I do not "count my carbs." I do not think CARB CONSCIOUS. I don't even monitor my TYPE of carb intake. I GUESS my carbs, and if I go hyperglycemic, I RAGE BOLUS AND I KILL MYSELF.
insulin pens are very often used by diabetic children (or their parents, but they were very easy to use during the short time i was prescribed them when i was a child myself). they’re less cumbersome, produce less waste, and are far easier than pulling insulin from a vial with a single use syringe, as syringes are much more susceptible to air bubbles, which result in the diabetic not getting enough medication. i’m explaining this part because i know that some diabetic adults do also use them, and i’m sure that that’s true of diabetic adults in palestine with such scarce resources. when it’s life or death, you can’t really be picky.
the israeli occupation is now banning insulin pens from entering gaza.
lack of insulin results in diabetic ketoacidosis — essentially a very, very dangerous version of the effects of the keto diet. insulin is a key for the sugar from one’s food (both slow and fast acting, since all food has some carbohydrates, from nuts to potatoes to table sugar) to get from their bloodstream into their cells. without insulin, the body resorts to eating through its own fat stores rather than the sugar it cannot access and tries to flush the excess glucose that is in the blood through the urine. this results in weight loss, headaches, nausea, dehydration, blurred vision, abdominal pain, impaired mental faculties, and, if left untreated, will result in a coma, and eventually death within a matter of weeks. not “can.” it will kill you if not treated, and was largely considered a lethal diagnosis until insulin was discovered in the early 1900s and made readily available in 1922.
i’ve been in dka. admittedly, i was very young and have blocked much of it out. but i do remember that it fucking sucked. i couldn’t focus on anything, i was ravenous no matter how much i ate, and the room spinning to the point i felt like i was going to throw up became an increasingly regular occurrence. i was seven years old and wasting away like i was starved. i was dying. a few more days, and i likely would’ve gone into a coma and might not be here now.
to inflict that, willingly and knowingly, on innocent people, is nothing short of a crime against humanity, and violates the geneva conventions (item 2.a.ii. torture or inhumane treatment, including biological experiments and item 2.a.iii. willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health). not that the israeli occupation cares, of course, as south african prosecutors have already extensively detailed their crimes in the icj, and this one in particular has already been committed near-countless times.
this entire occupation is a genocide, and this is only one more nail in that coffin. but, as a diabetic — as a human being who has been in that state and was lucky enough to have the resources to live almost another fifteen years (with the anniversary of my own diagnosis about halfway through next month), i can’t find the words to express my disgust and rage anymore. maybe it’s selfish to be so deeply impacted by this particular blow. i don’t know. but these people have done nothing wrong but be disabled in gaza, and as someone with the same disability, i know that no one deserves this, even if they have committed a crime (which, again, these civilians, largely children, have not). i will not fucking stand for it.
we need a ceasefire. we need an end to the occupation. we need a free palestine. now.
here’s a masterpost of how you can help.
EDIT: here’s a post on how to help diabetics in gaza specifically
Pro tip for people who are accompanying people with fatigue and/or chronic pain.
Don't have important conversations or make plans while doing physical activity.
It takes a good portion of our focus to continue moving. If you are talking to us, we might respond, but it's likely that it's an auto response and not a full or complete answer. And we will only half remember. Because listening and talking take energy. Energy we need to do said physical activity.
If you want attention, stop moving. If you want us to remember anything in the conversation with any clarity, stop moving.
Summary: Trinity calls Robby in the middle of the night. Shen and Abbot are on shift. Things go from bad to worse.
Pairings: none, just our ER dads and the resident they’ve low key adopted.
Word Count: 4.3k
| Ch 2 |
A/N: it’s your friendly neighborhood EMT, back with another painstakingly medically accurate fic 😅 I’ve written a medical guide at the beginning if you want it, otherwise please skip to the good stuff. I hope you guys don’t find me boring!
Anyway, I’m really putting Trinity through it this time. Angst/Hurt/comfort is hereeee 🥰
As always, if you’re diabetic, please chime in with any criticisms of the portrayal—I want you to be properly represented!
Medical guide
Ketones: An acid produced by your body when fat is burned for energy.
Type One Diabetes (cliffnote edition lol): Cells are powered by glucose. Insulin is the key that allows glucose to enter the cells. In type one diabetes, the body does not produce insulin, so patients have to take injections of insulin instead.
DKA (Diabetic Ketoacidosis): Without glucose, your cells start to burn fat for energy instead, producing ketones. These ketones build up and make the blood acidic, which makes you really sick. This complication often occurs when diabetics are ill (colds, flu’s, stomach bugs, etc) because blood glucose can go haywire when you’re ill.
Ativan (lorazepam): a sedative, often used to stop seizures.
Full rainbow: each blood test corresponds to the color of the blood vial’s cap. When we say to “draw a rainbow,” it means we’re drawing blood in pretty much every color vial because we’re running a lot of tests.
VBG (venous blood gas): tests the pH of the blood and the level of key components that affect the pH, mainly bicarbonate and carbon dioxide.
Lactate: a marker that rises when the body is under stress and tissues are not getting enough oxygen.
Sepsis: A life-threatening condition caused by the body’s overwhelming response to an infection. Sepsis can progress to septic shock, which leads to critically low blood pressure, organ failure, and a very high risk of death.
Sepsis Bundle: A standardized group of tests and treatments designed to treat sepsis as quickly as possible. Zosyn is a common antibiotic used for sepsis.
i-STAT: a machine that runs a few key blood tests in just a couple of minutes, right in the room (so we don’t have to send the samples all the way to the lab)
Epi (epinephrine): used in a code to increase blood pressure and improve circulation.
Torsades (torsades de pointes): a certain type of heart arrhythmia, often caused by low potassium or magnesium. It’s French so it has a weird pronunciation: tor-SAWD duh PWOYNT. Literally translates to “twisting of points,” which is exactly what it looks like on the EKG. It’s the divider of this fic!
Mag sulfate (magnesium sulfate): medication that treats torsades and stabilizes the heart’s rhythm.
ROSC (return of spontaneous circulation): when a heart starts beating again after resuscitation
Hypokalemia: low potassium
Fent (fentanyl): opioid pain medication
Chapter 1
Robby was already half-awake when the phone rang.
Not fully up—just that shallow, restless edge of sleep. The sound cut clean through the low hum of the TV.
He grabbed the phone off the nightstand without looking.
“…yeah.”
“…Robby?”
The word lifted at the end. Uncertain. Like she wasn’t entirely sure who she’d reached. Or why.
It took him only a moment to reach past the vestiges of sleep and place her voice.
“Santos?”
Robby pulled the phone away from his ear. Santos’ name was on the screen. The clock read 2:52am above it.
He resigned himself to the reality of receiving a drunk butt dial from his resident at two in the morning.
“I um… I…”
For a second there was nothing but breathing.
Deep. Slow. Heavy.
Robby stilled.
“Are you okay?”
“I—um—I’m lost,” she said.
“You’re lost?” Robby repeated carefully.
“I drove to work but now I’m… I’m not here.”
Shit.
He sat up straight.
“Trinity,” he said steadily, “do you feel low?”
“No,” she replied, breath still ragged. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said. “Are you in the hospital?”
The heavy breathing filled the speaker again.
“Yeah.”
“We’re going to come get you, hold on—“ he looked at the phone. There had to be a way to add Abbot to the call. He tapped the plus sign and a list of contacts appeared. He tapped Abbot’s name.
The phone started ringing.
Please fucking pick up.
“Robby?” Abbot’s voice sounded. “What are you—”
“Jack, it’s Santos,” Robby replied.
Trinity perked up at the sound of her name.
“Wha?” she slurred.
“Santos?” Abbot said, brow furrowing at the sound of a second voice.
“She’s altered,” Robby explained quickly. “She said she’s in the hospital, have you seen her?”
“Not in the ED,” he said, head on a swivel as he strode towards the hub.
“Trinity,” Robby said. “Look around. Tell us what you see.”
“A… nurse’s station. And doors.”
“Go to the nurse’s station and put one of them on the phone.”
“There’s no one there.”
“Are there any people around?” Abbot asked.
Shen and Mateo had stopped in front of the desk, drawn in by Abbot’s rigid posture alone. They eyed him suspiciously.
“No,” Trinity replied.
“Look at one of the doors—do you see a number?”
Pause.
“Yeah.”
“What number?”
“Eight… two four.”
Abbott didn’t hesitate. “That’s the empty unit upstairs. Shen, Mateo—with me.”
They were already moving.
Fast.
“What’s going on?” Shen asked.
“Santos is upstairs,” Abbot said, aside. “Disoriented. Sounds like she’s low.”
“We’re on our way,” he returned to the receiver, voice steady, hitting the elevator button. “Santos, stay exactly where you are.”
“I’m late,” she said suddenly. “I have an exam.”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “It can wait.”
“I have to go—“
“No,” Robby quickly cut in. “You need to stay on the line. Stay right where you are, okay?”
“Okay.”
“When did you take your insulin?” Robby asked, pulling on a pair of pants.
“When I was… earlier.”
“Okay, did you eat?”
“I threw up.”
“Are you sick?”
A pause.
“…I threw up,” she repeated.
“I know. Abbot’s coming to help you, alright?”
“I have to go,” she said again, sharper now.
“Trinity, don’t hang up—”
His phone chimed as her line went dead.
Robby stared at the screen for half a second.
“Fuck.”
“We’re almost there,” Abbot told him.
They were running as soon as the elevator doors opened.
The abandoned unit was silent in a haunting way—lights dimmer, air colder, the hum of unused space pressing in.
They heard her before they saw her.
Those deep, rhythmic breaths echoed faintly down the corridor.
She was standing at the end of the hallway, facing a blank wall. Sweatpants and a loose t-shirt hung from her frame. Her hair was a mess, half fallen from a loose bun. No badge. No shoes. Just socks, damp and gray at the toes.
Her phone dangled loosely in her hand.
“Okay,” Abbot said quickly, "We got her, Robby.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
Abbot pocketed his phone as they slowed their approach.
“Santos?”
Trinity turned slowly. Her eyes were glassy. Unfocused. Looking through them rather than at them.
“Hey,” Abbot said, searching her face. “You with me?”
Her eyes darted from him to Shen and Mateo on either side.
Three men.
Empty hallway.
She glanced over her shoulder and seemed to register the emptiness behind her.
A trap.
Her next breath pulled in deep and deliberate, like she was trying to breathe through water. Her shoulders tensed, drawing up towards her ears.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she panted, taking a slow step back.
All three of the men stilled instantly.
“Okay,” Abbot said gently, lifting his hands where she could see them. “Not going to touch you.”
Her gaze kept skimming past them, unfocused, like the hallway was twisting into a kaleidoscope.
“Can you look at me, Trinity?” Abbot asked.
Her eyes steadied on him.
“It’s Dr. Abbot,” he explained. “It’s just me, Shen, and Mateo.”
She blinked at him.
Processing lagged.
“I—I missed sign out,” she said. “I have to go.”
She started to walk past them, but Jack stepped into her path.
“Before you leave,” he said, careful with his tone, “I need your help with something.”
Trinity broke, sudden rage snapping her in two.
“Why are you doing this?!” she shouted.
She shoved him, weak but earnest.
“Easy, Trinity,” Abbot said, absorbing it without reaction, palms still open.
The sharp smell of acetone moved with her.
His eyes flicked to Shen and Mateo.
“Ketones,” he said quietly.
Trinity surged forward again.
“Stop!” she yelled, shoving him harder.
“Okay, it’s okay.”
She looked at him again, brow twitching before something like recognition flicked in her eyes.
She paused.
“…Abbot?”
“Yeah. It’s just me.”
Her anger vanished instantly, gone as quickly as it came.
“I think I’m…” She tried to step away and faltered, blindly reaching back for something to steady herself.
“Careful—” Abbot and Shen moved in at the same time, hovering close.
“I can’t feel my hands,” she murmured, her knees softening as she swayed backwards.
“Grab her.” Abbot caught her under one arm as Shen and Mateo took the other, just as her weight dropped.
They lowered her to the tile, easing her head down last.
Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Santos?” Shen called. “You with us?”
Her gaze slid to the side. Her fists started to curl.
“Shit, she’s about to go,” Shen warned, hands already moving to roll her.
“I see it,” Abbot agreed quickly, helping pull her onto her side as her limbs started to jerk. He carefully held her head to keep it from hitting the tile. “Time?”
Mateo glanced at his watch. “2:57.”
“Run to the next unit—get a team,” Jack told Mateo. “We need Ativan and a crash cart.”
“Got it.”
Shen slid behind Trinity and adjusted his hold. He planted a firm hand on her hip and shoulder, keeping her on her side.
The heat coming off of her radiated right through her clothes and into his hands.
“She’s febrile,” he said.
“Definitely,” Abbot nodded.
Trinity’s strained breaths turned wet, blood dripping from her lips onto Abbot’s bare hand.
“Shit, she bit her tongue,” he murmured, her head still held in his hands.
Shen shifted her shoulder forward.
“She’s getting cyanotic.”
“Yeah,” Abbot replied, trying to adjust her jaw.
“She moving any air?” Shen asked.
“Barely.”
Both of them looked down the hall, willing Mateo to return faster.
The minute they waited felt like an hour.
When Mateo reappeared, he was followed by a group of nurses rolling a gurney and a crash cart along with them.
Abbot spoke up.
“Type one diabetic in DKA. We’re three minutes in—get 2 milligrams of Ativan IM. Check a glucose.”
A nurse slid in beside them, suction hissing.
“She’s clamped down,” Abbot said, trying to adjust Trinity’s jaw again. “Just get what you can.”
A portable monitor hit the floor beside them. Another nurse pressed leads onto Trinity's chest.
“Heart rate’s 146, pulse ox 87,” Shen said. “Can’t get a BP like this.”
“Get oxygen on her.”
“I’ve got the Ativan,” Mateo said as he dropped down next to them.
Someone pulled Trinity’s waistband down an inch and swiped an alcohol pad over the exposed skin.
“Okay,” Mateo pushed the injection. “Ativan’s in.”
A few agonizing seconds passed before the jerking started to fade to muted tremors. Her muscles began to loosen.
“Attagirl,” Abbot said quietly as she slowed to a stop.
“3:01,” Mateo glanced at his watch.
One of the nurses looked up from the glucometer.
“Glucose is maxed out,” one of the nurses said. “Reads HI.”
“Sounds about right,” Shen sighed.
“Alright, let’s get her onto the gurney,” Abbot directed.
Trinity stayed limp as they lifted her, breaths long and labored behind the oxygen mask.
As they rolled through the abandoned unit, one of the nurses spoke.
“Do you think she’s a visitor or something? Got lost?”
“This is one of our residents,” Mateo replied.
“Oh,” she said, glancing down at Trinity. “Shit.”
The elevator chimed as the doors slid open.
“Yeah,” Shen said. “Shit.”
The bay was already clearing when the arrived, staff moving out of the way as the gurney swung in.
Monitors and leads were swapped in one smooth motion.
“We got it from here,” Abbot said to the unit nurses. “Thank you for your help.”
They backed out of the room, rolling their crash cart with them while the ED nurses took over.
“DKA,” Abbot began. “Post-ictal after three minute seizure with Ativan on board. Keep her on her side. Two large-bore IVs if we can get them. Hang fluids wide open.”
“I want to see that potassium,” Abbot nodded. “Do we have a BP?”
“86/52.”
“Pressure bag the fluids,” Abbot replied. “We’ll see where she lands.”
“Temp’s 102.4,” another nurse read.
“Could be septic,” Shen said.
“Let’s trigger the sepsis bundle,” Abbot replied. “Cultures and get a fever reducer on board.”
“Anyone know the last time she worked?” Shen asked, moving his stethoscope across her chest. “How long she’s been sick for?”
“No idea,” Abbot said.
He tried to flick a penlight over Trinity’s eyes.
She tilted her head away with a wince and a small groan, rolling onto her back.
“Santos?”
Her eyes opened a fraction.
“Careful,” Mateo warned. “She came out agitated last time.”
“I don’t trust this airway with more Ativan,” Abbot said.
“I’ll catch the swings, you do the talking?” Shen offered.
“Sounds good.”
Shen shifted closer to the bed, bracing himself against the rail. “Watch her legs,” he murmured to Mateo at the foot of the bed.
Trinity’s hand lifted a few inches, then dropped back. Her brow furrowed, frustration leading before awareness.
“M ’st—,” she murmured, the words refusing to line up. She pushed at the mattress with no real strength, her shoulder rolling clumsily, half a movement short of sitting up.
“You’re okay,” Abbot said steadily. “You’re in the ED.”
Her eyes drifted, taking the room in fragments—tubing, wires, too many people.
Her breath hitched.
“No,” she shook her head. Her hand jerked again, sharper this time, batting weakly at Shen’s hovering arm. “Don’t—”
Abbot stepped closer, deliberately blocking her view of the room.
“Trinity. Look at me.”
She didn’t have the strength to fight, but the intent was there—panic without power. Shen caught her wrist gently before it could tear at a line.
“Easy,” he cautioned gently.
“Hey,” Abbot said, leaning in. “Santos. Right here.”
Her gaze finally found him.
Recognition flickered—delayed, fragile. The fight she’d been holding slowly left her.
Her arm went slack in Shen’s hold and he guided it back to the bed. Her eyes trailed from his hand to his arm, continuing up until she found his face.
“…what the fuck?” she murmured.
“Hey, Santos. You had a seizure,” Shen replied. “Do you know where you are?”
She glanced around again before licking her dry lips, mouth opening once before trying again.
“Pitt,” she said, voice rough but intact.
“Can you tell me what year it is?”
It took her a moment.
“2026.”
She glanced up at the meds hanging above her.
“You’re in DKA,” Abbot explained. “Have you been sick?”
“Yeah, I—“ she nodded. “Stomach thing.”
“We’re a little worried about sepsis, so you’re getting the whole kitchen sink, okay?”
“Oh joy.”
He pulled a small smile.
“You want us to call Whitaker?”
“No,” she replied. “‘S away.”
“In Nebraska this week,” Mateo provided.
“Anyone else?” Abbot asked. “You’re looking at an ICU admission, here.”
She gave a small wave of a hand. “Later.”
For a second, everything held, just a brief lull of steadiness.
But then her expression shifted. Just barely, but enough for her brow to furrow.
Abbot caught it.
“Santos?”
Her gaze wasn’t quite landing anymore—hovering just past him, like she was trying to focus through something thick.
Her breathing changed.
Faster.
Shallow.
“Hey,” he said, sharper now. “What’s going on?”
“Something’s…” she pressed her palms flat against the mattress, trying to push herself up.
Shen and Abbot each reached for her shoulders, keeping her in place.
“No, stay right there,” Abbot said. “Talk to me, Trinity.”
“Oh shit,” Shen said.
Abbot’s head snapped up, following his gaze to the monitor.
The line of green spikes had become tangled—widening, stretching, starting to spiral.
Trinity’s hand found Abbot’s wrist, locking eyes with him.
“I’m gonna die.”
For a fraction of a second, Abbot stilled.
“Get the pads on her. Now.”
Shen was moving, ripping the package open. A nurse cut straight down the center of Trinity’s shirt, fabric falling away as the head of the bed dropped flat.
“Santos—stay with me,” Abbot said, stepping in closer.
The adhesive slapped onto her chest, one high, one low. Cables snapped into place.
The i-STAT chirped.
“Potassium’s 2.4!”
“Get a drip ready,” Abbot said.
The monitor surged.
“Run of V-tach,” Shen called.
Trinity’s grip slipped from Abbot’s arm.
“Trinity—”
Her head lolled. Her eyes fell shut.
Abbot’s fingers were instantly at her carotid.
His jaw tightened.
“No pulse. Starting compressions.”
His hands dropped to her chest, driving her body into the gurney. Shen sealed an ambu-bag over her face.
“Rhythm’s v-fib,” Shen called, eyes on the monitor.
“Charge to 200.”
“Charging,” one of the nurses called, already turning the dial. “Clear.”
Abbot’s hands hovered.
“Shocking.”
Her body snapped sharply, a full-body jolt.
Abbot dropped back in, shoulders stacked over his hands, driving down hard and fast.
“Push epi. Get respiratory in here.”
“Epi going in,” Mateo replied, slamming it through the port.
Something gave under Abbot’s hands. He didn’t slow until the round was over.
“Two minutes,” someone called. “Rhythm check.”
Abbot lifted his hands, everyone freezing.
The monitor flickered, chaotic… but not the same.
“…hang on.” Shen leaned closer.
The rhythm writhed across the screen, amplitude waxing and waning.
“Holy shit,” Shen breathed. “That’s torsades.”
“Mag sulfate. Push it now,” Abbot snapped, hands back on her chest, resuming compressions.
“Two grams mag going in,” Mateo said, flushing it through the line.
Shen squeezed the bag in rhythm, eyes flicking between her chest and the monitor.
The room settled into it—the violence of compressions, the unending scream of alarms.
Abbot’s hands didn’t slow.
“Minute in,” Mateo called, eyes on the clock.
“Good depth,” Shen said.
Abbot answered with a dip of his chin.
Sweat had already started to bead at his temples, dampening the collar of his scrubs. He kept his mind carefully blank, focusing only on keeping his arms locked and his movements steady.
“Respiratory’s here.”
“Shen, tube next pulse check,” Abbot said.
Shen nodded as the RT tore open an intubation tray.
“Thirty seconds,” Mateo said.
“Come on,” Abbot muttered under his breath.
The mattress creaked under the force of each compression.
“Rhythm check.”
Abbot lifted his hands.
The room froze.
The monitor flickered into something narrower.
Organized.
Steady.
“…sinus?” Shen said, leaning in.
Abbot’s fingers were already at her neck.
His head lifted, locking eyes with Shen.
“I’ve got a pulse.”
“ROSC?”
“ROSC.”
His shoulders loosened, only a fraction.
“Now let’s keep it that way.”
The room shifted into a new flow.
“Pressure?”
“92 systolic,” Mateo called out. “Where do you want the potassium?”
“Start at 10 an hour. Slow. I don’t want to overshoot.”
The respiratory therapist stepped to the head of the bed.
“She’s breathing on her own,” Shen said, the bag deflating in his palm as he passed it off. “Shallow.”
“Pulse ox is coming up,” the RT added.
“Keep supporting her,” Abbot said. “She dips, we tube. Otherwise we ride it out.”
“Got it.”
Abbot paused. His voice quieted slightly.
“Let’s get her covered, please.”
A sheet was quickly draped over her bare chest.
“Repeat VBG?” Shen asked.
“Yeah. Repeat labs too. Add a troponin.”
Her color was coming back, pink slowly bleeding back into her cheeks, replacing the grey.
“Cap refill’s better,” Shen said, pressing at her nail bed.
“Hey, Trinity?” Abbot rubbed a knuckle over her sternum. “Can you open your eyes?”
She shifted away from him with a groan, her hand trying to come up.
“Purposeful movement,” Shen said, a small smile curling his lip.
Abbot exhaled. He finally stepped back from the bed, rolling his shoulders once before swiping the sweat from his brow.
“Get a 12 lead,” he said. “See how her rhythm looks.”
One of the nurses started slipping more leads onto Trinity’s chest and printed the strip.
Abbot took it, Shen reading over his shoulder.
That’s when Robby came through the ambulance bay door, walking at a clip.
Fast. Purposeful. Already locked in.
He pushed open the trauma bay door.
Abbot moved a fraction to the side and Shen straightened, eyes flicking toward him. The RT adjusted their stance to give him a clearer line to the head of the bed.
He took in the sight of Trinity in one practiced sweep.
Unconscious. The defib pads on her chest. Ambu-bag over her face.
“What the fuck happened?” Robby demanded, eyes flicking between Abbot and the monitor, tracking the numbers as he rushed over.
“Hypokalemia. Had a seizure and got two of Ativan,” Abbot said. “Came back, then coded.”
Robby plucked the EKG strip from his hand, quickly scanning it.
“Downtime?”
“Four minutes.”
“Rhythm?”
“V-tach into v-fib. Torsades. Resolved with mag.”
“Where are we at now?”
“Three minutes post-ROSC,” Shen replied.
“Potassium?”
“2.4.”
“Glucose?”
“Maxed out.”
“Repeat labs?”
“Cooking,” Shen said, looking up from the i-STAT. “VBG’s pending.”
“Respirations?”
“Spontaneous,” the RT spoke up. “Switching her to the non-rebreather now.”
“Purposeful movement,” Shen added.
“She’s febrile,” Abbot said. “Sepsis bundle’s triggered and pharmacy’s on their way up.”
“Good. Do we have an ICU bed?”
“Just waiting for one to open up,” one of the nurses said.
The i-STAT beeped.
“Lytes are a mess,” Shen read off, passing the device to Robby. “CO2’s low. pH is in the toilet.”
Robby looked through the values. His brow furrowed.
“She was walking when you found her?”
“Disoriented, but on her own two feet,” Abbot nodded. “Lucky she called when she did.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Robby took a deep breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “What’s the potassium running at?”
“10 an hour,” Mateo replied. “Hanging Zosyn and acetaminophen right now.”
He pressed his fingers to her carotid. Her pulse thudded steadily, strong and quick.
“...Robby?”
It was barely audible through the mask.
Her eyes had opened a crack.
“Trinity.”
Her eyes stayed on him, foggy but certain.
“Hey, kid,” he said gently, leaning in, folding his forearms on the bedrail.
She tried to breathe but her inhale caught halfway.
“Fuck,” she winced.
“Easy,” he replied, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Your chest is going to be sore.”
She turned her head, looking around. She found Shen and Abbot.
“Welcome back, Santos,” Abbot said, the corner of his cheek lifting. “Gave us a good scare.”
“On…toes…” she murmured.
It took them a second to catch it.
Abbot’s eyebrows shot up.
“Keeping us on our toes?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded, looking pleased with herself.
A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out of Robby.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dropping his head for a moment.
“Neuro’s intact,” Shen shrugged with a smirk.
Robby sighed before placing his fingers in the palm of each of her hands. “Squeeze my fingers.”
Her hands curled around his, weak but coordinated.
“Alright,” he nodded. “Wiggle your toes.”
A bit of movement under the blanket.
“Good.”
He watched another wince pass over her features.
“We’re going to get you some pain relief, okay?” he said. “And you’re going to rest. Can you do that for me?”
She gave a nod. The lack of resistance was jarring.
He stepped half a pace back, keeping one hand on the rail.
“25 of fent, slow push. Watch her pressure.”
“You got it,” Mateo replied.
The medication pulled Trinity into a deep sleep.
The room looked different an hour later.
Quieter.
The crash cart was gone. Most of the tubing had been organized into something less frantic. The overhead lights were dimmed halfway, leaving the room washed in monitor glow and the soft blue pulse of telemetry.
Trinity slept through all of it.
The non-rebreather had been traded for a nasal cannula. She’d been changed into a gown and tucked in with a warm blanket. Her fingers twitched occasionally with dreams or discomfort. Every now and then her face tightened briefly around the ache in her chest before smoothing back out again.
Robby sat beside the bed in silence, elbows braced on his knees, watching the monitor trace rise and fall.
The door cracked open.
Abbot stepped in first, Shen trailing behind him with two coffees balanced in one hand.
“How’s she doing?” Shen asked quietly.
Robby glanced up. “Stable. Potassium’s up to 2.9 now.”
“Good,” Shen nodded, handing him one of the coffees.
“Thanks,” Robby accepted it without looking away from Trinity.
Abbot wandered closer to the monitor, watching the tracing for a moment. “Now that’s what I like to see.”
“Sinus rhythm has never looked so good,” Shen murmured, taking a sip from his cup. “I swear that was the longest four minutes of my fucking life.”
“Four minutes,” Robby echoed, brushing a hand through his hair.
“We were on her right away, Robby,” Abbot assured him. “There wasn’t a single moment she wasn’t perfusing. Pads were on her before she even coded.”
“Why?”
“She grabbed me, looked me dead in the eye, and told me it was about to happen.”
“And we sure as shit believed her,” Shen nodded.
“She’s hardly ever wrong,” Robby muttered.
He thought for a moment.
“She say anything about why she was upstairs?” Robby asked.
“No,” Abbot shook his head. “Just said a few things that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. She started seizing and we got some floor nurses to help get her down here. Then shit went sideways.”
They stood in the quiet for a moment.
“You think ICU will have an open bed sometime this century?” Shen asked.
“They said a few hours, but who the fuck knows,” Robby shrugged.
“You good to sit with her for a bit?” Abbot asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got her,” Robby nodded. “Go tend to your night crawlers.”
“Holler if you need anything,” Abbot said as they retreated toward the hall.
“Uh—” Robby stopped them. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Abbot gave a small nod.
“Anytime, cap,” Shen gave a small salute as they slipped out the door.
A/N: let me know a line/moment you liked and ask away if you have any questions! Chapter two is on its way here! 🥰
16 year old Eslam and her family urgently need our support. The landlord of the home they’ve been sheltering in has demanded they pay him $2000 within 2 days or they will be kicked out onto the street.
Eslam’s father has been bedridden for MONTHS due to complications from untreated diabetes. This family will not survive a second winter in a tent.
I am begging you, please donate if you can, and share this widely 🙏🏻
Diabetes is such a joke of a disease wdym I just got woken up in the dead of night basically on my deathbed and to not die I have to eat a little snack? a little treat is gonna save my life? save me vanilla icing, vanilla icing SAVE ME. like what is even going on what are we DOING 😭
not to be a complainer but I wish all those posts about fun agere snacks had diabetic friendly alternatives that aren't string cheese and yogurt. I love all these fun things but I can't have sugar milk + pasta I love + crackers + dessert after without having like 379 blood sugar highs. Sighhh. No puppy kibble snack for me because it's all carbs. No fun meal platter for me because it's all carbs and the fruit listed is also carbs. No hate to those lists they all have super yummy kid food I just feel a little jealous that there isn't an easy accessible option that doesn't fall into foods I hate/can't eat cuz sensory issues/too expensive/not nearly as fun or tasty as the other foods. I have a rare type of diabetes that functuous like type 2. I can't take insulin to cover what I eat so I feel left out :(
Think I might have figured out why I've been such a disaster.
My methylphenidate and anti-anxiety prescriptions refill on the 21st, so I checked to see if I have eight pills of each.
I have an extra twenty-two methylphenidates and an extra FIFTY anti-anxiety.
Checked my other prescriptions. I also have extra insulin and haven't taken any of my pain medication.
Apparently. I have missed eleven days worth of my ADHD meds, only taken my anxiety meds two days this month, and have repeatedly been forgetting to give myself insulin or take any of my pain meds. Seal wasn't broken on my pain meds, on my stomach pills, on my vitamins, NOTHING.
Man, what the FUCK 😭😭😭
People joke I'm addicted to my meds, but if I was, maybe I'd remember to fucking take them 😭😭😭 what the fuck man
