#ventilator tw

[enby-creature-feature]

....

[menaceonice]

all that i have: a hollanov fan fiction (by cami)

CHAPTER SIX: echo of love / stay.

potential tw: description of coma/ventilator

read chapter one here! / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five

ilya comes and goes in pieces. he wakes once during an MRI. his eyes are taped closed. he probably couldn't even open them if he tried. his body feels both heavy and weightless. like he's floating, but still tied down to something. his muscles are completely relaxed, and somehow that's more uncomfortable than if he had control over them. it's like he doesn't remember how to move.

perhaps the weirdest sensation is his chest. it rises and falls. not on its own, but because it's being told to. it's moving slower than he wants it to. it feels like it's crushing him, suffocating him, and he can't push back against it. he's hyperaware of every sensation in his body. he can feel the endotracheal tube. it doesn't gag him, but he wants it out. it's sore. he can feel the lines resting against his skin. he's cold. fuck, he's cold. but he can't shiver. thankfully, he doesn't feel much pain. that will come later. for now, just pressure.

the MRI is deafening. banging. buzzing. he has no idea what the fuck it is. a part of him wonders if he is on the side of the road. despite feeling the IV lines and tube in his throat, it makes the most sense. the banging. the cold. the light trying to creep it's way through eyes forced closed.

the MRI table moves underneath him. his whole body moves with it. he can see it clearly in his mind now. they're placing him on a backboard. for just a moment, he feels safe. he's being taken care of. he drifts off again.

the next time he wakes, it's quiet. he thinks no more than a few moments have passed. it's been eighteen hours, to the outside world. a clock ticks in the background. he can hear the faint humming of the ventilator beside him. he feels similarly: very little pain, just discomfort. restlessness. it eases as he hears a familiar, distant voice. he can't quite place the name. it's soft. female.

"О, Илья. Что ты наделал?" (oh, ilya. what have you done?) svetlana whispers in their native tongue. "Знаешь, ты заставил меня проделать весь этот путь из Бостона." (you know, you made me come all this way from boston.)

she doesn't mind. her only regret is not being able to come sooner. he's been alone for almost 36 hours by the time svetlana was able to make it to montreal. she crosses the room slowly when she arrives.

he looks so fragile like this. almost every inch of his body is hooked up to some piece of monitoring equipment or pump. several different medications are being delivered simultaneously. she can't wrap her head around how much is happening just to keep him alive. her eyes burn with tears at the sight. they'd told her it was serious. that they couldn't guarantee him waking up, or ever being the same as he once was if he did pull through. she knows everything. that he had arrested twice, that cardiology was working him up. but seeing him was different; her strong, brave, beautiful ilya, clinging to this earth through machines and chemicals.

their playful conversations had once flown so easily. now she's at a loss for words. she takes his hand instead. "Это Светлана. Я держу тебя за руку. Ты чувствуешь это? Ты меня слышишь?" (It’s Svetlana. I’m holding your hand. Can you feel that? Can you hear me?)

the russian dialect is easy for him to understand. for that, he's grateful. he wants to squeeze her hand back. he wants to tell her that he can hear her, that he's so glad she came. he can't. all he can do is lie there and listen. he hears her cry softly. feels her squeeze his hand a little harder. he has never wanted to hold her so badly.

and she has never wanted to hold him so badly. they had always promised to protect one another, and that was something svetlana took very seriously. she knows there's nothing she could have done. but there's still guilt buried deep in the pit of her stomach. she tells herself that ilya is a fighter. he's the most stubborn person she knows. he'll get through this. he will.

"Все очень за тебя волнуются, Илюшка. Я хочу, чтобы ты знал: ты в безопасности. Тебя уложили отдыхать, чтобы ты мог восстановиться. Завтра тебя разбудят — не спеша. И когда ты откроешь глаза, я буду здесь." (Everyone is very worried about you, Ilyushka. I want you to know: you are safe. They have settled you down to rest so that you can recover. Tomorrow they will wake you up—gently. And when you open your eyes, I will be right here.) svetlana drags her thumb over the top of ilya's hand, soothing him. she isn't positive that he can hear her, or that he will remember any of this, but she has to try. if there's even a slight chance of comfort, she wants it.

ilya listens intently. not all of the words make sense. but the tone is comforting, whoever this woman is. he feels her thumb over the top of his hand. when she stops after a few moments, he wants to ask her to start again. it was the first comforting, pleasant sensation he's had since... whatever had happened.

she keeps her hand in his even as she moves to take her phone out. "Надеюсь, это не покажется глупым, но мне нужно, чтобы ты кое-что услышал. Я искал эту песню всё то время, пока ты спал. Это песня, которую тебе когда-то ставила мама. Думаю, тебе бы хотелось её услышать." (I hope this doesn't seem silly, but I need you to hear something. I’ve been searching for this song the whole time you were sleeping. It’s a song your mom used to play for you. I think you’d want to hear it.) the volume is kept low enough not to be a disturbance, but loud enough to ensure he could hear it.

the song is the first clear noise he comprehends. the first thing that isn't muffled or distant. the heaviness is gone in an instant. he recognizes it from the first violin chord. the discomfort dissipates. the cold is gone. even with closed eyes, he can see his mother in front of him. she looks beautiful. he finds himself curling into his mother's lap, like he always used to. she pets his hair and whispers to him. "Всё хорошо, любовь моя. Я здесь, рядом." (Everything is fine, my love. I am here, right beside you.) the song fades. irina doesn't.

on this earth, ilya remains still. svetlana runs her fingers through his hair. it was one of his favorite feelings. she knew that. "Мне нужно, чтобы ты остался. Но если не можешь — передай маме, что мы по ней скучаем." (I need you to stay. But if you can't—tell Mom that we miss her.)

the words don't make sense to him. but as he drifts back into sleep, he feels far more comfortable. and his mother stays.

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

The Surgery - Subject 17 (Part 5)

Masterlist here

[Note: This takes place between Part 1 and 2, and shows the story from Doctor Barrick's perspective]

Hey, I'm back! All my exams and classes are done for the year, so I'm going to have a lot more time to write and post online, woo! The best part is, my birthday is on the 22nd of November so I get to stay home on my birthday. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this part, requested by @inky-whump . It's only a short little drabble, but I have some more exciting things coming up!

CWs: lab whump, human experimentation, noncon surgery, medical setting, noncon drugging, needles, hospital equipment, intubation, ventilator

~~~

Doctor Barrick sighed with relief the moment Subject 17’s body went slack. The boy was quite useful, but he could be a handful. 

“Now that the Subject is unconscious, the first step is to prepare him for the surgery.” Doctor Barrick announced. “Pass me the laryngoscope,” he instructed Hugo.

Hugo picked up the metal tool with the hook-like shape arcing from the handle and handed it to the Doctor. Doctor Barrick held the tool by the handle. With his other gloved hand, he pried open Flynn’s slack jaw, and then angled the hook part of the tool into Flynn’s mouth, forcing it open wider as he slid the tool further down Flynn’s throat. Hugo prepared the endotracheal tube and then gave it to Doctor Barrick also, who inserted it into Flynn’s trachea with the help of the laryngoscope.  Once the tube was inserted and set up, Doctor Barrick connected the tube to the ventilator and switched the machine on, allowing oxygen to fill Flynn’s lungs.

“Oxygen is going, and we are ready to begin the procedure.”

Doctor Barrick exposed Flynn’s abdomen and began examining the area with an expert eye, quickly finding the location where he would need to make the incision. He lifted the scalpel off the table and lowered it to rest against Flynn’s skin. With one smooth motion, he sliced deep into the skin. Red beads of blood bubbled to the surface, and he held out his hand. Hugo placed a series of tools in the Doctor’s hand, and together, the two began to expose the area beneath the skin that they needed access to. Then, Doctor Barrick picked up the syringe containing the serum, and slid it into the incision, slowly and carefully injecting the serum into the area around the spleen. 

“And the procedure is all over. It’s time to stitch up Subject 17, and clean him up so that he can begin recovering.” Doctor Barrick announced.

With that, they sutured the wound, cleaned it and then dressed it. Then they dressed Flynn in a fresh hospital gown and lifted him up from the exam table and onto the gurney. 

“My assistant will take him into a private room, where we will monitor him closely as we wean him off the anesthesia. Once he’s able to breathe on his own, we’ll take him off the ventilator. Now, my assistant and I have to get cleaned up before we take care of Subject 17, but after that, I am happy to return and answer any questions you may have about me or my studies or my work. So, if you would like to ask me any questions, please stick around. Thank you for watching.” Doctor Barrick tossed his blood-stained gloves and began to get cleaned up. 

~~~

Taglist:

@ziptiewhump @lazy8whump @blackrosesandwhump @paleassprince @bumpthumpwhump @jancameforthewhump @jaxonjekkels @inky-whump @verydeaninside @whatiswhump @aseasonwithclara @crystalquartzwhump @onthishamsterwheel @myst-in-the-mirror

[capt-snoozles]

24 for zukka?

i read something sad and then made myself sad so,, this is not fluffy like i intended, i apologise

"Your hands are too cold, I'll warm them up."

Sokka always loved watching Zuko sleep.

It was a rare sight thanks to his inability to stay in bed past 6am, one Sokka could probably count the amount of times he’d seen on one hand.

The first time had been when they were teenagers, when Zuko had fallen asleep on his desk in maths, looking exhausted even as he took his first nap in days.

The second had been the morning after a party, the two of them wrapped up together on Suki’s couch, Zuko’s breath warm and damp against his shoulder.

The third had been on a sunday morning a year ago, warm sunlight falling through the partially open curtains in their new apartment, slanting over Zuko’s pale skin in a golden stripe. He’d been beautiful, even with the smudge of drool on the corner of his mouth.

The fourth time was now: an afternoon glow filling the room as Sokka watched Zuko’s chest rise and fall carefully, each inhale causing a warm feeling to swirl through Sokka’s chest.

His hair was longer, sleek and soft after Mai had brushed it for him last week, threatening to bleach it if he missed her wedding and obnoxiously waving the engagement ring he’d helped her pick out in front of his face. When she’d had to put the brush down to gently dab away her tears without ruining her makeup, Sokka had reached for her hand and she’d pulled him further into a rare hug.

Today it was just him and a letter from Azula that Sokka wasn’t sure he should read, Zuko’s chest still faithfully rising and falling like the tides.

“Hey sunshine.” Sokka murmured, glad for the gentle humming of machinery that filled the silence where Zuko’s grumbled response should have been. He carefully avoided the ventilator as he pressed a soft kiss to Zuko’s forehead, brushing stray hair out of his face and tucking it behind his good ear. The bruises from the accident had faded and if it weren’t the hospital smell or the breathing apparatus, Sokka might have been able to convince himself that Zuko was just sleeping.

“Azula called this morning.” He admitted, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. “She said she might be able to fly in for a visit this weekend. She also said that I should warn you she’s going to steal your good jeans.” He snorted and sat down, reaching forward to grab his boyfriend's hand. “I hid them though, in my office, so they’ll still be there when you get home.”

Sokka frowned at the temperature of Zuko’s skin, his fingertips burning into Sokka’s hand with a freezing intensity. “Your hands are too cold.” He commented out of reflex, feeling himself flinch when the expected response didn’t come.

“Your hands are too cold.” Sokka complained, cringing away from where Zuko was trying to grab his face.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Zuko teased, wiggling his fingers evilly before finally managing to press his palm to Sokka’s neck and drag him forward into a victory kiss.

He tightened his hold, swallowing down the lump in his throat when there was no teasing comment about him being a baby or answering squeeze that demanded he do something about it. Eyes misting, he gently pulled Zuko’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, keeping his lips there until he couldn’t feel the biting cold anymore.

“I’ll warm them up.”

[menaceonice]

all that i have: a hollanov fan fiction (by cami)

CHAPTER EIGHT: promise.

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

trigger warning: description of ventilator, dissociation

svetlana keeps her promise. she stays.

it's been just over 48 hours when they wean his sedation for the first time. they explain that he may or may not become fully aware. that he'll be disoriented, probably upset, but it's unlikely that he will remember any of it. not long-term. sveta says she understands. she just wants to be there with him, no matter how things go. she promised she would be there when he opened his eyes, and she intended to keep that promise. she can't stand the thought of him being alone.

it happens slower than she expects. five minutes pass. ten. no change. at fifteen minutes, his eyes begin to flutter. a low groan escapes him. "Всё в порядке, Илья. Я здесь." (it's all right, ilya. i'm here.) his eyes open at that, but they don't track. he sees a vague, blurry image of a hospital room. he can hear machines humming and beeping around him.

"that's good, ilya. that's really good." one of the respiratory therapists, elena, smiles warmly. she takes both of his hands gently in her own and gives them a squeeze. "can you feel that, ilya? can you nod, or give me a squeeze back?"

ilya hears the words, but they don't make sense yet. he can tell she's asking him a question. he blinks slowly. fuck, his chest hurts. he does his best to tell her. he tries to speak, but nothing more than another groan comes out.

"okay, ilya. i hear you. i need you to squeeze my hands if you can."

the words process better this time. slow, but better. he squeezes both eyes closed, like he really has to concentrate to make any sort of movement. both hands twitch faintly inside the nurse's. his mind wanders a bit. not full thoughts, just ideas. what the hell had happened to him?

"open your eyes again for me." he does. "good job. you're doing really great." she turns her attention to svetlana. "these are all good signs that he's neurologically intact. we're going to decrease it a little bit more. this doesn't guarantee he's going to get the tube out right now. these are all just tests. we'll adjust him as he needs."

svetlana nods at that. she holds onto that phrase like it was a promise. good signs. "Ты отлично справляешься, Илья. Оставайся с нами." (you're doing a great job, ilya. stay with us.)

the next 2 hours feel eternal. respiratory therapists, nurses, the hospitalist are all in and out. they assess him. give him short breaks. eventually he's nodding consistently, moving his legs a little. he feels like he's in a haze. he's following commands, but still not really understanding where he is, or why. it's scary.

he can't explain the shift that happens in the room. irritation takes over. his patience runs as dry as his chapped lips that hurt to move. he musters every bit of strength left in him and moves both hands to clutch at the tube, giving it a weak tug. something moves in his throat, and it makes him gag. that's when the panic sets in.

"no, ilya. you need to keep that in. that's helping you breathe, okay? you can't take that out."

ilya doesn't care. he wants it out. it's uncomfortable, and now he's hyper-aware of it. his eyes burn with tears as he fights against the staff, trying desperately to raise his hands back up.

"no. you're not ready yet. it's okay, we've got you. we're going to give you something to help you relax, okay? we'll try this again later." elena explains. "go ahead and bolus him."

no. he's tired of not having control. he wants to wake up and find out what the fuck is going on. what are they trying again later? why is he here? why—

he's back out again in just moments.

"we're going to give him a little break. we need to do what's called a spontaneous breathing trial before we can remove the tube. respiratory will be back in a couple of hours and we'll see if we can get him extubated."

svetlana nods, but she's still a little confused. he was waking up, he wanted the tube out, why not just take the tube out? but she had to trust the staff.

she takes a walk to the cafeteria, paces the halls of the main campus. she watches a mother in a wheelchair heading out with her newborn baby. an older gentleman being assisted with a gait belt. a girl probably her age with wet eyes and a bald head. fuck, she hated hospitals. she heads into a gift shop and finds a small teddy bear. she stares at it for a while with a smile on her face. should she? he might find it funny. fuck it. she buys it.

the two hours pass faster than she expected. they come back in and start the weaning process again. it's similar at first. he wakes up. he's a little more irritable, hands stuck in soft restraints against the bed so he can't pull the tube again, but he complies.

"we're going to turn the settings down on the machine. i'm gonna go ahead and have you take a deep breath for me."

ilya moves his lungs on his own terms for the first time. it feels... good, and bad at the same time. he's glad to have that control back. but his ribs are killing him. there's a faint crack every time he takes a deep breath. a noise only he can hear, but it drives him crazy.

after what feels like forever, it's time. they keep his hands in restraints for the time being. "big, deep breath in for me and then you're going to cough. one, two, three—"

eyes squeeze shut as he lurches forward and coughs. the relief is almost instant. he's coughing and gagging, his throat still burns a little, but there's no more tube. his mouth is suctioned out. his hands are released. the tube is replaced with a nasal cannula. it tickles, but it's much less invasive. holy fuck, he did it.

"Я так горжусь тобой, Илюшка. Я здесь, рядом с тобой. Я тебя очень люблю." (I am so proud of you, Ilyushka. I am here, right beside you. I love you so much.) svetlana squeezes his fingers and smiles at him. she raises his hand to kiss the back of it, letting out a content sigh. "Как ты себя чувствуешь, любовь моя? Тебе больно?" (How do you feel, my love? Are you in pain?)

ilya opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. he licks his lips. his mouth has never felt so dry. finally, after a minute or so, "Да. Это больно." (Yes. It hurts.)

svetlana's heart cracks a little bit. she shouldn't be surprised. he's been intubated, not allowed to move for 72 hours. he's been poked and prodded countless times. multiple ribs were broken or bruised from the CPR. of course he was going to hurt. "Всё в порядке. Можете сказать нам, что болит?" (everything is fine. can you tell us what hurts?)

"Моя грудь." (my chest.) no hesitation.

she turns her attention back to the nurse for just a moment. "he says his chest hurts."

the nurse nods at that. "that's okay. that's normal. your body has been through a lot. just try to relax for me. i'm going to let doctor know that you're awake. he's probably going to have some questions for you. just do your best. we'll get you something for the pain. can you nod if you understand me?" she doesn't want him to wear his voice out. he's still coughing every minute or two.

ilya nods. he gives sveta's hand another small squeeze. everything takes extra effort right now. he feels like he's moving through molasses. the moment the nurse leaves, ilya turns his head slowly toward svetlana. her eyes are wet. she's so glad he's awake. so sad that he's hurting. and so fucking scared to see his reaction to finding out what really happened. and as if on cue, he asks.

"Ты упал в обморок во время игры." (you fainted during a game.) she answers briefly. she doesn't want to overwhelm him. he needed to focus on resting and getting stronger before this conversation happened. "Теперь ты в безопасности." (now you are safe.)

it didn't explain everything. he figures it must have been pretty bad if he had the tube in. he wants to ask for more details, but he's too tired. staying awake was enough of a struggle right now. "okay." ilya closes his eyes, grimacing as he goes to take a deep breath. he's asleep for what feels like thirty seconds before svetlana is gently shaking him awake again. "Ваш врач здесь." (your doctor is here.)

"hi there. my name is doctor bishop." she's surprisingly young for a hospitalist, very short and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. she stops just shy of the foot of the bed and speaks loud and clear. "can i have your name?"

"ilya." he coughs on the last syllable. "rozanov."

"nice to meet you, ilya. i'm glad to see you awake and talking. how are you feeling?"

"bad. chest hurts, and... dizzy."

bishop glances up at his vitals. sinus rhythm. slightly tachy. oxygen is decent given the circumstances. "that's what they told me. i can give you some medicine to help with that. i just wanted to chat first, see if you were able to answer some questions."

they go over them. just verbal at first: can you count to ten? what is your job? which team do you play for? where are we right now? the last one he gets wrong. he says they're in boston. she corrects him gently: montreal.

montreal. why does that ring a bell in his mind? it bothers him. he continues following commands, finishes out the questions, but montreal is stuck in his mind. what about that city was so familiar? there's an emotional weight there. montreal... hockey? the metros. he hated the metros. was that all it was? no... jane. montreal jane. shane. fuck. how could he have forgotten shane? he needed to text him. now. svetlana said this happened during a game? so he knew. shane knew. oh, god, he was probably freaking out.

"sveta?" the word sounds weaker than he wants it to. he'd finally gotten those pain meds, and it was making him fade out again. "my phone?"

she looks at him for a moment. "Илья, ты только что проснулся. Зачем тебе телефон?" (ilya, you just woke up. why do you need your phone?)

"please one text."

sveta hesitates before reaching into a plastic bag with his personal belongings. she finds it quickly. graciously, it still has juice. 10%.

[ 𝒔𝒎𝒔 📲 jane ] : 14:10 : just woke up. when can i see you? soon please

he hands the phone lazily back to svetlana. she doesn't mean to look. but he left it open. jane. of course. montreal jane.

[iliveinprocrasti-nation]

nevermind my dad still can’t breathe✌️