt agitated and groggy.

“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.” The voice belonged to a familiar man. She relaxed a little as she made the connection, continuing to blink to clear her eyes.

Mitchell, she thought. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. 

“Mitch…ell…”

“I’m here. I love you.” Mitchell, three days later

“Mitchell.” Larissa’s hoarse voice roused him.

He woke with a start, leaning forward in his chair and prying his eyes open. “Are you okay?” he asked, searching out her face.

She looked better than she had. Her color was back to normal and she’d been downgraded from the oxygen mask to a nasal cannula. She still looked groggy; the doctor had explained a lot of the medication she’d been given was sedating, though they weren’t necessarily trying to keep her sedated.

She sighed and whispered: “Why am I here?”

He hesitated. They’d tried to explain it to her twice before, in addition to what he’d told her in the park, but she’d been too groggy to listen or retain anything. There was also the chance that she’d suffered more neurological injury during her drowning and status epilepticus events, though she was obviously capable of understanding language and speaking in full sentences.

“Mitchell?” She lifted her head off the pillow, frowning.

He reached out and took her hand. “You’ve been having seizures. Not fainting. You were misdiagnosed. You had a bad one while we were hiking.”

“Oh…”

“Do you remember seeing your parents? They’re in town… they went back to the hotel.”

“I…” Her brows drew together. “Maybe? Everything feels like a dream, or a nightmare…”

“A nightmare for sure.”

She drew a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. He realized she was blinking back tears.

“Hey…” he stood up and rubbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I ruined our date. And I feel kind of shitty.” She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I feel exceptionally sorry for myself, if I’m being honest.”

Mitchell felt his face break into a wide smile and wiped away the tear. She looked confused again, and he quickly said: “I’m sorry you don’t feel well. I’m just happy because you sound like yourself. You haven’t for days. I missed you.”

“I feel like myself,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Just tired.”

“You’ve been on a lot of medication for the seizures. You haven’t had one since you were admitted, thank God. You’re on medication to prevent a lung infection, too.”

She looked like she had more questions about that, but after a few seconds she shook her head. “You can explain all that again to me later. Are you allowed to kiss me?”

“I’ll do it regardless,” he said, leaning over and briefly pressing his lips to hers. When he pulled back, he cupped his hand to his cheek and looked her in the eyes.

Larissa

His eyes seemed to search hers, just a few inches away. His hand stroked her cheek. 

“I love you,” he said. He looked ashen, with dark circles under his eyes and a few days’ worth of stubble growing. But his eyes glowed.

“I love you, too.” She reached for his free hand and pulled it to her chest, pressing it under her breast at the apex of her heart. “Always. No matter what happens. Whether I’m still here or not.”

He swallowed hard, and she saw his eyes glisten. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “You’re my favorite person. I miss you when I’m not with you. I can’t get enough of you. I want you by my side for the rest of my life.”

He lifted his hand from her cheek and reached down, digging into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small box.

“I was going to ask you after we went swimming. I know this isn’t exactly romantic, but I don’t want to wait for another moment…”

“I don’t blame you,” she said, unable to keep the ruefulness out of her voice.

He barked out a laugh, and then tried to smooth his features back to a semblance of seriousness. He opened the box, but she couldn’t stop looking at his face, watching the range of emotions washing over his face.

He was suddenly the one breathless, and she blurted out: “Yes! I want to marry you!”

The monitor chirped as her heart rate increased. He leaned down to kiss her, and she reached up to caress his face, keenly aware of his other hand on her heart.

[resusheart]

Excellent continuation!!! Don’t forget to read the beggining of this romantic story by @clarepreed​

[clarepreed]

Hostile Work Environment, Pt. 2

Part 1

Short Story Summary and Content: 5,314 words. Someone wishes Larissa hadn't survived her choking incident. Strangulation, resuscitation, light cardiophilia, explicit sex.

--

Larissa

Larissa woke in her bed at the chateau, languid and adrift. She ran her hand down her abdomen and cupped her sex, feeling deliciously sore.

After a moment, her brain filled in the gaps, reminding her that Mitchell had woken her and they’d dressed and headed downstairs. Mitchell went first so he could alert a staff member to let her into her room, and she’d changed into a long t-shirt, washed her face, and crashed.

They didn’t talk about what would happen next, and the realization put a slight damper on her mood.

Obviously, around everyone else we have to pretend nothing happened.

But we still need to talk.

She couldn’t be anxious and sad about it for long, not when her time with him last night had been so perfect. Vivid memories flooded her brain, enhancing the sweet ache between her thighs. She let the fingers of her other hand trail across her full lips, slightly swollen from his kisses.

Her reverie was disrupted by a short knock at her door. 

Mitchell? she wondered. Mmm… probably not. He’d be worried about appearances.

I wonder if people are already talking.

She slipped out of bed, her feet hitting the floor in time with another rap. Instead of taking the extra time to put on pants, she arranged her body behind the door and cracked it open. “Yes?”

The door was forced inward, knocking Larissa to the floor hard enough to rattle her teeth. As the intruder closed and locked the door behind him, she stared up at him in surprise.

The intruder was Ben Miller, from her department. He glared down at her, his short hair mussed and his eyes wild. She’d never seen him like this, though they were just colleagues. In his mid-twenties, they didn’t have much in common. He’d always been polite, until now.

Stop… THINKING! she thought, a delayed wave of outrage rolling over her.

“What the fuck, Ben?” she snarled, crawling backward and then attempting to scramble to her feet. 

He advanced on her, his face contorted in anger. “You tattled, bitch!”

That surprised her, and she froze. “What?”

He grabbed her arms and hauled her upright, forcing her to march backward until she fetched up hard against the glass sliding door that led out to the veranda. “Everyone knows you got that promotion because you’re fucking Mitchell, and now you’ve gotten me fired!”

He shoved her hard against the glass and shook her until she saw stars. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a throat-tearing scream, hoping the sound would both alert help and startle him into loosening his grip.

She thought it worked when he released her arms. Then he was on her again, and this time his hands wrapped around her throat.

Oh God Oh no no no no no I can’t—

“I was just fucking with you,” he said, squeezing, his own face growing red and spittle flying from his mouth. “Just a little hazing. You didn’t…”

Her hearing faded out, replaced by a buzzing sound. Her head pounded and her lungs burned. She clawed his arms, his hands, tried to reach toward his face as he mouthed words she couldn’t hear. He jerked her hard against the glass, then dragged her away from the door by the throat, turning and slamming her onto the bed. He crawled on top of her, one of his knees digging into her abdomen. The pressure sent flares of pain from her stomach to her heart, her lungs and all the way up to the top of her head.

Her gestures grew clumsy, the kick of her bare feet slowing to a twitch. She could feel the pressure maxing out both above and below his hands, as though her airway or her head were going to explode. Her vision faded, her thoughts scattering.

A waste…

Like this?

Sorry…

Then she lost consciousness.

Mitchell

Mitchell double clicked the file Dennis sent him, aware of Charise and Mark at his back, looking over his shoulders. Security footage from his office building filled the screen. 

“This is from two nights ago,” Dennis said, his voice coming from the Skype call on Mitchell’s cell. “He’ll appear in three, two…”

Ben Miller strode confidently down the hall, passed his office, and stopped in front of Larissa’s. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and let himself into Kieran’s office, which led directly to Larissa’s. The door closed behind him.

“Legal is currently debating how that would fly in court, but for our purposes that’s enough evidence.” Dennis cleared his throat. “He has absolutely no reason to be in there.”

“How did he get a key?” Mitchell asked.

“That’s a good question. It will be part of our internal investigation.” 

Mitchell replayed the video, his eyes on Ben’s face. He’d paid for very good cameras, though he did not put them inside anyone’s office. He couldn’t help but interpret Ben’s look as cocky and predatory, though he knew he was biased.

“Mitchell?” Mark asked.

“Yes?”

“Dennis just asked where Ben is now. Do you want me to look for him?” 

Mitchell blinked up at him and frowned. “Wasn’t the security firm supposed to be sending someone out here?”

Dennis sighed. “They are claiming they are short staffed.”

Mitchell’s fist came down hard on the table, and he felt Charise flinch behind him. “That’s it. I’m going to let Operations know to work with Legal to get their contract terminated. If they can’t provide the service we are paying them for, we don’t need to keep paying them.”

“Agreed,” Mark said. “But we need to put a stop to this before he does anything else.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mitchell said. He heard someone knock on one of the doors and paused.

“That’s not us,” Mark said.

Charise tried to get his attention. “Uh, Mitchell…”

The knocking came again, harder. Then a door slammed. He shook his head and turned to look at Charise. “Yes?”

“I think we have a problem. I’ve got our IT on call texting me saying that a member of their department just forwarded that video on to Ben Miller.”

A scream erupted from across the hall, loud and bone-chilling. Mitchell was on his feet without thinking, and halfway to the door before he heard Dennis ask: “What’s going on? Mitchell? Mark?”

Mitchell didn’t hear Mark’s response because he was already in the hall, listening to shouting and thumping noises from inside Larissa’s room. He pounded on her door and jerked on the handle. 

“Larissa! LARISSA!” Immediate silence. He turned, looking down the hallway for a member of staff as Mark and Charise spilled out into the hall behind him. He pounded on the door again. “FUCK! I need the key!”

The silence from inside the room scared him. He rattled the knob one more time, then turned sideways and slammed his shoulder into the door. The door and frame were solid, and pain juddered down his arm and up into his neck. “FUCK!” He slammed his shoulder into the door a second and third time.

“Mark is calling 9-1-1,” Charise said, “And a young woman just ran to look for the person who has the keys! Don’t hurt yourself!”

He could hear Mark speaking in the distance. He backed up all the way across the hall, rounded his shoulder, and sprinted, throwing himself at the door. Finally, he felt something give, heard the wood splinter. He hit the door again, and then he was in, staggering through the doorway and catching himself on the wall. 

The first thing he saw was the open glass door, letting in a cool breeze that stirred the curtains.

Then he saw Larissa.

She was sprawled on her back on the bed, dressed in panties and a t-shirt. The shirt was bunched up underneath her breasts, exposing her stomach to the cool air. Her arms and legs were both spread, eyes half open and staring at nothing. The skin of her face and neck were that same scary, purple red he remembered from months before, though this time he could clearly see finger marks.

He froze for several seconds, until Mark came into the room and said: “Oh, God. We need an ambulance, too. Yes, we have a victim—”

Mitchell’s limbs unlocked. “No… Please, NO!” He threw himself on the bed, gently tipped her head back. When he leaned his ear over her mouth, rested his hand on her chest, she was silent and still.

“Not again,” he gasped, scooping her up in his arms and dragging her to the floor. Her hair draped over his arm, feeling incongruously like silk. Charise was there, helping him lower her. As soon as Larissa was flat, he leaned over her chest and pressed his hands down between her breasts, forcing her sternum toward her heart.

“What can I do?” Charise asked, reaching to brush Larissa’s hair off of her face, then sweeping her hand down to close her eyes.

“Get the AED from down the hall. Hurry!” He squared his shoulders above his hands, pumping Larissa’s chest, trying to keep himself in some kind of control. 

“We do not have him in custody, no,” Mark said. “Look, we have someone performing CPR now, do you have an ambulance on the way?”

“Mark,” Mitchell said. His shoulder ached, but he’d be damned if he let that affect the quality of his compressions. “Make sure Greg is close by. I’ll need one of you to take over at some point.”

Her head and limbs rocked as he pumped. He could hear the air being forced out of her in little huffs. Her soft belly rippled with each compression. He looked down at her as he worked, his heart breaking. He thought it was a mercy that her eyes were closed now. He kept seeing flashes of her underneath him the night prior, from her warm gaze and her easy smile to the way she touched him. Pain knifed through his own beating heart.

“Mitchell!” he heard Charise shout. “I have the AED, but I’ve also got a member of housekeeping who used to be an EMT!”

Charise ran in, followed by a woman carrying another small bag. Charise laid the AED on the floor next to Larissa and then backed up, pressing herself against the wall. Mitchell kept compressing Larissa’s chest hard, heard her ribcage groan underneath his hands. The unidentified staff member dropped to her knees next to Larissa and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.

“What happened?” She pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck. “Pause compressions. Please.”

“I think… I think he strangled her.”

“She’s got a pulse.” She scooted around Larissa’s head, using her hands to carefully thrust the unconscious woman’s jaw forward, then leaned over to listen and feel for breath. “Respiratory arrest. What’s her name?”

“Larissa,” he said, sitting back on his heels and watching as the woman dug through the bag, pulling out a plastic case and a bag valve mask that he recognized from the last time this had happened. She opened the packaging and pressed the mask to Larissa’s face, squeezing the bag a few times before laying it down next to her head.

‘The last time this happened,’ he thought, his stomach clenching. I’ve failed. Shit like this can’t happen.

He reached out and took Larissa’s limp hand and squeezed it, hard.

“Alright, Larissa,” the woman said, her voice loud. “My name is Brooke. I’m going to help you breathe.” She opened the case and selected something from it.

“This is an airway adjunct,” she told him. “It will help keep her airway open. She’s almost definitely got some swelling.”

She held the airway against the side of Larissa’s face and then nodded. He watched her open Larissa’s mouth wide and slide the airway in, rotating it and then letting the flanged end rest on her teeth. Then she pressed the mask to Larissa’s face and squeezed the bag, her eyes on Larissa’s chest. “I feel some resistance, but she’s got equal chest rise.”

“Mark!” He heard himself call. “Have they given you an ETA?” 

“Five minutes for cops… Sir? What’s the ETA on the ambulance?” Mark listened and then said: “Ten on the ambulance. Staff is prepared to lead everyone in.”

“Will she make it that long?” he asked Brooke. She was still squeezing the bag at regular intervals, her eyes on Larissa’s chest.

She looked up at him, seeming to take his measure in a glance. He didn’t know what she saw, other than that he’d managed to choke back the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m going to show you how to use this mask to help her breathe, can you handle that?”

“I can.” 

“Alright. Squeeze steadily every five seconds. Make sure you keep the seal. Don’t squeeze faster or harder, do exactly as I do.”

He released Larissa’s hand and scooted closer to her head, careful not to catch her loose hair under his knees. He put one hand on the mask itself, lapping his fingers over her chin like he’d seen Brooke do. Then he squeezed the bag. She watched him squeeze it a few times and then nodded.

“Good. Don’t stop unless I tell you.” She pressed her fingers to Larissa’s swollen neck and her wrist, and after a moment pressed her fingers into her femoral pulse. “Pulse is stronger. Her color is much better already. What’s your name?”

“Mitchell.”

“Mitchell, to answer your question, I would feel better if she either started breathing on her own or the paramedics would show up. But she could be a lot worse off. Does she have any pre-existing health conditions?” She reached over and unzipped the AED case.

Mitchell watched in alarm, though he kept squeezing the bag regularly.

“Don’t worry,” she said, raising a hand to quell his fear. “I’m going to prep her just in case. It would be better to get it ready and not need it, then need it and lose time, right?”

“Right…” He cleared his throat and kept squeezing the bag, watching her chest rise as Brooke cut Larissa’s t-shirt up the middle and applied the pads. There were obvious signs of a struggle on her bare skin, along with the bruise his chest compressions had given her. He could see scratch marks and a reddened area across her abdomen. Brooke smoothed the pads down and plugged in the connector, though she did not turn on the AED. He watched her fold the cut ends of Larissa’s t-shirt back over her breasts.

 “You asked about pre-existing conditions…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat again. “She nearly choked to death on a piece of candy several months ago and was resuscitated. She has some neurological issues from that. She fainted last night, but of course… this, today…. this was done to her.”

“Mitchell, the police are here. I’m going to talk to them, okay?” Mark said. “I’m handing the phone to Charise in case you need an update on the ambulance.”

Mitchell hadn’t even realized anyone else but Brooke and Larissa was still in the room. “Thank you, Mark, Charise.”

Brooke looked at him, then back down at Larissa, shaking her head. 

“What is it?” Mitchell asked, trying to keep the sharpness out of his tone and his attention on squeezing the bag.

“I quit being an EMT to get away from things like this. Assaults, domestics.” She reached over and squeezed Larissa’s shoulder. She dug her fingers in hard. “Larissa. Larissa, honey, you need to wake up and breathe on your own, okay?”

Larissa’s arm jerked, moving toward Brooke. 

“Good, Larissa. Go ahead and open your eyes.”

Mitchell saw her chest rise out of sync with his squeezing.

“Brooke—”

“Let me take over.”

They swapped places, and he took Larissa’s hand in his, squeezing it every few seconds. “Larissa? Open your eyes. You’re okay. We got to you in time. You’re okay.”

Her chest rose and fell irregularly, and he watched as Brooke seemed to be supplementing her efforts. Then, he felt her fingers twitch in his.

“Larissa?”

Her eyelids fluttered and opened. The whites of both her eyes were an alarming red. He squeezed her hand, hard. She gasped and started coughing, and Brooke raised the mask from her mouth and quickly removed the airway. He watched panic roll over Larissa’s face, her limbs stiffening, back bowing. He leaned closer, just as Brooke said: “Larissa, take slow breaths for me.”

Larissa made a gagging noise and Brooke rolled her onto her side. Mitchell held her hair back as she vomited up mostly liquid, watching as Brooke swept a finger between her teeth to assure that her airway was clear.

Charise appeared with a hand towel, which Brooke used to wipe Larissa’s face and mop up the vomit. Then they rolled her onto her back again.

Larissa’s free hand flew to her neck, where the bruises were growing dark and scary. He could hear her wheezing as she breathed.

“You’re okay,” Mitchell said, trying to sound soothing as he watched tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re safe, you’re alive.”

He gently pulled her hand from her throat and brought both hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles and not caring who saw him.

“Mitch… ell…” her voice came out as a cracked whisper.

“Shh, you don’t have to talk.”

“Ben…”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry.” He took a deep breath. “We called the police. You won’t have to worry about him again. I’m so, so sorry.”

She coughed, the sound coming out as a pained squeak, and shook her head. He realized, now that her color was returning to normal, that the pale skin of her face was covered in tiny red dots. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Mitchell squeezed her hands and shook his head. “Don’t try to talk. There will be an ambulance here soon to take you to the hospital. You can tell me whatever you need to after a doctor takes a look at your throat. I’ll call your parents so they can come down, okay?”

“Do you want to ride with her in the ambulance?” Brooke asked. “I can suggest to them that you should ride with her, make an argument that you’re helping her communicate.”

“Please. I think she’ll stay calmer if I’m with her.” He kept his eyes on Larissa’s, trying to make his expression into something that resembled comfort.

Larissa

A half hour later, they were in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital. She insisted on clinging to his hand even when it was inconvenient for the paramedics, afraid she’d fly apart if she lost that connection.

She was feeling a little more comfortable after a breathing treatment, some sort of medication in an IV, and an oxygen mask. The mask had taken some convincing from Mitchell; she felt claustrophobic. 

She refused the cervical collar, and when her panic shot her heart rate and blood pressure sky high, the medics had put the collar out of sight. Mitchell leaned close and spoke to her softly in her ear until she calmed down. They removed the AED pads and attached her to a monitor, Mitchell reassuring her that they hadn’t actually had to use the pads. The medics also covered her with a blanket, which she burrowed under gratefully.

Mitchell’s eyes had barely left her face since he’d sat down on the bench. He looked haunted, his skin ashen. She wished she could talk to him, but every time she tried, she started coughing.

“A text just came across my watch,” Mitchell told her. “Mark called your parents. Soon as we can, I’ll FaceTime them, okay? I know they’ll want to see that you’re… They’ll want to talk to you. I think that will make all of you feel better.”

She squeezed his hand. He was right. 

She watched him watch her, the set of his mouth grim. She ran her thumb across the back of his hand. He blinked and leaned in closer to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just glad you’re alive. So glad…”

Exhaustion lay heavy on her body. She let her eyes linger on him until she drifted off.

Mitchell, a week later

Mitchell took the stairs two at a time, using the handrail to propel himself forward. He had a bouquet of flowers in his other hand. He was familiar with the hospital after a week of visiting Larissa there. When he made it to her floor, he hurried down the hall until he found her room.

The door was open, room divider curtains pushed wide. He stopped in the doorway, eyes searching her out. She was dressed in her own clothing, from her luggage that he’d retrieved from the chateau. A soft, beige sweater, dark blue jeans, sensible flats. Her mother was braiding her long hair. 

She still didn’t look quite like herself. Her eyes, hemorrhaged from the pressure, were about fifty percent better. The red dots, which he’d learned were petechiae, were gone. Her neck was still a mess, a background of green and yellow with dark purple finger marks stark in the foreground. 

“I feel terrible,” Larissa’s mother was saying. “If it were anyone but your grandfather…”

“I’m okay, Momma,” Larissa said. Her voice was a hoarse shadow of its former self, though the doctor said it would improve. “You and Daddy go take care of Poppy. I’ve got Mitchell, and my friends.”

“Pardon me, son,” Larissa’s father, John, spoke from behind him. “Had to take a few things down to the rental. I really appreciate you paying for that. And the tickets.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, and he meant it. He didn’t think he could ever make it up to Larissa or her parents. 

“Are you just going to stand in the hall?” Larissa croaked. She was smiling at him. Her mother draped the completed braid over her shoulder. 

Mitchell took a deep breath and walked inside the room. “Discharged, then?” He held the bouquet out to her. 

“Lilies!” Larissa’s mother, Margaret, cooed as her daughter cradled the bouquet. 

“Thank you,” Larissa whispered, tipping her face up to him. 

He kissed her, self-conscious in front of her parents. 

“Not quite discharged,” she said after the kiss. “Just waiting on paperwork and then they are required to wheel me out of here.”

“We’ve still got plenty of time,” John said. “I’ll feel better when I see you outside. Don’t like hospitals.”

“Did Mark reach out?” Mitchell asked. He sat down next to her on the bed. “He’s been hounding me to know how you’re doing, and I told him you’d probably appreciate a direct message.”

“He did,” she said. “And Cherise. Everyone’s been so kind, though I think Legal is concerned I’m going to sue.”

She grinned at him and winked.

A man in blue scrubs hurried into her room, his hand full of papers. “Here’s your copy of everything, just like I promised you. Discharge instructions, information about prescriptions, list of upcoming appointments. You’ve got someone staying with you tonight?”

“She does,” Mitchell said, making a point of not looking at her father.

“Excellent. Someone will come by in just a minute with a wheelchair, you can go ahead and have your ride come around.”

“Thank you,” Larissa said.

“You’re welcome. Glad to see you doing well enough to get out of here.” The man smiled and tossed a wave around the room before hurrying out the door.

Mitchell stood, looking around for Larissa’s overnight bag.

“I’ve got it,” John said, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk down with you. Her mother can keep her company for a few.”

Mitchell, an hour later

Larissa was quiet on the drive to her apartment. He reached over and rubbed her leg for a few seconds before returning his hand to the steering wheel. She smiled at him.

“Is your grandfather going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I wish I could see him, but I don’t think I’m up for a trip to Canada. I’m sure the customs agents would have questions for me. Momma said she’d FaceTime me if he was lucid.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “My sister-in-law wanted me to tell you she’s praying for your family.”

“That’s kind of her.” Larissa cleared her throat. “Ow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sore,” she croaked. “But okay. Did Daddy say anything crazy while he was alone with you?”

“Not… super crazy,” he replied, grinning ruefully. “He asked about my ‘intentions’ and reminded me that your mother is the Canadian and that he’s from the South. I think I got his meaning. It was nicer than anything I would have said if I were him.”

“Mitchell…” She sighed and cupped her hand to her throat. “Ow.”

“Don’t worry about talking,” he told her. “We can just enjoy each other in silence.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm, then reached down and laid her seat back. 

“You can sleep if you want,” he said. “I have your address in my GPS.”

She sighed, settling herself, and a few minutes later she was fast asleep.

Larissa

The ride home and even the walk up to her apartment were a blur. She remembered him supporting her in the elevator, holding her close against him. The next thing she knew, it was late in the day, and she was stretched out on the sofa, her shoes off, covered with a blanket. 

She felt fingers pressing into the pulse point in one of her wrists and opened her eyes. Mitchell was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her arm in his lap, taking her pulse. 

“What…?” She croaked, blinking at him in confusion.

“It’s just… reassuring,” he said, meeting her eyes. “The feel of your heart beating. I’m sorry for waking you. I know you’re exhausted.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight. Your parents got to the airport okay. I let them know you were taking a nap.”

She relaxed against a throw pillow, a smile on her lips. He still had his fingers on the inside of her wrist, only now they were gently stroking. 

“I like your apartment,” he said. “I looked around a little. Everything’s classy but comfortable.”

“I try,” she whispered.

He leaned over and kissed her, and she reached up to thread her fingers into his hair. He released her wrist and gently cupped her cheek.

When they broke the kiss, she whispered: “You can touch my neck. To feel my heartbeat there. It’s okay. No one but you.”

His own throat worked, and then he slid his fingers south, grazing her mottled skin. He found her carotid pulse and let his fingers hover there.

Larissa closed her eyes and felt his touch like he’d pressed his fingers straight to her clit. She jumped, opening her eyes, and he immediately withdrew his hand, concerned.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

What’s wrong with me? She felt her sex throb and reached up to grasp his hand. 

Just go with it. She brought his hand down to her ribcage, encouraging him to press his palm to her apex. “You didn’t hurt me. Or scare me.”

“What then?” His voice was husky and he looked confused, though she noticed he didn’t remove his hand, even with the weight of her breast pressed against his palm.

“Do you think you have it in you to make love to someone who looks like she got mugged by a watercolor?”

His eyes went wide and then he threw back his head and laughed. “I’m just laughing at the way you said that, I swear!”

She grinned up at him, then let her face relax. She took a deep, intentional breath, felt his hand ride the wave of her inhalation. She watched his eyes study her face for a long moment, and then his hand lifted from her ribcage. 

He leaned over her and kissed her. His lips were gentle, his probing tongue slow but insistent. She felt one of his hands glide down her body and cup her mound over her jeans. He rubbed a gentle circle, pulling a moan from her lips.

“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” he said. “Or if you feel unwell in any way.”

“I promise.”

He was slow and careful with her. He spent a long time making out with her on the sofa, the hand over her jeans tapping out a gentle but incessant rhythm that had her squirming.

After an eternity, as though finally convinced it was safe to proceed, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

He was all tenderness, stripping off her clothing and laying her down on fresh sheets. He kissed her over her sternum, lips gentle against the green and yellow bruises. Then he turned his attention to her breasts, cupping them, running his thumbs over her hard nipples before finding them with his mouth. She tipped her head back and moaned. He surprised her by using his teeth, nibbling at her breasts as he slid his hand between her thighs, making her buck off the mattress.

His fingers massaged her clit, and he brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her deeply and giving her breaks to come up for air. She reached for him, hands sliding up under his shirt, lightly scratching his chest. He broke contact with her long enough to remove his shirt, and then he returned his attentions to her mouth and the wetness between her thighs.

Now he was pumping his fingers in and out of her, and she couldn’t stop rolling her hips, her legs spreading wide. She reached down and undid each button on his button fly jeans, slipped her hand inside to feel his hardness through his boxer briefs.

She was panting, her eyes closed. She could feel the ache starting deep inside her. Fingers weren’t enough.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered. “Now.”

He curled his fingers as he pulled them out, then reached up and slipped them into her mouth. She sucked her own arousal off of his fingers while he pushed his jeans down one-handed.

He pulled back long enough to drag his pants and boxers off, then crawled over her, his erection settling between her thighs. She bucked against him, helpless with need.

He guided himself inside her and started thrusting, long and slow at first and gradually picking up speed. She brought her legs up and locked them around him, pulling him deeper.

Mitchell

He let his rhythm rock her body, her breasts swaying. Her hand slipped between them to rub her clit, and he let out a low groan at the sight of her. Larissa’s eyes were closed, one hand between her thighs, face flushed, the other hand reaching up to trail her fingers down his chest.

She was getting close. He replaced her fingers with his thumb, rubbing over and around her clit. She moaned with each thrust, and he soaked it all in, hoping to finish with her. A flush started below her breasts and ran up into her face.

“Mitchell,” she whispered. “Mitchell… Oh!”

Then she came, her back arching off the bed and her muscles gripping hard around him. He felt his balls tighten, thrust harder once, twice, a third time, and then he was there with her. He slid his hand back up to the apex of her heart, felt her pounding against the palm of his hand as he emptied himself inside of her. Then he moved his hand to the center of her heaving chest.

“Just breathe,” he murmured, coming down. “I just want to feel you breathe.”

[resusheart]

Wonderful story!!!! One of a kind. Thank you @clarepreed for your awsome writing

[clarepreed]

Septic

Short Story Summary and Content: 4,337 words, female victim in septic shock, resuscitation in a moving vehicle.

--

“We should have gone to urgent care before we came out here. Or even a couple of days ago when you first started feeling bad.” Jackson reached over and ran his hand across his wife’s shoulders, then reached up to rub the back of her head. When they’d gotten up, he thought she’d looked ashen and tired, but she’d insisted on coming on the hike. 

He was worried about her for the entire hike, noticing how she lagged behind. Eventually he’d told her the two of them should turn around, worried about her haggard and gray appearance. “You don’t look okay.”

“My side hurts,” she said, pressing her hand to her ribcage before wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. “I’m probably coming down with something.”

“Are you cold?” He was surprised; the day was warm, and she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

“Yeah, I—” She caught her foot on a root and nearly fell, then couldn’t seem to keep her feet; he grabbed her and held her upright, alarmed when her eyes started to flutter.

“Woah… why don’t we stop for a minute?” He eased her down onto the trail and helped her put her head between her knees. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well, sweetie. I could carry you on my back the rest of the way so you don’t have to walk.”

“No,” Maria muttered, pulling her head up from between her knees. Despite the chill of her skin, she was sweating. Baby hairs clung to the sweat springing out along her hair line. “How much farther?”

“Five minutes,” Jackson said, rubbing her back. “We just passed the sign where the trail splits.”

He watched her face as she digested that information. She seemed resigned, or edging into listlessness. 

“Maybe I should drive you to the hospital.”

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I just need a bed.”

She reached out to him to help her up, and he hauled her up off the ground, keeping a firm hold on her. She was breathing fast, her eyes briefly closing when he got her on her feet.

“Ugh.” She opened her eyes and they shuffled down the trail together.

“Maybe the internet will be back up and you can spend the rest of the day watching Netflix,” he said. There’d been a thunderstorm the day before and the rental cabin had lost power for a few hours. The internet hadn’t come back at all. None of the group had cell service out there, and the landline was VoIP, so they were effectively cut off. “To think we spent extra to get this place because it had internet…”

She didn’t respond, her gaze directed toward the ground as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

When they got back to the cabin, he helped her with her boots and then bundled her up in bed. She immediately curled into a ball, hands clutching at her ribcage.

“Why does your side hurt so much, sweetie?” He leaned over her, hands hovering, afraid to touch her and cause her more pain.

“Maybe…” She trailed off and closed her eyes. “Don’t know. Don’t worry. I’m gonna sleep.”

He let her rest, though he checked on her periodically as the morning passed. He didn’t like the gray undertones of her skin, or the way she’d so easily slipped into sleep.

Their friends would be back for lunch soon, and he could ask Carter his opinion. Carter was a landscaper, but his mom was a retired ER nurse and his dad had been a paramedic for over a decade before he changed careers. They’d made sure he grew up competent and calm in emergencies. He’d even saved a classmate’s life his senior year of high school by performing the Heimlich on a choking underclassman.

The next time he checked on Maria, she looked worse. Her lips were white, and she was shivering, her eyes closed. Somehow, she looked smaller in the bed.

“Maria?” Jackson asked, his voice loud in an attempt to cut through her sleep. “Can you drink some water?”

She moaned, but didn’t open her eyes. Then she said: “Don’t want coffee.”

“Water, sweetie. Or tea?”

She didn’t respond to that. She seemed to go limp, still aside from her rapid panting. Jackson sat on the edge of the bed and grasped her arms. “Maria?”

He heard the front door open, his friends spilling into the cabin, energized by their hike. Jackson leaned over, kissed Maria on the temple. She felt cold. He got up and went looking for Carter.

He found Carter in the kitchen, raking a hand through his sweaty hair before shoving the ball cap back on his head.

“Hey,” Jackson said, his voice low and urgent. “Do you mind coming to check on Maria with me? I want your opinion. I think I’m going to have to drive her into town.”

“Yeah, sure,” Carter said, looking concerned. “She feels pretty bad?”

“She’s out of it,” Jackson said. “And in pain.”

He led Carter into the bedroom. Maria was still curled on her side, and he could hear her rapid panting from the door.

“I don’t like how she’s breathing,” Carter said, sitting down in the edge of the bed. “Maria?”

“I don’t, either.”

“Maria?” Carter called again. He grasped her shoulder and shook her. She made a weak noise but didn’t open her eyes. 

He watched Carter press his fingers into her neck to take her pulse. A minute or so later, Carter reached down and shook her shoulder again. “Maria!”

“What do you think?”

“Her heart’s beating really fast,” Carter said. He looked down at Maria for a few more seconds and then seemed to make a decision. When he looked up at Jackson his expression was determined. “We need to take her to the hospital. Now. I don’t think she’s okay at all.”

Jackson felt his concern begin to edge into fear. He tamped it down, and asked: “How far out is the hospital?”

“Forty minutes. Can you carry her outside?”

“Yes, of course.” 

“Okay. Give me like two minutes.” Carter stood up and hurried out of the room and called out to his girlfriend. “Hey, babe, I need you to drive us to the hospital.”

Jackson leaned over and uncovered her, pushing the sheets and blankets to the side. She stirred, and he cupped her cheek. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, sweetie. You’re going to be okay. Just hang on a bit longer for me, okay?”

Her eyes cracked open to slits. He listened to her pant for a few seconds. She opened her eyes wider and said, sounding surprised: “I’m dying.”

Jackson felt like she’d dunked him in ice water, and rushed to reassure her. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. We’re taking you to the ER now. You’re going to be okay.”

“Sorry,” she wheezed, and closed her eyes. She didn’t speak again, and the next time she breathed it came as a gasp. The next gasp was several long seconds later.

“Maria. Maria? Maria! Maria!” He shook her hard by the shoulders, but she didn’t rouse.

Cursing, Jackson slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. He lifted her limp body off the mattress and felt her head sag back, neck hyper-extending over his arm. 

Carter met him in the hall. “Come on.”

“She’s worse,” Jackson said, jogging behind Carter. He was learning what the phrase “heart in your throat” truly meant. “She just… she told me she was dying and then I think she passed out.”

They hurried outside. 

“Gemma’s driving,” Carter said. “I want to be back there with the two of you. Khalil’s gonna ride shotgun and as soon as he has service, he’s calling 9-1-1. I grabbed the AED and first aid kit out of the kitchen just in case.”

Carter’s Rubicon was backed up as close to the cabin as they could get, the rear doors open and the back seats folded down. They’d spread out a blanket to cover the floor. 

Carter climbed into the back and reached for Maria, taking her upper half from Jackson. She was completely limp as they lifted her into the Jeep and laid her flat on the floor. Khalil closed up the back and climbed into the front passenger seat, and then they were gone.

“Maria. Maria!” Jackson kneeled beside her and smoothed the hair back from her face. She looked terrible. Skin gray, body limp.

“Gemma! Uh… Look, drive as fast as you can. Safely. She’s not doing well at all.” Carter rested his hand on her stomach, then her chest, then leaned over her, his hands moving up to tip her head back. He held his ear over her mouth and moved his hand back to her chest, listening and feeling for breath.

“She stopped breathing!” he exclaimed, his head popping up. He blinked down at her for a few seconds, looking nonplussed, before springing into action. Jackson watched him pinch her nose shut, take a deep breath, and seal his mouth over hers. Exhaling into her, they both watched her chest rise.

“What?” Jackson asked, staring down at his wife. “What…?  I don’t understand, she was just sick!”

“I’ll go as fast as I can!” Gemma shouted. “Stay with us, Maria!”

“Maria! God! Maria, you have to breathe!” Jackson ran his hand down her arm, unsure what to do. She was completely limp; he could feel her unnatural slackness under his hand.

Jackson watched as Carter gave her another breath, then rose up on his knees, hands clasping together. He pressed the heel of his hand between her breasts, rocked his shoulders forward, and then forced her sternum down two inches. He came back up and then thrust his hands back into her again.

“One, two, three…” Her head rocked as he gave her chest compressions, feet swaying. Jackson heard a strange, quiet sound coming out of her, like air was being forced out and the contents of her stomach were churning. Her belly bulged with each thrust. He felt frozen, watching his friend crush his wife’s chest over and over again.

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Carter leaned over and gave her two more quick breaths. “Jackson! JACKSON! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME! …three, four, five, six, seven…”

Jackson made himself speak. “What do I do? Oh my God…”

“Look in the bag for a CPR mask! Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

Jackson grabbed the small bag, his shaking hands jerking at the zipper until it opened and the contents spilled out.

“…twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

He found a red plastic case and popped it open. There was a mask inside, collapsed in on itself. He popped his thumbs into the underside and the mask opened up, valve extending. He leaned over Maria and gently cupped her head, slipping the elastic over her hair and fitting the mask over her nose and mouth.

He didn’t wait to be asked. He tipped her head back like he’d seen Carter do, and inhaled before wrapping his lips around the valve. When he exhaled, her chest swelled. It sank when he broke the seal, then expanded again with the second breath.

“One, two, three…” Carter was compressing her chest again, the force traveling down to her toes and up out of her mouth. The Rubicon suddenly jerked and dropped down into a hole before popping out again. Maria’s lifeless, graying body flopped with the movement.

“Sorry, gravel’s uneven here!” Gemma shouted. 

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Breathe!”

Jackson forced two more breaths into her, and Carter started chest compressions again. They could hear her sternum and ribcage crackling and popping under his hands, but Maria was senseless to it. 

“…three, four, five, six…”

“Please don’t do this, Maria,” Jackson whispered. Then he startled, remembering what Carter had said about the AED. He pivoted around until he found the red case and dragged it next to Maria’s body. He unzipped it, turned everything right side up.

“…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight—there should be scissors! Thirty, I’ll breathe!” Carter leaned over her and gave her a breath.

Jackson found the shears and snipped the top of her shirt, briefly dropping the scissors so he could rip her top all the way down to the bottom hem. Carter gave her another breath as Jackson snipped the bottom hem of her shirt and between the cups of her bra. The fabric parted as her chest fell. There was a bruise forming between her breasts, harsh against her tawny skin.

Carter pressed his hands down into the bruise. “Turn it on! Get the pads! Work around me! Three, four, five…”

Her breasts wobbled with each thrust, Carter’s fingers digging into her soft flesh. With her shirt cut open, Jackson could see the way her belly rippled with each compression. He grabbed the pads and leaned over the AED, pressing the “power” button to turn it on.

The pads were labeled, and he was able to peel off the backing and press the first pad to Maria’s upper left chest. The Rubicon suddenly slowed, then made a harsh turn. He braced himself with a hand on the front passenger seat. Carter managed to continue compressions, though he called out: “Warn us before you do that, we’re about to use the defibrillator back here! Thirty!”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!” the AED commanded.

Carter breathed for her, and Jackson pressed the second pad near her right breast, his thumb grazing her soft skin. Carter gave her another breath and then started another round of compressions. 

“One, two, three, four—”

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Carter stopped compressions, and both men leaned back.

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

“How far out are we?” Carter asked, breathing hard.

“More than a half hour,” they heard Khalil say, subdued.

“Shock advised, charging. Do not touch patient.”

“Make sure you aren’t touching her,” Carter warned.

Jackson double checked, scooting his body back from hers by a half an inch.

The AED made a loud noise and the large button in the center started flashing. “Stand clear. Press the shock button.”

“I’m clear,” Carter said. 

Jackson reached out and pressed the button. Maria’s torso convulsed slightly, and he saw her arms twitch.

“Shock delivered. Analyzing rhythm.”

Jackson kept his eyes on her ribcage, willing it to rise on its own.

“Shock advised. Charging. Do not touch patient.”

He already hated that sound coming out of the AED.

“Stand clear. Do not touch patient. Press the shock button.”

“Clear!” Jackson called out, checking to be sure they weren’t touching her before he pressed the button.

“Shock delivered. Resume CPR for two minutes.”

Carter restarted his forceful compressions. “One, two, three, four, five…”

Jackson couldn’t help but stare. Her neck was hyper-extended, throat exposed, mouth hidden by the CPR mask. She was still making that quiet noise that was halfway between a huff and a gulp each time Carter forced her sternum down and let it come back up. Her shoulders twitched and her breasts swayed rhythmically. Her belly rolled in a shallow wave that crashed against the waistband of her pants.

Jackson reached out and unbuttoned her pants, unzipping them and pulling the fly open, hoping that would help in some way.

“Thirty!”

He leaned over, tipped her head back, and forced his air into her. She accepted it without resistance or movement aside from the artificial inflation of her chest.

He gave her a second breath, and then Carter resumed compressions.

Jackson continued his review of her body. The rippling of her stomach was unimpeded now, her abdomen distending, collapsing, and then bulging again. Her legs were rocking with each thrust. He could see her painted toenails in the sunlight streaming into the cargo area of the Rubicon.

“…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four— After this cycle, after the AED, we need to switch. Thirty!”

Jackson rested his hand on her naked chest as he breathed into her, felt her breasts rise, then the disconcerting fall. He leaned back, cleared his throat. 

“I can do that,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“One, two, three, four…” 

“Khalil!” Jackson called to the front. “Do you have a signal?!”

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve….”

“Not yet. It should come back when we go under the interstate. That’s when I lost it on the way here.”

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” 

Jackson gave her another two breaths. He hovered over her when he was finished, his hand smoothing her forehead and caressing her cheek. He’d stayed as calm as possible so far, but it was starting to sink in, really sink in, that Maria was right. She was dying.

Carter must have been thinking similarly, because his chest compressions seemed to get more forceful, and Jackson could hear his breath coming hard and fast. 

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty… shit!” Carter faltered, his eyes wide, hands slowing.

“What? What is it?!”

Carter shook his head and picked up the pace. “I’m sorry, I think I’m hurting her. Thirty!”

Jackson felt a little lightheaded as he breathed into her, watched her chest rise and fall. “You’re doing what you have to,” he gasped.

“…two, three, four, five, six…”

Her skin was mottled, and her lips were turning blue under the mask. Jackson could see what looked like a rash up her side, the skin discolored and swollen. He assumed that had something to do with the pain she’d been in, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.

“…twenty, twenty-one—”

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Carter leaned back, breathing hard. He shook out his arms.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

“Shock advised. Charging.” That terrible sound again. “Stand clear. Press the shock button.”

“Bump!” Gemma called out, and the men braced themselves. Maria’s head fell to the side. Her eyes had come halfway open, and they seemed to stare through Jackson as they road evened out again.

Carter was clear, so Jackson pressed the flashing button, causing Maria’s body to twitch.

“Shock delivered. Analyzing rhythm.”

Please, please, please, please...

“Shock advised. Charging.” 

This time, please Maria…

“Stand clear. Press the shock button.” Jackson pressed the button again and watched her jerk.

“Shock delivered. Resume CPR for two minutes.”

“Damn,” he heard Carter mutter.

Jackson interlocked his fingers, seated his hands between her breasts, and rocked his shoulders over his hands the way Carter had done. He pushed down, hard, and flinched.

Carter saw him grimace. “You’re doing it right. Go ahead and count.”

“Two, three, four, five…” Now he was looking down at her from a slightly different angle. Her head was still rolled to the side, saving him from the judgment of her glassy eyes. He watched the way the force of his hands displaced her body; her breasts quivering, ribs depressing, stomach rolling. If she lived, he wondered how long it would take her to recover. Or how much she would recover. “…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

His voice cracked, and he watched Carter turn her head up and reopen her airway. He didn’t remove his hands, but he released all pressure, letting Carter’s breaths shift his clasped hands on her breastbone. Then he leaned back into her, hard.

“One, two, three…” He needed to compartmentalize. His mind felt like it could shatter, and there were tears gathering in his eyes. His sinuses grew congested and his throat tightened.

“I’ve got service!” Khalil exclaimed. “I’m calling 9-1-1 now!”

“…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” He forced his interlocked hands between her breasts each time he counted, watching as her head bobbed.

“Yes, my friend was sick and she stopped breathing! Her husband and my other friend are doing CPR and using an AED now!

“One, two, three, four, five…”

“Yes, that’s him counting compressions. Uh, my name? I’m—”

“…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

“No, we’re driving.” 

Jackson heard Khalil explain where they were and where they were headed.

“…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Carter bent over and forced two more breaths into Jackson’s wife. She remained unresponsive.

“One, two, three…”

“Four shocks so far,” he heard Khalil say. Then he said: “The operator wants us to pull over. She says the movement of the vehicle will interfere with the operation of the AED, and that it’s very dangerous for Maria and the both of you.”

“…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

“Jackson? Carter? Do I pull over?” Gemma asked. She sounded like she’d been crying, and he had a vague thought that that was probably just as dangerous as the AED.

Carter finished breathing for Maria, and Jackson resumed compressions. “One, two, three, four, five—is an ambulance going to meet us if we pull over? Eleven, twelve…”

“We can pull over when the AED starts analyzing!” Carter said, his voice harsh. “It’s almost a straight shot from here to the turn into the hospital. Just tell them what the Rubicon looks like, it’s bright fucking blue, they can’t miss it!”

“We’ll pull over to use the AED and then get back on the road,” Khalil told the operator. “It’s a neon blue Jeep Wrangler Rubicon!”

“Gemma, pull over!” Carter said.

She essentially stopped in the middle of the road, the vehicle pulling to the right.

“Twenty-seven—”

“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Jackson leaned back, chest heaving. 

“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Jackson could hear the rhythmic clicking sound of the Rubicon’s emergency blinkers. His hands came up and plunged into his hair.

“Shock advised. Charging.” The harsh alarm rang out a fifth time. “Do not touch patient. Stand clear. Press shock button.”

“I’m clear!” Carter said. 

Jackson pressed the shock button, watched his wife’s chest jump and her hands flinch. 

“Shock delivered. Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

“Did she take anything?” Khalil asked.

“No, we didn’t bring anything for her to take,” Jackson said.

“No shock advised. Resume CPR for two minutes.”

“What does that mean?!” Jackson exclaimed.

“I’m driving!” Gemma shouted, and they felt the Rubicon lurch forward.

Carter started compressions again. “I don’t know. Three, four, five, six…”

“She was sick, I don’t know!” Khalil exclaimed.

“Her side was hurting,” Jackson said, trying to be loud enough for the operator to hear. “She was cold, and lightheaded. She has a rash on her side. No allergies, no pre-existing conditions. She takes some vitamins and she’s got an IUD…”

“Thirty!”

Jackson bent over, grasped her face in his hands, and forced a breath into her. “Don’t die, please don’t die, please…” He gave her another breath.

He stayed bent over her, hands cupping her face. Tears were dripping onto her face and the mask, and he wiped the moisture gently off her skin.

Carter sounded frustrated. “…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—Jesus, are we going to beat the ambulance to the hospital?! Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Jackson’s hands on her face were more of a loving gesture now than any semblance of medical attention, though he still wrapped his lips around the mask valve and breathed into her once, then twice. “Maria. If you can hear me, I’m not ready and neither are you. Don’t die. Please, Maria!”

“…eight, nine, ten…”

“What do you mean what direction are we headed?! Southbound! Like I said earlier!” Khalil sounded distraught. “THAT’S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN GET WRONG RIGHT NOW!”

“Are they going the wrong direction?!” Gemma asked, the Rubicon swerving.

“I don’t know! Pay attention to where you’re driving!”

“Thirty!” 

He gave her two full breaths and then used his thumb to close her eyes.

“One, two, three, four…”

She didn’t look dead now that her eyes were closed. She looked very unwell, or dying, but he could believe she wasn’t dead now that the lifelessness in her formerly warm, dark eyes was no longer visible. 

“False alarm on the ambulance going the wrong direction,” Khalil said, his voice tight. “Operator got confused.”

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

I love you. Breath. I love you so much. Breath.

“One, two, three…” Carter sounded like he’d been running. Jackson glanced up at him, took in his red face and the sweat dripping off his nose.

“Thank you,” he murmured, before turning his attention back to her face.

“…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—Gemma! Pull over! Twenty-two…”

This time, Gemma made it onto the shoulder.

“Thirty!”

Stay with me. Breath.

This time, the AED chimed in when he was mid second breath.

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

“Any idea,” Carter took a deep breath, “when the ambulance is going to meet us?”

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

“They’re asking about the ambulance—” Khalil said into the phone. Then he gasped. “Okay! Okay, they aren’t far out! They didn’t come from the hospital; they came from a station—”

“Shock advised. Charging. Do not touch patient.” The warning sound pealed. “Stand clear. Press shock button.”

Carter raised his hands.

Jackson pressed the shock button.

Her back bowed slightly, ribs visible, breasts quaking and her limbs twitching.

“Shock delivered. Analyzing rhythm.”

“I SEE THE AMBULANCE!” Gemma shrieked.

“No shock advised.”

Maria’s eyelids fluttered, though they didn’t open. Carter leaned over her, his hand on her chest and the other hand lifting the CPR mask to the side. Then he moved his hand off her chest and pressed his fingers into her neck.

“She has a pulse!” 

A wave of relief and shock crashed over Jackson. He could hear the approaching sirens, and Gemma’s door as she hopped out to flag the ambulance down.

“She’s not breathing,” Carter said. He sounded weary. “She’s got a pulse, but she’s still not breathing. Or maybe she’s breathing shallow, I can’t tell.”

He fitted the mask back on her face, but Jackson nudged him to the side.

“I’ve got her,” he said, slipping a hand under her neck to support it. He closed his lips over the valve and gave her a deep, hopeful breath.

[clarepreed]

Late Night at the Office

Short Story Summary and Content: 5,930 words, female victim, on-site choking and resuscitation.

Larissa

Larissa glanced at the clock. Two AM. She should have gone home hours ago. At this rate, she would have to wear her emergency suit to her morning presentation and hope there was ice in the kitchen to calm her swollen eyelids. Sighing, Larissa dragged her long, honey blonde hair into a messy bun, rubbed her hands over her eyes, and made herself take a deep breath before she surveyed the room.

She had the SMART board ready, as well as the easel and chart paper. There were marketing materials, demo items, and giveaways arranged artfully on the conference table. She had her pitch memorized. 

She had this.

The only reason she was nervous, or at least as far as she could determine, was because this was her first solo pitch with such an important client. Sure, her CEO would be there, but he wasn’t participating in the presentation. It was all on her, and she was pretty sure that if she did well and bagged the client, there was a promotion forthcoming. A promotion that included her own assistant, which would mean no more early morning meeting prep. And more sleep, maybe even time to go to the gym. 

She ran her hands down the sides of her body, feeling the new curves she’d accumulated over the past year. She’d had to buy an entirely new wardrobe. A wardrobe she now realized did not include her emergency suit.

“Dammit,” she muttered. Then she pulled herself together and shook her head. “It’s alright. I think I can get out of here within the hour.”

The office was silent. Security had locked up, verified with her that she was staying late, and then retired to the office with the camera monitors. She thought someone had been in and out around ten, but she hadn’t heard or seen anything since. Granted, she hadn’t left the conference room since she had to pee at midnight.

The weather was bad; she’d heard rain hammering the side of the building when she’d gone to the bathroom. She’d assumed if she stayed late enough the storm would pass and she’d have an easier time of it when she left the office. 

Her stomach rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. She hadn’t eaten dinner, and all she had in the conference room was a bowl of hard candy.

Larissa padded around the big table in her bare feet and plucked a bright red disc-shaped candy from the bowl. They were all bright red, so she brought the wrapped candy to her nose and sniffed while she looked idly up and down the table. Cinnamon, she thought. Not her favorite, but it would do. Maybe it would settle her stomach, which was roiling with nerves.

She unwrapped the candy and padded back over to one of the trash cans, dropping the wrapper inside as she popped the candy into her mouth. 

Then she was back at the table, resisting the urge to crunch the sweet disc as she went around and changed the position of the boxes of branded fountain pens. Her mouth was watering as her digestive system begged for more calories. She was probably going to have to stop for something on her way home, if anything was open.

Thunder cracked, barely audible in the conference room but enough to rattle the exterior windows, drawing her attention. She straightened, turning her head sharply to look for the source of the noise. As she moved, she inhaled and immediately started coughing, the cinnamon-flavored saliva hitting the back of her throat and inducing a fit. She coughed into her elbow, surprised by the ferocity of the coughing jag and growing lightheaded from want of air. She sucked in a breath, careless of the positioning of the candy, which she then sucked down into her airway, blocking it.

The panic was immediate. Her arms flailed out, one hitting the transparent walls of the conference room, the other knocking into the monitor on the presentation desk in the corner. She tried to cough, couldn’t. Pounded on her chest with a closed fist, leaning over the trash can. Jammed her fingers into her mouth, trying to grasp the candy and pull it free. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, and it felt like her entire face was bulging. Her abdomen and chest muscles were working futilely, trying to draw breath into her panicking body. 

Desperate, she shoved her fist into her stomach, just above her navel. This proved useless, and she staggered forward, painfully shoving herself into the corner of the conference table.

Her limbs were already beginning to feel numb, a gray fog interspersed with flashing lights slipping over her eyes.

Security, she thought.

There wasn’t a phone in the conference room, but she knew one of the secretaries nearby took calls for that space, posted close to the door in case the occupants needed anything.

She slammed the conference room door open, reeling, headed in the wrong direction. She’d forgotten there were doors on both ends of the conference space, and she’d gone out the back corner instead of the front entrance.

Disoriented, she staggered into a wall, knocking a framed piece of art to the floor. The frame cracked and the glass shattered, and she hardly felt it when the glass sliced into her foot. Another set of motion detecting lights clicked on as she knocked into the opposing wall.

She tried the door of the first office, but it was locked.

Her knees gave out, and she landed hard on her chest. She felt the used up air in her lungs try to force its way out, but the candy didn’t budge. Her hands clawed at her throat, at the floor, and she managed to roll onto her back just as her vision blacked out.

“What the fuck?!” She heard a man’s voice, though it sounded like he spoke at the end of a long tunnel. She felt someone grip her arms, hard, and pull her hands away from her neck.

Then she was gone.

Mitchell

He was sleeping in his office, something he’d sworn to his mother he’d never do.

Granted, it was a nice place to sleep. The sofa was comfortable, the room temperature optimal, and he had a blanket. Even better, he had a small closet for clothing and access to the executive facilities, which included a private kitchen, small gym, and showers. 

He’d been out on a date after his normal working hours. A rainy date with someone much too young that had gone very poorly. After loading his date up in an Uber and getting thoroughly soaked in the process, Mitchell decided to swing by the office to wrap up a few loose ends. Then he’d gotten a flood alert and decided trying to drive home in the rain was a bad idea.

He dozed off at ten, woke up around one-thirty, and was unable to fall back to sleep. He got up instead and puttered around on his computer, thinking about his disastrous date, the highlight of which was when the young man got drunk, harassed the wait staff, and tried to put it all (including Mitchell’s face) on Instagram. Or TikTok. He wasn’t sure.

“No more dates under thirty-five,” he muttered to himself. “Men or women.”

A half hour passed, and he was thinking about laying back down on the couch when he heard a crash and breaking glass just down the hall.

He reached automatically for the phone to call security but decided against it. He seriously doubted there was an intruder; chances were that one of his executives was coming in from a night on the town and didn’t expect anyone to be there. This sort of behavior wasn’t exactly encouraged, but considering the weather Mitchell was willing to overlook minor indiscretions.

He thought about ignoring the sound, but he decided he’d better check it out. His Chief Revenue Officer tended toward alcoholism and had already injured himself once this year; he’d feel guilty if James needed help and he slept through it. He hoped it wasn’t James, he thought the treatment the company had paid for had been going well.

Mitchel left his office, walking through his secretary’s space in his socked feet. When he opened the door, he noticed the lights were already on. Several doors down, to the left, he saw a picture on the floor and a woman lying next to it, her hands clawing at her throat as her back bowed and her bare feet kicked listlessly against the nearby baseboard. There was a spattering of blood trailing down the hall from the picture to her body, even smeared on the wall, coming from an apparent wound in her foot.

His mouth fell open, and his brain took several seconds to interpret what he was seeing.

“What the fuck?!” he exclaimed, before darting forward and dropping to his knees next to her.

Larissa, he thought, though she was barely recognizable. Larissa Colton, Marketing. He was supposed to be observing her presentation in the morning. Instead, she looked in dire straits, fingers digging bloody tracks in the delicate skin of her throat. 

Instinctively, he grabbed her forearms and wrenched them back. At the same time, her body went limp, head tipping to the side, her wide, light-colored eyes staring at the wall. Mitchell hovered there, her arms still in his grip, uncertain as to what had just happened. A few more seconds passed, and then he let her arms drop, reaching down instead to grasp her face in his hands.

“Larissa!” He called out. The shock was fading, replaced quickly by fear. The woman’s face was a dark, purplish red. He was fairly certain this was her, though the picture in his mind was of an attractive woman with a curvaceous figure, something he was never supposed to admit he’d noticed. Now, her bulging eyes and purple skin looked horrifying. Drool spilled over her chin, and her nails had clawed bloody marks down her neck and across her chest. She was dressed only in a camisole and pencil skirt, and he could see smudges of blood down the front of her shirt. “Larissa?”

Mitchell required everyone in the office to be certified annually for CPR, AED, and First Aid. His own father had been saved by a coworker who knew how to use an AED and gone on to live another two years. But Mitchell had been fortunate enough to never need to use any of that training.

Now, he put one hand on Larissa’s forehead and the other on her chin, tilting her head back and lowering his ear over her mouth.

She smelled like sugar and artificial cinnamon, an odd combination for a woman who looked that unwell and evidently wasn’t breathing.

“Fuck!” he blurted. He scrambled to his feet and bolted back to his office, nearly wiping out in his socked feet. He ran inside and grabbed his cell phone before rushing back out, stopping at his secretary’s desk to hit the panic button. Then he skated back down the hall to Larissa’s lifeless body. She lay on her back, staring at the wall, looking even worse than she had a couple of minutes prior. He knew better, but he was disappointed that she hadn’t miraculously started breathing while he was gone. 

He dropped beside her, dialed 9-1-1 and put the phone on speaker before setting it next to him. He could hear the line ringing and leaned over her. He didn’t think he’d been this scared… ever, really. He felt his hands shake.

You are not where you are in life because you panic under pressure, he told himself, quickly running through what he remembered from CPR class.

He clasped his hands together and pressed the heel between her breasts, rocking his shoulders over his hands. Then he pushed down, hard, remembering he was aiming for a two-inch depth. 

Crushing a person’s ribcage down toward their spine was unpleasant, and he made an involuntary noise in his throat as he thought about the damage he was doing. He concentrated instead on coming up and down quickly, that god-awful disco song running through his mind as he performed compressions. Her ribcage did not feel at all like a CPR mannequin. For one, her skin was still warm. And a CPR mannequin didn’t creak and crackle when you compressed it. 

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…” Was he supposed to count?

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“…eighteen, nineteen…” He continued to compress Larissa’s chest as he replied: “My employee, she’s not breathing! I’ve started CPR!”

“What’s your address?”

He rattled off the address and floor number, managing to only stammer once. His eyes couldn’t stop roving up and down Larissa’s body as he worked. Her feet were rocking, shoulders popping, head wobbling on her neck. Eyes staring. Then he gave the operator his cell phone number. By now he’d lost count of compressions, so he just kept on, pressing hard and fast. He wondered where the hell security was.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Mitchell Anders,” he gasped out. Logically, he knew they were already dispatching help, but he wanted to tell the man to hurry the fuck up.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I don’t know. I heard a noise out in the hall, and I found my employee on the floor. She couldn’t breathe. She lost consciousness almost as soon as I found her.”

“How old is the patient?”

“Late thirties?”

“Is the patient conscious?”

“No!” he exclaimed. His arms were starting to burn, and he found himself wishing he’d used that private gym more often. “Her eyes are open, but… she’s not blinking, or breathing. I’m doing chest compressions!”

“Okay, patient is not breathing and not responding.”

“Correct!”

“Did she take anything?”

“I don’t know… Before she passed out, she was clawing at her throat.”

“Can you check in her mouth? Take your index finger and sweep it between her teeth. Look for any foreign objects.”

Mitchell stopped compressions and grasped her jaw, holding open her mouth while he looked inside. He raked a finger between her teeth once, twice, and a third time. 

“I can’t feel or see anything.”

On a whim, Mitchell leaned forward, pinched her nose shut, and took a deep breath. The local Red Cross had switched to teaching compression-only bystander CPR in his annual courses, but he remembered rescue breathing from years prior. He sealed his mouth over hers and blew a breath into her. His cheeks puffed out, as did hers, but the air wouldn’t go into her lungs. He tried a second time, their lips making a spluttering sound as the air escaped between them.

“Sir? Mitchell?”

He started compressions again. “I tried to give her rescue breaths. I think she choked on something, or maybe an allergic reaction… the air wouldn’t go down her throat. I couldn’t see anything. She smells like… candy, though…”

“Continue chest compressions, sir.” A few seconds passed as he forced his hands deep into her chest. “Sir, I’m told we already have a unit downstairs at your building. Is there someone who can let them in?”

“Security should already be doing that,” he shouted. “I don’t know where they are!”

“How long would it take you to get downstairs?”

Mitchell thought about that with growing dread. It would take him several minutes to get downstairs and back, which would leave Larissa alone on the floor in apparent cardiac arrest with no help at all. That being said, the paramedics would be able to help her more than he could. Maybe he could carry her to the elevator? As he was thinking, he felt something give in her chest.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “I just broke something inside her!”

“That’s okay, sir. Keep performing chest compressions. Do you know how long it would take you to get—”

The operator cut out.

“Hello?” Mitchell called.

“Yes, sir, I’m told security has let the paramedics into your building. Please stay on the line until they’ve reached you.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. He was breathing hard, his sweat dripping on the dying woman underneath him. Her face was slowly turning from purple to gray, and her lips were blue. He wondered what that meant for her in the long term, assuming the paramedics could save her life. He’d been looking forward to her presentation; Larissa was an affable woman, smart and creative. Mitchell had expected her to ace the pitch that she was obviously now unable to give.

“Tell you what,” he said, his voice hoarse and his breathing labored. “You survive this, the promotion is yours. And all the recovery time you need, paid. And some vacation time on top of that. Just… don’t die here, okay?” She stared through him, her head shaking. He hoped it was more of an affirmative nod.

He heard the soft ding of the elevator, and then someone called out: “Mr. Anders? Paramedics are here!”

“Back here!” he shouted. “Near my office! Hurry!”

A security officer and two paramedics rounded the corner, jogging and wheeling a gurney with various bags and equipment sat on top or slung over their shoulders. One of the paramedics dropped down beside him and said: “Thank you, sir, I’ve got her.”

Mitchell lifted his hands and scooted quickly to the side, watching as the paramedic started forceful compressions. Both of them were wet from the rain. He clambered to his feet, breathing hard, arms shaking. He backed a few feet down the hall to keep from interfering, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Her name is Larissa,” he said, and one of the paramedics looked up and nodded.

“Now that the paramedics are there I’m going to disconnect,” he heard the operator say.

Performing compressions was ultimately worse than watching them but watching them was pretty terrible. The paramedic appeared to be caving in her chest, over and over again. Meanwhile, the second paramedic worked quickly around the first, cutting down the middle of her shirt and her bra, exposing her bluish breasts. He connected a monitor and then put some sort of metal scope down Larissa’s throat. The noise from the monitor quickly became part of the background, as he watched the paramedic use a long pair of forceps to pluck a red disc from Larissa’s airway.

Those cinnamon candies we keep stocked in the conference room, he thought. Fuck. She was in there preparing for the presentation.

“Pause compressions,” he heard the second paramedic say, and he watched him intubate her. The paramedic used a stethoscope to listen to her lungs as he squeezed the bag he’d attached. Then he started winding tape around the tube and sticking it to her face. “I’m in, equal on both sides, continue compressions.”

The second paramedic was everywhere, inflating Larissa’s lungs by squeezing the bag attached to the tube, inserting an IV. Snipping the top of Larissa’s skirt so he could press his fingers to a spot by her groin.

Time slowed. There seemed to be endless rounds of compressions, and medications injected into the IV. He heard talk of loading her up mid-arrest and transporting her to the hospital.

Abruptly, the first paramedic said: “She’s in v-fib.”

“Charging,” the second paramedic chimed in, squeezing the bulb. 

Compressions continued until the second paramedic dropped orange squares onto Larissa’s bare chest. The first paramedic raised his hands, and Mitchell saw the ugly purple bruise forming over Larissa’s sternum. 

The second paramedic pressed paddles against the orange square. Mitchell realized he had his hands pressed to his mouth, watching as the second paramedic called out: “Clear!” and then delivered the shock, making Larissa’s torso jump and her limbs twitch.

“Still in v-fib,” the first paramedic said, leaning over to start compressions again. 

“Charging.”

Mitchell’s phone, forgotten and lying on the floor, was ringing. He glanced at it, saw the name of his CFO. Wondered if security had called her. He ignored it.

“Clear!” The second paramedic said, delivering another shock. Her body jerked again, her limbs flicking.

There was a long few seconds of silence from the paramedics, another pulse check, and then: “Sinus rhythm. Got her!”

Mitchell wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but they’d stopped compressions and the paramedics seemed… he didn’t know if “pleased” was the right word, but the energy in the hallway was significantly different. Then, while he was watching, Larissa’s hand twitched, the fingers curling slightly. His own heart skipped a beat.

“Larissa!” the first paramedic called as he inflated the blood pressure cuff around her arm. “Go ahead and let us know you can hear me, alright?”

“She’s not making any respiratory effort yet,” the second paramedic said. “Maintaining her rhythm so far. Wrap her up and get her on the road?”

“Soon as I bandage her foot, looks like she stepped in the glass.”

“Sir?” Mitchell looked up. He didn’t even realize he’d sunk to the floor, sitting against the wall, watching as the paramedics continued to monitor Larissa’s vitals and breathe for her through the tube protruding from between her teeth. Now, the security guard was leaning over him, Mitchell’s phone in hand. “I think someone’s trying to reach you. And uh, I need to get back downstairs. We’re short staffed tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Mitchell said. A shot of anger cut through his momentary disorientation. “Short staffed?”

“Yes, sir.”

The phone was ringing in his hand again. He ground out: “Go ahead and get downstairs. I’ll discuss this with your supervisor tomorrow. Thank you.”

The guard hesitated, then nodded, hurrying down the hall.

“This is Mitchell,” he said quietly, holding his phone up to his ear. They were covering Larissa with a blanket and seemed to be preparing to move her to the gurney.

“What’s going on up there? Do you know?” He heard his CFO Charise’s voice. “They called me when they couldn’t get you.”

“I was on the phone with 9-1-1,” he said, his voice grim. “One of our employees was here late and almost choked to death. I… She’s alive, I know that much. They’re about to transport her.”

“Oh my God,” Charise said. “who? And you were there?”

“Yes, I…” He realized they might need help getting out of the building, so he pushed himself to his feet. “Listen, Charise… I need you to call Dennis. Tell him what happened. He needs to reach out to Larissa Colton’s emergency contact. Then you need to call Mark and tell him he’s running the pitch with Lenovo. And tomorrow I need to have a talk with Jeff. There was a massive failure with the panic button system tonight.”

“Got it. Larissa Colton, emergency contact. Then tell Mark. I’ll help you get a meeting with Jeff.”

Mitchell hurried down the hallway to grab his shoes and his coat. His office loungewear would have to do. “I’m going to find out where they’re taking her and go to the hospital. I’ll meet her emergency contact there.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you for doing that, Mitchell.”

“I feel… I need to know how this goes,” he said, his voice rough. “I hope she makes it. I don’t think she’s breathing on her own yet.”

“Oh. God…”

“Yeah, listen, Charise… I’ll let you know when I know more.”

“Okay, Mitchell. Take care.”

“Goodbye.” Mitchell jammed his feet into his shoes and jogged back down the hall where they’d loaded up Larissa. “I’ll escort you out. Do you know which hospital you’re taking her to? I’m going to try to meet her emergency contact there.”

“Second General.”

“Okay. Second General. I’ll follow you.” Larissa’s hand was trailing off the side of the gurney. He reached out, squeezed it, and then deposited it gently beside her.

Just breathe and wake up, right? Breathe and wake up.

Larissa, four days after the incident

She awoke, slowly, coming out of sedation, feeling confused and sluggish.

As she gained awareness, several things stood out: 

Someone was holding her hand and squeezing it regularly. Someone else was smoothing her hair. There was a tube down her throat, inflating her lungs at regular intervals. The air in her sinuses was very dry. Her chest and throat hurt.

“Larissa? Baby?” Mom.

“Just keep talking to her.” An unfamiliar voice.

“Open your eyes, honey.” Dad.

Her parents sounded very worried. She couldn’t place where she was, or why they would be there, or why something was breathing for her.

I must be sick. Did I catch COVID? Mom and Dad shouldn’t be in here. In this hospital?

“Larissa, open those pretty eyes.” That unfamiliar voice again.

She had a lot of questions, and none of them could be answered with her eyes closed. So she opened them.

Mitchell, ten days after the incident

“We don’t know how to thank you.” Larissa’s parents were gushing, and Mitchell had never been great with gushing. He felt his face flush hot. Am I blushing? I do not blush.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just… very glad that she’s going to be okay. And we’re looking forward to having her back at work, when she’s ready. I really appreciate you keeping us informed of her condition, it’s really given me—us peace of mind. Ah...I actually brought a bunch of well-wish cards from her co-workers, and some other things. Her direct supervisor suggested a donation to the Nature Conservancy in lieu of flowers? So we did that.” He realized he was talking too fast, so he shut his mouth with a click.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Mrs. Colton said. “She volunteers with them, when she has time. She had more time when she was younger, of course…”

“Honey, let me take the man up to see her. Why don’t you go get us some coffee?” Mr. Colton reached out and clapped Mitchell on the arm. “I’ll be sure to embarrass him some more in the elevator, don’t worry.”

In the elevator, with the box of cards and other documents tucked under his arm, Mitchell wasn’t sure what to say to Larissa’s father. They rode in silence for a few floors until their floor dinged and the doors opened. Mitchell held the doors open with his arm, insisting Mr. Colton exit ahead of him.

Before they could head down the hall, Mr. Colton turned to him, his face red and his jaw working, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. “My wife is right. We really don’t know how to thank you. Not even for all the nice things you’ve done since it happened, but… but for helping her. I’m given to understand that she would be dead if you hadn’t helped her. And if not dead, then severely brain damaged. As it is… seems like she’s mostly going to be herself once she gets out of here.”

Mitchell nodded, surprised to feel his own eyes burning. He reached out to shake Mr. Colton’s hand. “Sir, it was…”

He trailed off, shook his head, and tried again. “I… To be honest, sir. Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” Mr. Colton said, releasing his hand.

“She scared the piss out of me. Sir.”

Her father blinked in surprise, and then laughed. “It’s not funny, but I wasn’t expecting that to come out of someone who looks like he ought to be on the front of Forbes.”

“It’s the truth. I was very worried for her. I’m glad that I was able to help.”

“Let’s go see her. She’ll want to thank you herself.”

They walked down to her room, her father leading. When they reached her door, Mitchell took two confident steps inside, and then froze. He couldn’t identify the feeling he was having. She hadn’t noticed them yet, and was sitting upright in her hospital bed, knees drawn up with a book propped up on them. Her hair was in a long, clean braid over her shoulder. She was still wearing various leads and a nasal canula, but she looked…

“Mr. Anders?” her father asked. “Do you need to sit down?”

He did feel a little dizzy, if he was being honest. His brain kept comparing his last images of her to how she looked now. A little pale, perhaps, but there were dots of color on her cheeks. And her eyes looked normal. Not glazed over and staring through him. Alive, looking around. Looking at him.

“I uh… No, sir, I’m good. Larissa?”

“Mr. Anders?” she asked, looking surprised. He wondered if she had expected someone else from the company to visit.

“You know it’s Mitchell,” he said. “After all that. Mitchell.”

“‘All that’?” she said, laughing. He noticed she winced a little as she laughed, pressing a hand against her chest. Then she closed her book, stretched out her legs, and motioned him closer. “‘All that.’ I guess I don’t know how to word it, either. How often does the CEO of the company you work for directly save your life?”

He was blushing again. She was beautiful, and he was getting a lot of genuine pleasure from watching her move and breathe normally. She was smart, too, based on the presentation she’d prepared and never gotten to present. He thought the book was a good sign. Perhaps there hadn’t been much damage after all.

“Mitchell?” she asked, uncertain.

I need a therapist, he thought. I’m forty-five and I’ve never had one, but obviously I need one because I’m acting like I have a crush on my employee, who I last saw half-naked and semi-dead. That’s got to be some kind of complex.

“Sorry,” he said. He walked over to her bedside. Her father had taken a seat by the window and was watching them with raised eyebrows. He shook his head. “I… It’s really good to see you feeling better, Larissa. I was worried about you.”

Now she was blushing. At least he wasn’t alone.

“I’m told you found me and performed CPR until the paramedics got there.” She laid it right out on the table. “I choked on some candy… I thought I was going to die.”

“I… yeah, I did. I thought you were going to as well. Die, I mean. I was scared.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you didn’t die. By the way, I had my secretary get rid of all that shit. Crap, I mean. The candy. She replaced it with these fancy tins of dinner mints? Said they dissolve quickly.”

“That’s good, I don’t think I want to even smell that stuff ever again.” She dropped her eyes to the box under his arm, then back up to his face. “I’m sorry about the presentation.”

“You’re sorry about the presentation?” he asked, aware he sounded like an idiot.

“I really wanted to give that presentation.” She sounded regretful.

“OH! Oh, don’t worry about that. Mark used your prep work. He said it was fantastic. We got the account.”

“Oh,” she murmured, looking an odd combination of pleased and sad. “That’s good.”

“I actually have some things for you,” Mitchell said, shaking the box. “May I set this next to you on the bed?”

“Go ahead,” she said, shifting a little to make room. When she moved, the neckline of her hospital gown dipped low enough that he could see the top edge of the yellowing bruises on her chest. 

“Are you feeling, okay?” he asked. “I mean, considering? I forgot to ask. You just… you look a lot better.”

“I should be getting out in a few days,” she said, smiling. “I uh, won’t be back to work yet, though. Assuming that’s not the stuff from my desk. Because if it is, that box is not big enough!”

Mitchell snorted. “I would drive you home myself if I saw you at the office in a few days. You have all the time you need. Paid. Don’t worry. Perks of scaring the sh— crap out of the CEO. And of course this isn’t your stuff, I would have to be some kind of asshole to clear out your desk and bring the contents to the hospital!”

“Thank you,” she said, her face serious. “I was worried I might not have a job anymore.”

Then she rushed to say: “Not that you have to talk about that with me. I’m sure that’s HR’s job.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not have a job? I spent the past few days wondering if I was a horrible person for looking forward to when you’d be back at work instead of just being glad you were alive. I want to promote you, actually.”

She stared at him, then cleared her throat and said: “Really?”

“Yes. You were already a shoo-in for that position. The presentation was more for your benefit, so you’d know you could do it. But Mark says if I don’t promote you, he’ll never talk to me again, and that might be a problem since he’s my brother-in-law.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yep, he married my brother a few years ago.” He pulled everything out of the box. First, he showed her the thick handful of cards. “You have a lot of well wishes to open. And then after that, I’d like you to review the offer letter. Not right now, do it when I’m not here. Then you can reach out to HR. They said it can be signed electronically so you don’t have to come in to do it. I’m also supposed to tell you that you aren’t approved to come back until you’re medically cleared. But the job is waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“I want it,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “And I believe I’m... What did the doctor say? ‘Neurologically intact’ enough to do a good job. But I will look over the offer and make my decision.”

“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect you to sign without reading the offer.”

She took the cards from him, her fingers brushing his. That same “I need a therapist” feeling washed over him. It’s some kind of trauma response, right? I just need time.

She had a beauty mark riding her upper lip, which he hadn’t noticed before. The mark swept to the side as she smiled.

“It’s awkward, isn’t it?” She reached over and put her hand on his arm. He realized suddenly that her father had stepped out.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, don’t, it’s normal. I feel like… Rather, I know that I will always look at you differently. Favorably differently. And I imagine seeing someone essentially dead and then knowing you saved them makes things feel very complicated, even if you weren’t their Ultimate Boss.” She squeezed his arm and then let him go. He missed her touch before he took his next breath. “It’s okay to not know how to feel.”

Mitchell nodded, finding that he couldn’t speak. She reached back out and said: “Give me a hug. A light one, I’m still sore. Just this once. HR doesn’t have to know.”

Her eyes were warm, and he could admit to himself that he needed to feel that she was okay. He needed something tactile to counteract his visceral memories.

So he hugged her, slipping his arms carefully around her lush frame, not wanting to crimp any tubing or cause her pain. She wrapped her arms around him, her hand cupping the back of his head. She didn’t smell like cinnamon anymore, and he let himself bury his face into her neck so he could feel the pulse of her heartbeat.

[bri911-deactivated20250206]

So good!! Can’t wait for more🤩

[resusheart]

Please take the time to read this! Thank you @clarepreed​

[clarepreed]

Slip and Fall

Short Story Summary and Content: 4,518 words, female victim, on-site drowning and resuscitation.

--

“I’m not sure I can jump that.” Ellie peered across the water, trying to judge the distance between boulders.

Mateo stepped up next to her, waving to his sister and brother-in-law on the opposite bank. “Paloma made it, and she’s a little shorter than you. Why don’t I go first, and then I’ll make sure you don’t slip off when you land?”

Ellie was quiet for a few seconds, so he turned to look at her. Her eyes were unfocused as they looked down at the water. She wasn’t an athlete, he’d grant her that, but she was able-bodied and slim, and he didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t make it. He did feel bad that it was making her anxious, however; he wanted her to have a good time, and she had been up until that point. 

He definitely didn’t blame her for being anxious; there’d been a lot of rain recently, and the body of water was swollen and rapid.

He reached out and gripped her shoulder, rubbing his thumb across her collar bone. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can hike back to the parking lot and take that other trail. We’ve hardly started this leg. Paloma and Josh won’t mind.”

Ellie blinked and shook her head, a strand of hair slipping free from her pony tail. “No, I can do it. I’m just being silly.”

He stepped closer and kissed her temple, then reached up to smooth the curl behind her ear. At this distance he could make out the constellation of faint freckles scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “You’re sure?”

She nodded and offered him a brave smile. “I’m sure. I’m going to back up some so I can run, though. And yeah, please go first. In case I trip or something. Or overshoot.” That last bit was said with a wink. 

She’s so beautiful, he thought. And a very good sport.

“Want me to take your pack?” he asked, reaching for the small, golden yellow day pack she was carrying. She nodded, smiled, and rewarded him with a quick kiss.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to grin at her from her position on the riverbank. “Here I go!”

He jogged a few steps forward and then jumped across, making sure to land toward the middle of the boulder. The landing jarred his bones, and he turned, trying to keep the ruefulness out of his smile as he waved at Ellie. She didn’t need to know the landing made him feel closer to fifty-seven than thirty-seven. He took a step toward the edge of the rock and held out his hands.

Ellie nodded, tugged at the hem of her terra cotta-colored puffer vest, and then took off. She’d probably backed up farther than she needed; her boots splashed in the mud before she hit the rock. She ran across the top, moved to leap from one boulder to the next. Instead, her foot slipped off the edge, dumping her backward onto the rock, arms flying up. She landed hard, legs dangling off the edge, and he heard a sickening crack and a wheeze as the wind was driven out of her. Then she went limp and slid off the rock and into the water.

“ELLIE!” he shouted, shocked at how quickly this was happening. The current carried her unconscious body downstream before he could move. He finally reacted, dropping both packs onto the rock before throwing himself in after her, hands outstretched, trying to grasp her before she was carried too far. 

He belly-flopped, graceless, splashing in nowhere near close enough to grab her. He thought he heard shouting, but he couldn’t spare anyone else a glance as they were both carried downstream. He tried to swim faster than the current was carrying them, his eyes never losing sight of that orange vest.

Ellie’s downstream progress was halted by the branches of a low-hanging tree. She got caught up in it, and he was able to reach her, one hand grabbing the biggest branch above his head to anchor himself, the other darting out to snag the back of her vest. He yanked her backward toward his chest, trying to pull her face out of the water with the same gesture. The smaller branches poked him in the face, scratching across his cheek. He ignored them, quickly releasing his grip on her vest so he could snake his arm around her chest, tipping her head back against his shoulder.

“Ellie!” he shouted, trying to get a look at her face. Her skin was already pale, her features slack. Her eyes were cracked open just a hair, but he didn’t think she was conscious. He shook her, but she didn’t respond. “ELLIE!”

He gripped the branch hard, using his strength to pull them both toward it, then released the branch, quickly lunging for a point closer to the shore. He caught it, barely. He took a deep breath and did it again. He was about to go for a third lunge when he heard Josh shouting from above him. His brother-in-law was laying on a nearby rock, hand outstretched. Then he spotted Paloma on her knees next to him, ready to help.

Mateo lunged once more, caught himself, and felt his feet brush the rocks and sand on the bottom. “I’m going to shove her toward you!” he shouted, and he saw Josh nod and stretch out both hands. He released the branch, planted his feet, and then grasped Ellie under the arms. He heaved her out of the water and toward the other man, thrashing as he staggered forward. Her head sagged backward and her wet, stretched out curls hit him in the face.

Josh and Paloma dragged her out of his hands and up the side of the rock.

In the minute or so it took Mateo to climb out, Josh had her flat on her back and was kneeling at her head, carefully thrusting her jaw up. He scooted around and leaned his ear close to her mouth, his fingers pressing into the pulse point in her neck. Mateo crawled over to them, just in time to see Josh lean down, pinch her nose closed, and breathe into her.

“I don’t have a signal!” he heard Paloma shout. She was standing back, cell phone in hand.

“Paloma!” Josh barked, his commanding tone nothing like his usual speaking voice. Mateo wondered if that was how he spoke when things went sideways during his work as a firefighter. Josh gave Ellie another breath and said: “Run back to the trailhead. Drive until you get a signal or get to the ranger’s station. Tell them one victim, drowned, with a head injury, in respiratory arrest. GO!”

Paloma blanched, staring down at Ellie, but she only hesitated for a few seconds before she turned, thrashing through the scrub toward the trail.

Meanwhile, Josh was breathing for Ellie. Her eyes were still cracked open, glinting through her eyelashes. But she was motionless aside from her chest rising and falling with each forced breath.

“What c-can I do?” Mateo asked, his heart pounding and an icy feeling settling in his stomach.

“Grab my pack,” Josh said between breaths. “Just behind you.”

Mateo complied, dragging it close.

“Small compartment. Plastic case.”

Mateo handed him the small plastic case and Josh popped it open, revealing a CPR pocket mask. He slipped the elastic over Ellie’s head and pressed the mask over her nose and mouth before leaning over and giving her a breath through the valve. He gave her several more breaths before he pulled the mask to the side and leaned close to her mouth again, his fingers pressed to her neck.

Several seconds passed, and he pressed the mask to her face and gave her another breath. Mateo watched Josh unzip her vest and lean close to her ear.

“Ellie! Take a breath!” He called, his voice loud. Then he pressed the knuckles of his fist between her breasts and dragged them up and down for what seemed like a long time before shaking his head and giving her another breath. With her vest open, Mateo could see her stomach was bloated.

Mateo reached out and picked her limp, cold hand off the rock and clasped it hard in his. “Ellie! Please, just breathe!”

She didn’t respond, accepting Josh’s regular breaths without resistance.

“There’s a shirt in my bag,” Josh said, before giving Ellie another breath. “She’s bleeding.”

Mateo put her hand down gently and found the shirt. He scrambled around to the top of her head, looking for blood. Sure enough, there was a bloodied section of wet hair just to the right of her pony tail. He didn’t wait for Josh to give him instructions; he carefully pressed the shirt against the blood, using his other hand to keep her head steady.

“Breathe, cariña,” he said, and heard the beg in his voice.

 This went on for another minute before Josh pressed two fingers into her neck. Then he reached down and pressed two fingers to her wrist. 

“What?” Mateo asked, seeing Josh shake his head.

Josh adjusted the tilt of her head before giving her another breath.

He didn’t respond to Mateo; instead, his brother-in-law let out a rush of air, shook his head again, and then took a deep breath so he could give it to Ellie. He was holding her jaw carefully, making sure he maintained the seal on the mask. Every so often, he checked her pulse. 

Josh was in the middle of one of his cycles of breaths when Mateo realized Ellie’s skin was turning gray.

“Josh!” Mateo exclaimed. “Is she turning blue?”

Josh immediately pressed fingers to her neck and her wrist. He held them there for ten seconds before cursing.

“Dammit, Ellie!” Josh straightened up and clasped his hands together, pressing the heel of his hand down between her breasts. Then he started compressions, deep and fast. Despair sank down onto Mateo’s shoulders as he realized this meant her heart wasn’t beating.

Mateo had never seen CPR performed in real life. The procedure wasn’t anything like movies or even CPR classes led him to expect. Josh was caving in her chest, only for her ribs to spring back up each time he rose off her.

No, no, no, Mateo thought, staring down at his girlfriend as her shoulders shook and her feet rocked. She didn’t want to jump, and I talked her into—

“MATEO!” Josh was shouting at him, and he got the impression he’d been trying to get his attention. “Twenty-nine, thirty!”

Josh leaned over and gave her two breaths before starting again with compressions. He made it to the tenth before Mateo heard a crunch. He flinched, and when he looked up at Josh, his brother-in-law was grimacing. Despite this, he continued exactly as he’d been going, forcing her chest down and releasing it over and over again.

“Next time I hit thirty, I need you to take over breaths,” he said. Sweat had sprung out along his hairline. “Can you do that?”

“Y-yes!” Mateo removed his hand from the t-shirt and moved around to her other side. Her head and shoulders were rocking in time with Josh’s compressions, and he realized there was foam coming out of her nose and mouth underneath the mask. He looked up at Josh. “Is that normal? The foam?”

“Yes, it’s okay. Breathe!”

Mateo grasped her face, trying to make sure he kept her head tilted back, and wrapped his lips around the valve. When he breathed into the mask, there was a slight delay and then her chest rose. It fell when he broke the seal to inhale. He gave her another breath.

He looked down at her, listening to Josh count as he thrust his hands into Ellie’s sternum. Mateo ran his thumb across her cheek, sweeping away droplets of water that had run out from underneath the mask.

“-twenty-eight, twenty-nine-thirty! Breathe!”

As Mateo gave her breaths, Josh was pressing his fingers against her carotid. “After this cycle, we switch,” he said, moving his hands back to her sternum.

Mateo gave him a panicked look.

“—ten, eleven, twelve—I will make sure you do it correctly—sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—”

Sure enough, when Josh hit thirty, he shifted over and gave her two breaths. Mateo jerked himself forward and over her, clasping his hands together and settling the heel of his hand between the hardened dots of her nipples, visible through her shirt. Josh pushed Mateo’s shoulders over his hands and said: “Two inches!”

“One, two, three…” Mateo counted as he forced his girlfriend’s chest down over and over again. The movement felt horrible and violent, but he reminded himself that it had to be, if she had any chance at all. He heard his voice crack and told himself to stop thinking. “—twenty-nine, thirty!”

Josh’s breaths were over quickly, and Mateo was back to compressing Ellie’s chest. 

By the time they reached the end of five cycles, Josh told him to switch off again. His arms burning, Mateo leaned over and gave her two breaths, watching her chest rise and fall. Josh continued the merciless assault on her sternum.

“One, two, three…”

Abruptly, Ellie made a gurgling sound and water surged up into the mask, carrying with it bits of trail mix and breakfast. He jerked the mask off her face, the elastic tangling in her hair, and Josh reached over and directed her face to the side. Mateo watched him sweep vomit from her mouth with his finger before he returned to chest compressions.

“What—”

“She’s not back,” Josh said, his voice gruff. “People can vomit when you’re resuscitating them. You have to keep giving her breaths.”

His hands shaking, Mateo pulled the mask free from her hair and pressed it back to her face, breathing into her when Josh said: “Thirty!”

“There’s more… resistance,” Mateo said, giving her another breath and finding it difficult.

Behind them, Mateo heard something large crashing through the scrub, accompanying by hard breathing. Paloma suddenly dropped down beside him, swinging a black duffel over Ellie and dropping it next to Josh.

“Called... parking lot,” Paloma gasped. “Ranger… coming… ambulance… soon.”

Then she turned away from them and threw up. 

Mateo couldn’t spare much attention for her, though he could hear her breathing hard and spitting.

“Switch with me,” Josh said. He glanced off to the side. “No, Paloma, I meant Mateo. You need a minute before you can help. Just sit and have some water.”

They switched, and Mateo was back to crushing Ellie’s chest. “One, two, three, four—”

“Not quite so fast,” Josh said, unzipping the duffel. “And come all the way up each time so her heart can refill with blood.”

Mateo adjusted his technique. She was so petite; he worried he was doing her permanent damage, assuming she survived. “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…”

Josh had set the mask aside and come out with a case of a plastic pieces with flared ends. “This will help with her airway until the ambulance gets here,” he said, measuring one of the pieces against the side of her face. “Don’t stop compressions.”

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

Josh opened Ellie’s mouth, slid the plastic piece between her teeth and then twisted it. The flanged end rested against her teeth.

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…”

Josh grabbed something else out of the duffel and Mateo heard the rustling of plastic as he continued pressing her chest well past thirty. Then Josh had a bag-valve mask in his hands, which Mateo had seen on television. He pressed the mask to her face and Mateo stopped his desperate assault, watching as Josh squeezed the bag twice.

Then Mateo was back to performing chest compressions. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

There was the unmistakable sound of a vehicle driving up the trail. This portion, up until the river, was wide enough for a vehicle, though the trailhead was blocked by bollards and a fence.

“Has to be the ranger,” Paloma gasped. “They would have the key for the post at the trailhead!”

“…nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…” Mateo heard a car door slam. “…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Josh squeezed the bag, Mateo heard footsteps in the scrub. Then it was time for him to do chest compressions again. He glanced up briefly when a female ranger dropped to her knees across from him.

“…five, six, seven…”

“I brought an AED, EMS should be here in five minutes, give or take, they’re just up the road. What happened?” She unzipped the AED case and started setting up the device.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

“She slipped, hit her head and fell in. We pulled her out but she was already in respiratory arrest. Lost her pulse about seven minutes ago.” Josh responded. 

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight…”

“You an EMT?” The ranger asked, pulling out a pair of medical shears.

“Connect pads!” The AED commanded.

“Firefighter,” Josh said, squeezing the bag. “She’s my future sister-in-law. Ellie.”

The ranger nodded and leaned over Ellie, making short work of her wet shirt and bra. When she peeled back the layers, Mateo saw an angry red bruise over Ellie’s sternum. The ranger dried off Ellie’s chest with the dry side of Josh’s bloody t-shirt.

Then it was time for him to press his hands to that bruise and make it worse.

“One, two, three…”

“Connect pads, plug in the connector!” Chimed in the AED. The ranger worked around Mateo’s hands, applying one pad to Ellie’s upper right chest and another just below her left breast.

“…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

“Hold compressions,” Josh said, squeezing the bag. Mateo lifted his hands.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

“Paloma, do you remember how to use this mask?” Josh asked, squeezing the bag again.

“Shock not advised. Resume CPR for one minute.”

Mateo followed directions. “One, two, three...”

To his left, Paloma and Josh switched places, Josh adjusting her grip on the mask and talking her through its use.

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Paloma squeezed the bag, and Ellie’s bruised chest rose.

“Sit back,” Josh said. “I’ll take over compressions.”

Mateo scooted down toward her legs. Shortly after, they began to sway as Josh hammered rhythmically on her chest.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

He didn’t know what to do with his hands; he knew he probably shouldn’t touch her, so they went to the back of his head, gripping hard at his hair.

“…twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Paloma dutifully squeezed the bag. She’d been crying, but now her eyes were dry and focused.

“One, two, three…”

Ellie’s abdomen bulged grotesquely with each compression, and her ribcage and cartilage still occasionally popped and cracked. He’d noticed the compressions got easier as time passed, even though his arms ached.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

Josh lifted his hands and looked at Paloma. “You can give her breaths while it’s analyzing.”

Paloma squeezed the bag.

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Another breath. Mateo realized Ellie’s nipples had gone purplish and stiff.

“No shock advised, resume CPR for one minute.”

“God DAMMIT, Ellie!” Josh’s outburst, accompanied by the resumption of his chest compressions, made Mateo flinch. “Where is that ambulance? She needs meds! Fuck!”

“Are you okay to continue?” The ranger asked. Her eyes were kind, belying the sternness of her tone.

“Yes.” Josh was still directly compressing Ellie’s chest. “Yes. Sorry. You and I will switch after the AED kicks in again. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

Mateo didn’t know when his tears had started, but they were running down his cheeks now. He reached out and squeezed Ellie’s hand hard before releasing it. 

She isn’t going to make it, he realized. We weren’t close enough to the help she needed.

I shouldn’t have convinced her to jump.

He’d planned to propose that summer, had a ring he was paying off at a local jeweler. Ellie had previously told him she didn’t need a ring, but that if it was important to him, she did have some preferences. The ring actually was important to him, even if it was the last vestige of old traditions that he mostly didn’t adhere to.

She’d never even see it, and for what reason?

He covered his face in his hands and let out a sob.

When the AED next chimed in, he made himself pull his hands down far enough to look at her. He did feel a duty to remain present, to not check out. To stick with her to the bitter end.

“Shock not advised. Resume CPR for one minute.”

She still looked like herself, despite her gray skin and the bruises. Her hair was starting to dry and curl up around her face. He could see her chipped nail polish, and her purple boot laces.

“…ten, eleven, twelve…” Counted the ranger, her fresh arms producing effective, hard compressions.

Josh reached over and grabbed Mateo’s arm. “There’s still a chance, Mat. The paramedics can do things for her that we can’t.”

Mateo wasn’t sure if he meant it, and when he looked up, he saw Paloma staring hard at her husband, as though she was trying to decide the same. Then she nodded, noticed Mateo watching her, and nodded again.

A few seconds later, two paramedics rushed out of the scrub and to Ellie’s side. One of them immediately identified Mateo as the loved one and ushered him a few more feet away, as much space as the brush would allow.

“This is Ellie. Thirty-four, hit her head and drowned,” he heard Josh say. “Respiratory arrest followed by cardiac arrest approximately fourteen minutes ago. AED has not advised any shocks.”

Everything became a blur. He heard words like “monitor, intubate, and epi.” Paloma was relieved by Josh, and she hurried to Mateo’s side, grabbing his hands and murmuring a prayer under her breath. A high-pitched whine rose over everything.

Soon, Josh was sidelined while the medics removed the plastic airway and used some kind of metal device with a light in it to help them guide in a tube. Mateo didn’t know what any of it was called, but he recognized that they were intubating her. They inserted an IV and pushed medication. He heard the Velcro of a blood pressure cuff. The ranger was squeezing the bag now while one of the medics performed chest compressions.

Josh was suddenly beside him, speaking quietly. “They do chest compressions after injecting the medication because that will circulate it. The epinephrine will help her heart get to a rhythm that they can shock. They might give her other drugs.”

More time passed. One of the medics was cutting off the rest of Ellie’s clothing. He covered her lower half with a blanket, though Mateo had no idea where the blanket had come from.

A couple of minutes later, and they injected more medication into Ellie’s IV. Mateo watched as the medics switched off just like he and Josh had. One of them used a device with a canister and a tube to suction her lungs. They pushed more drugs and switched off again. This time, he noticed one of the medics pried open Ellie’s eyes and flashed a penlight across them.

“Sluggish,” the medic said.

Another round of drugs and they switched places. Mateo wondered how much her body could take. Or her brain.

One of the medics suddenly reached over and pointed at the monitor. “V-fib!” The medic exclaimed, sounding surprised.

Mateo watched as they placed two floppy, bright orange squares on Ellie’s chest. 

“They’re going to use the defibrillator now,” Josh said.

Mateo’s ears were ringing and everyone sounded like they were speaking underwater. He watched as one medic performed furious chest compressions until the other approached with the paddles, and then both the first medic and the ranger raised their hands. The medic with the paddles pressed them to the orange squares. Ellie jerked, and then one medic pressed his fingers into her neck and the other pressed two fingers into her inner thigh.

The medic with the paddles shook his head, and the female medic leaned in, pressing down on Ellie’s chest for ten seconds until she leaned back again and the cycle was repeated.

This time, after the shock jerked Ellie’s chest and flicked her limbs, they administered more medication and returned to cycles of chest compressions and breaths.

“They’ll shock her again,” Josh said, sounding far away.

He was right. The medic performing chest compressions leaned back, the ranger disconnected the bag, and the medic with the paddles delivered a third shock. The medic’s defibrillator must be stronger than the bystander AED, he thought, watching her body jerk.

The medics pressed their fingers into her pulse points and stared at the monitor.

This time, they seemed excited by what they felt. Mateo blinked at the monitor, which was no longer screaming, and looked over at Josh.

Josh turned to him, grabbed him by the upper arms, and shook him.

His hearing roared back as Josh was saying: “They got a pulse, Mat! Mat, she has a pulse!”

The ranger was still squeezing the bag, but the medics had stopped compressions. He felt lightheaded. Mateo could see the purple marks between her breasts every time her chest rose. One of the medics took the place of the ranger, pausing his squeezing of the bag and looking down at Ellie’s chest for several long seconds before nodding and squeezing the bag again, this time seeming to take cues from whatever he saw when he looked down.

“She’s making some respiratory effort,” the medic said. “Ellie? If you can hear me, the tube down your throat is helping you breathe. You had an accident. We’re taking care of you and we’ll take you to the hospital soon. Your friends are here with you.”

The other medic looked up, stethoscope pressed to Ellie’s chest, and made eye contact with Mateo. “Boyfriend… you can come hold her hand for a few minutes until we are ready to move her.”

“We can take the back seat out of my SUV,” the ranger was saying.

Josh had to help Mateo crawl over to Ellie.

Ellie’s hand was still very cold when he took it between his hands. “Can she hear me?” He asked, his voice hoarse.

“She may hear you, but she won’t react much.” The medic squeezing the bag said. “You should say whatever you need to say. Do you understand?”

Mateo nodded.

Josh and the female medic were talking quietly, and he heard “fragile” and “could crash again.”

Mateo took a deep breath and squeezed Ellie’s hand.

“I love you.” His throat immediately spasmed, and he cleared it hard before he could speak again. “I love you. I want you to stay. I want to marry you. And… and, Ellie, I’m so sorry.”

Tears ran hot down his cheeks. 

“I love you,” he choked out. “Forgive me.”

And then, in his hand, he felt the tiniest twitch of her fingers.

[bri911-deactivated20250206]

I have no words, simply 😍🔥⚡️

[resusheart]

Absolutely lovely!!!! I can’t even....... @clarepreed​ you are one excellent writer!

[heartbeatgirly]

You’re sitting on the exam table, nervously swinging your legs back and forth as you wait for the doctor to enter the room.

It’s not too late to back out, you think, to leave this clinic and return home. After all, no one would even realize you’d been here. The receptionist had seen you, had checked you in, but she’d mentioned that she’d be leaving for the night since the only slot available for you was after the clinic closed. Yes, the doctor and nurses had been made aware of your arrival, but you highly doubt they’d care too much if you left. You’re sure they have tons of participants.

You’ve barely started to slide off the table before the door swings open and the doctor walks in. He’s stunning—tall, dark, handsome. Thick black hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and bottomless dark eyes that you feel like you could drown in. You’re instantly captivated.

This is a bad idea, you realize. Your heart is already racing and he hasn’t even started the exam yet.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Russo.” He smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. “Thank you for agreeing to participate in this study. I assume that you’ve been briefed on what will happen, correct?”

You shake your head. “All I know is that it’s a study of the human heart.”

He stares at you for a few moments. You feel uneasy because he’s looking at you like he’s the predator and you’re the prey. However, as quickly as it starts, it ends as he looks down as his clipboard.

“You’re right, but there’s more to it.”

“Oh.” You ask.

“Yes, oh.” He smirks. “You’re participating in a study of the human heart in various situations, such as a stress test, an EKG, and an echocardiogram. Everything will be recorded to review later. Is that acceptable?”

Just the idea of him being able to hear and see each and every beat of your heart has your heart rate climbing even faster than before; you’re worried that he’s going to disqualify you when he listens to your heart and hears how fast it’s beating.

You want to try, though. You don’t want to say goodbye to him just yet. So, you nod and respond, “That’s acceptable.”

He smiles at you and you know you’ve made the right decision. “Wonderful.” As he moves towards you, he removes his stethoscope from around his neck. “To have the best assessment possible, there should be no barrier between this,” he holds up his stethoscope, “and your chest. Would you please remove your shirt and bra?”

You swallow. “Are you sure that’s necessary? I didn’t see anything in the description that said I’d need to be topless.”

“I won’t be able to do a proper examination if you aren’t topless, so I suppose I’ll need to move onto the next participant—”

The wild, unexpected thought hits you just then that you don’t want him to assess anyone else, just you.

“No,” you shake your head and pull your shirt over your head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Taking a deep breath, you reach behind you to unhook your bra. You hesitate for a moment and then pull it off, resting your bra on top of your shirt that’s right next to you. Instantly, you feel your nipples harden as the cool air hit them.

He doesn’t even react to your bare breasts. You’re not sure what you expected, but it hadn’t been total indifference.

Moving towards you, he sticks the stethoscope’s ear pieces in his ear. “Now, let me listen to your heart and see what’s going on in there.” No sooner has he pressed the bell against your heart does he chuckle. “Nervous? Your heart’s racing a mile a minute.”

You force yourself to laugh, but it sounds breathless. “Yeah, I’m just nervous about the testing. I’ve never done something like this before.”

“There’s no need to worry. I’ll walk you through every single step.” He moves the stethoscope to another position; you can feel your heart pounding, shaking your breast with each and every beat, straining against your chest to jump directly into his hand. “Is it me?” He moves closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear. “Am I making you nervous?”

Against your will, a small moan rips itself out of your mouth, and he huffs out a laugh, the air brushing against your cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He moves to your apex; you didn’t think your heart could beat any faster, but you’re surprised when you feel it start to throb and—was that a skip? “I love hearing your little heart beat this fast, hearing all the blood go in and out, in and out. I wonder what your heart would look like right now. Would it be quivering as it tries to keep up with its beats? What would it do if I touched it?”

You squeeze your legs together, feeling the wetness seep through your underwear and the heat building in your cunt. “I—I don’t know.” Without thinking, you reach forward and rest a hand on his shoulder, unconsciously pulling him in even closer. “You’ll have to tell me.”

“Would you like that?” With the hand not pressing the stethoscope to your chest, he cups your other breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Your pretty little heart is just throbbing. It’s so loud in my ears—I can barely hear anything else.” He kneads that same breast; your back arches as another moan slips out of your mouth. “I could listen to your heartbeat for the rest of my life. What do you think about that?”

“I think—” You reach up to press his hand against your chest. The sudden pressure makes your heart work even harder. “—I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” He nudges the side of his cheek with your nose. “We can think of something to make that happen. But first,” he pulls away suddenly, so suddenly that you don’t have time to prepare for the loss of his warmth. “Let’s put you through those tests, hmm?”

TO BE CONTINUED

[invasiveventilation]

Hitomi’s Clinical Fate

Warning: This story contains adult themes and content related to BDSM, including misuse of power and medical fetishism in an intensive care environment. Please proceed only if you are comfortable with these intense BDSM themes in clinical settings.

For the first time, I created a story utilizing artificial intelligence. ChatGPT is a great tool to support writers, although it is hard to convince the AI to contribute to stories with explicit content. You may read repetitive-sounding sentences, a well-known behavior of state-of-the-art AI systems. I hope you enjoy reading the story anyways.

I slowly opened my eyes and blinked several times, trying to clear my vision. But unfortunately, my head felt foggy and heavy, and I couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in my chest stopped me. As I looked around, it took me a few seconds to realize that I was in a hospital room.

The room was bright and sterile, with white walls and medical equipment everywhere. I saw a heart monitor beeping beside me, an IV drip attached to my arm, and several other machines that I couldn’t clearly identify. My heart started racing as I tried to remember what had happened. The last thing I recalled was attending a training course for nurses and that I went to sleep in a hotel room at the conference hotel. Did something happen during the night?

I tried to move, but the pain in my chest intensified. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a hospital gown. I felt a wave of fear wash over me as I tried to make sense of my situation. Why was I in the hospital? How long had I been here?

I looked around the room again and saw a small notepad and pen on the bedside table. I tried to reach for them, but my arms were too weak. I felt a sense of frustration and helplessness wash over me.

Suddenly, I noticed an object going down my windpipe and throbbing pain in my neck. I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly or even breathe at all. Panic set in as I realized that I was being mechanically ventilated. I followed the ventilator circuit with my eyes and noticed it was connected to a ventilator. My hand moved up to my neck, and I felt a piece of plastic sticking out of my neck. It dawned on me that I had a tracheostomy, and the tube kept me alive.

I felt a surge of shock and disbelief wash over me as I tried to process what I saw and felt. As an educated intensive care nurse, I was used to seeing patients with tracheostomy tubes before, but I never imagined that I would have one. My heart raced as I started to feel a sense of dread. What’s happening to me? Is this a nightmare?

I looked around the room again and saw the life-sustaining machine with the double hose attached to it. The ventilator was pumping fresh air into my lungs via my tracheostomy tube. The rhythmic sound of the machine filled the room. I realized I was utterly dependent on the clinical device for survival.

I tried to speak, but the tube in my throat prevented me from making any sound. The tracheostomy tube seemed to be a non-fenestrated one, so communicating was impossible. How long would I be dependent on the machine? Would I ever be able to breathe on my own again?

I looked around the room, feeling completely helpless and alone. I made a mental note to try to communicate with the nurses and doctors as soon as possible to find out what was happening to me and what my options were.

A nurse entered the room as I lay there, struggling to comprehend my situation. She noticed that I was awake and came over to check on me.

“Hitomi, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

I tried to speak, but the tracheostomy tube prevented me from making any sound. The nurse saw my distress and quickly adjusted the ventilator settings to make me more comfortable.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, leaning closer to my ear.

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief that someone was there to help me. The nurse explained that I had been in a medically induced coma for several weeks. I tried to recall if I had any underlying health conditions that could have caused me to deteriorate so rapidly.

As the nurse tended to my needs, I started to feel a sense of unease. Something didn’t feel right. I wondered if there was more to my condition than what the nurse told me.

“Sorry, I’m disallowed to discuss your medical status. Dr. Wheeler will throw light on it in a few minutes while your personal nurse Emily will change your urethral catheter,” the nurse promised and left the room.

I suddenly spotted a CCTV mounted on the ceiling. It was directed toward me, and a red, blinking LED revealed someone was observing me via a monitor. Dr. Wheeler, maybe?

A few minutes later, Nurse Emily entered the room, accompanied by another person. The name tag on the white coat read Dr. Wheeler.

“Good morning, Hitomi. I’m Dr. Wheeler,” the doctor said. “I’ve been overseeing your care since you were admitted to the hospital.”

I tried to speak, but the tracheostomy tube prevented me from making any sound.

“Hitomi, you were admitted to the hospital two months ago. We had to place a tracheostomy tube in your neck to help you breathe,” Dr. Wheeler explained. “Several other clinical procedures had been performed, such as a urethral sphincterotomy, gastrostomy, ileostomy, hysterectomy, and phrenicotomy. But don’t worry, all the surgeries went well. Your medical status is stabilized. However, I must be honest: you will be an intensive care patient for the rest of your life. And you will depend on mechanical ventilation for the rest of your life.”

I looked at the doctor in shock as Dr. Wheeler explained the procedures done while I was in a coma.

“Hitomi, let me explain what these procedures were for,” Dr. Wheeler said. “We performed a urethral sphincterotomy to address your urinary retention, decreasing the probability of developing a urinary tract infection. However, the side effect is that you are now incontinent. But don’t worry. A Foley catheter has been placed into your bladder to drain your urine into a collection bag. We also performed a gastrostomy to mechanically feed you via a PEG tube, and an ileostomy was created to divert your stool. A hysterectomy was performed to remove your uterus, so you no longer need to worry about the monthly hygiene program. And finally, a phrenicotomy was performed to physically paralyze your breathing muscles, and a tracheotomy was conducted to make your body permanently capable of artificial respiration.”

I felt overwhelmed as Dr. Wheeler listed the surgeries that had been done while I was in a coma. The idea of being dependent on medical machinery for the rest of my life was daunting.

Dr. Wheeler smiled gently.

“You’re a fighter, Hitomi,“ Dr. Wheeler said. ”You’ve always been strong, and your body has shown remarkable resilience throughout your ordeal,” Dr. Wheeler said.

Nurse Emily quickly got to work preparing for the catheter change. As she lifted my hospital gown, I saw the PEG tube and ostomy bag attached to my abdomen. I felt a surge of disgust and despair wash over me as I realized the extent of my dependence on medical technology.

Emily noticed the look of shock on my face and quickly covered me up again. “I’m sorry if that was a bit overwhelming for you, Hitomi,” she said, her voice gentle and kind.

I nodded, feeling a sense of resignation wash over me. I knew I had no choice but to accept my situation and do whatever it took to survive.

Emily continued to prepare for the catheter change, ensuring everything was sterile and ready to go. She explained each step of the procedure clearly and concisely, which helped put me at ease.

As Emily started to insert the catheter, I felt a sharp pain in my urethra. I winced and tried to hold back tears as she continued to work. The pain slowly faded away, and I felt a sense of relief as she finished the procedure.

Dr. Wheeler was standing at my bedside while Emily performed the catheter change. “Excellent job, Nurse Emily. And great job, Hitomi,” Dr. Wheeler said, smiling warmly at me. “You’ve shown remarkable strength and resilience throughout this whole ordeal. I’m proud of you.”

Dr. Wheeler continued to explain that I was a perfect candidate for a medical program specializing in caring for patients with chronic and complex medical needs. With the proper care and support, I could have a good quality of life despite my condition.

I felt a sense of hope wash over me as Dr. Wheeler spoke. Finally, there may be a way for me to live a fulfilling life despite my dependence on medical technology.

I felt a sense of confusion wash over me as Dr. Wheeler talked about the medical program. I couldn’t help but wonder how I ended up in this situation in the first place.

“What happened before?” I mouthed, my voice still silenced.

Dr. Wheeler looked at me for a moment before answering. “I identified you as a suitable candidate for my medical program during the conference. I had reviewed your clinical record and nursing skills before and felt that you would fit perfectly into my program. I’m honest: I drugged you that night, and yes, we kidnapped you with an ambulance.”

Dr. Wheeler held up their hands in a placating gesture. “I know it might seem extreme, but I had to act quickly to get you into the program. We had to incorporate you as soon as possible to gain you as a money printing machine.”

I felt a sense of betrayal wash over me as I listened to Dr. Wheeler’s explanation. I simply couldn’t believe someone would take such drastic measures without my consent. And all of this just to earn money. I tried to move and even stood up. However, I was too weakened to resist. Finally, I recognized I had no choice but to accept my cruel fate.

“Calm down, Hitomi! I know it’s hard to accept you must contribute to the program although you’re not participating voluntarily. The program is about reducing the costs of long-term ICU patients by implementing machine-only care. In a year, we hope to level down the time to conduct your daily care needs to under 20 minutes. Sure, you’ll have to suffer. But think of the thousands who will benefit from our research program. So have an open mind and try to see the great opportunity of the program for the medical progress of mankind. Aren’t you curious to contribute to something of such great importance?”

I felt a sense of rage and helplessness wash over me as I listened to Dr. Wheeler’s cold and calculating words. I couldn’t believe Dr. Wheeler was trying to justify all the actions by claiming they were for the greater good. How could a doctor be so callous and heartless?

“You can’t be serious,” I mouthed. “You’re using me as a guinea pig!“

Dr. Wheeler’s expression hardened. “We prefer to call it a research program,” Dr. Wheeler said, the tone icy. “And yes, we are using you to conduct our research. But think of the benefits. We’re trying to revolutionize the way we care for critically ill patients. With your help, we could make a significant contribution to the field of medicine.”

I felt a wave of despair as I realized that there was no way out. I was trapped in this nightmare with no hope of escape. I tried to muster up the strength to fight back, but my body was too weak, probably due to the potent drugs they administered via an IV.

Yes, all of this had happened a year ago. In the meantime, I truly accepted that the only possible way to stay alive is to resign myself to my fate as a test subject in Dr. Wheeler’s medical program. I spent every day hooked up to machines, unable to move or speak. My muscles have atrophied, forcing me to be bedridden. There isn’t even the slightest possibility of escaping my fate. I’ve realized being a bedridden ICU patient is my new normal until my very last day.

Due to the tremendous progress of the program, nurse Emily now drops by for less than 15 minutes a day to wash my body or replace my catheter and tracheostomy tube. Since I finally stopped resisting my treatments six months ago, I’ve earned the privilege of watching TV for 45 minutes daily, enough time for an episode of a medical drama series. As for the rest of the day, I’m staring at the ceiling of my intensive care prison. The hisses and puffs of my ventilator, the blinking LEDs, and the clicking valves of my life-support system are the only accompaniments surrounding me for the remaining 23 hours a day. I know the project team is currently manufacturing and programming a novel type of care robot that can change the catheter and tracheostomy tube and wash my body. The robot will replace the last caring tasks currently performed by nurse Emily in person. They’ve already told me I will see nurse Emily for the last time in approximately six months. The entire care program will then be substituted by the robot. After Emily is replaced by the robot, I will never see a human being again until the day Dr. Wheeler finally comes to switch off my ventilator.

Source of images: the movie “The Complex,” 2013.

[defibfanguy0628-deactivated2023]

It was a normal day, or so I thought. My chest was tight but I figured it was something I ate so I went about my day as usual.

When I got home I became short of breath. The pain in my chest was taking over. I dialed 911 on my phone and and then darkness set in...

The doors to the ER seemed to burst open. I was raced in on a gurney. I could feel am ambu mask over my face pumping air into me.

"Get him to exam room 1" a voice exclaimed.

The gurney made a sharp left and was stopped beside a exam table. I felt myself being lifted and placed on the table.

"Let's start and IV and get him on a monitor." My shirt is ripped open and leads are attached to my chest and abdomin as an IV is inserted into my right arm.

Somone removes my shoes and socks as my jeans are cut from my body.

"Start compressions. Continue with air." My chest is pushed as the bag pumps air.

That is when the monitor alarm loudly chimed.

"We are losing him! We need the crash cart!"

The compressions became more rapid and harder. I could feel my legs and head moving with them.

"Charge the paddles!". I feel the gel smeared on my chest.

"Clear!"

My chest arches with the charge.

"Again!"

My chest lunges upward and settles back to the table.

"Let's intubate and continue CPR."

My head is tilted back and I feel the cold, metal blade in my mouth. The breathing tube is slid down my throat. The ambu bag is connected and life-saving air in pumped into my lungs.

"Continue compressions"

I can feel hands pumping my chest in desperation.

"Charge the paddles again!"

My body jumps upwards. The force causes my right arm to limply fall from the table before being placed back at my side. The monitor seems to beep back to life with me.

"He is back." a voice exclaims. I feel a steth being moved about my chest.

"We need to start emergency open heart surgery. Prep an OR now!"

Part 2 coming soon....