I like to make men cry out in pain (fictionally). I like watching it too.
Fanfiction writer when and if I have spare time. Fanfiction reader the rest of the time. Currently living my dreams working as a nurse, so not as readily available as I once was. Tay 28, she/her.
I got tagged by @sarcasmcloud and I have probably (and this is just a ballpark estimate) a bazillion WIPS. :P
The rules:
Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
My WIP:
- NameLess FaceLess
- Bodyguard Idea
- RCIN
I have so many more it's overwhelming lol. So if you want to hear about an idea that's not written, I'd love to share lol.
While we wait for tomorrow's championship poll, I wanted to make a special post. I was very moved by the dedication of the coughing up blood crew (such a close one!), especially @seth-whumps and the bribery efforts. So in recognition of the coughing up blood fans' passion, here is a special post just for them (and I guess everyone else can enjoy it too ;) ). Third place is nothing to sneeze at (or cough at).
FBI: INTERNATIONAL
4.01, "A Leader, not a Tourist" (2024)
insp: "... As they dive back into the investigation, Mitchell is forced to confront the pain of losing his partner." —4.08 episode description (airs tomorrow, Dec. 17, 2024)
LUNGGGGGSSSS. They are seriously some of my favourite whump related injuries to write!
I started researching lung injuries as a teen (before I ever knew I was into whump), and I have so much useless information relating to the subject. So here is whatever I remember. Because more Whumpees deserve lung damage.
They're a class of injury that is not just hell to endure, but also to watch someone else go through. So Caretaker can also suffer in proxy.
A Whumpee might have to gurgle their words past the blood that’s coming up from their lungs, desperately pull air into a lung that won’t inflate because it has collapsed, or start losing coherence and coordination due to oxygen deprivation.
Other lung injury details:
Cyanosis (lips, tongue and fingertips turning blue)
Pale skin that is cool and clammy to the touch
Air hunger (a special kind of living hell)
Coughing, choking, rattling breath
Fragmented speech, or even the inability to speak entirely because they can’t afford the air. Not being able to project their voice, having to speak in a wheeze
Blood or bloody froth appearing at the mouth and nose, especially when Whumpee is trying to breathe through blood
Confusion, fatigue, irritability, compromised mental function
Lack of coordination, fumbling fingers, tripping over things, bumping into furniture
Oxygen deprivation can cause seizures, unconsciousness, brain damage, coma, and death of course
AND if you want, Whumpee can also go out quietly, without anyone knowing. Passing out or dying from oxygen deprivation can be silent and unexpected (See "old man's best friend" >> pneumonia providing a gentle end to old or very sick individuals without visible pain or struggle)
Some dramatic lung injury interventions:
For hemothorax (blood in the lungs): having to drain the blood collected in the lung so the person can breathe
For pneumothorax (air in the chest cavity, compressing the lung): releasing the air so it stops squashing the lung
Drowning: also see secondary drowning, where it happens outside of water
This is not exhaustive! Also, I am not in the medical industry, so take everything with a grain of salt and do your own research!
I was just inspired to share this because I just wrote a fic where not one, but TWO Whumpees got lung injuries! TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!
I finally got to use all my lung trivia! 🫁
Day 7 - "Just tell you're ok, and I'm fine," Elevator
Day 8 - Self Inflicted Injury, Held at Gunpoint
Day 9 - Flashback, Touching
Day 10 - "Nothing you can say, nothing you can do."
Day 11 - Hidden Injury
Day 12 - Cardiac Arrest
Day 13 - Insignia
Day 14 - Body Bag, Wounded Caretaker
Day 15 - "You can take a break, if you just tell me it hurts," Live Stream Torture
Day 16 - "I've had the rug pulled beneath my feet," Disorientation
Day 17 - Coma Internal Bleeding (Part 2, Day 6)
Day 18 - Environmental Whump (Part 2, Day 3)
Day 19 - "You're on your own, lost in the wild," On Patrol
Day 20 - "That's new," Symptomatic, Fancy Event
Day 21 - Kneeling
Day 22 - Self Sacrifice
Day 23 - "How'd I get to this place?" Intubation, ICU, Choking
Day 24 - Amnesia
Day 25 - Lost Faith, Left to Die
Day 26 - Power Cut
Day 27 - "Would you even want me, looking like a zombie?" X-Rays, Surgical Scars, Bedside Vigil (Part 3, Days 6 and 17)
Day 28 - Backstabbing, Constellations, Creative Restraints
Day 29 - Fainting, Broken Dishes
Day 30 - Mirror, Confrontation
Day 31 - Bleeding Out, Gunshot Wound
Stats and me rambling below the cutoff :)
Statistics -
Google Doc is 85 Pages.
Took me just under 6 months to complete.
Total word count of document is 43606 words.
Whumped 2 guys (Colter and Russel) from 1 TV show.
Notes -
That was hella fun. I'm sad it took me so long but it definitely was worth it. My beta reader (who is more so just the one who reads it first and tries and offers some constructive critiscm) was a nice change. I can see visually that my technical prowess definitely changed and generally my drabbles have gone from poetic in my youth to very logical. I miss the emotional part of writing that I used to do but my technical stuff is just so fun.
I don't know if I would do just one character again but I will say that I feel like I doubled the total amount of Tracker whump fandom with these 31 days which is fun. It's not all posted to Ao3 but thats next on the agenda.
Overall, lots of fun, thank you all. Love you, mean it!
Authors Note: Day 31! Who would have thought I'd actually finish this? I'm pretty stoked about it. If anyone has one of these they'd like to see expanded on a little more, reach out to me because there are so many that I would do it for that it kind of leaves me in a decision paralysis. plus, interaction makes me happy 👉👈
I love you all and truly mean it! Until I write again!
Day 31 - “Even with the smallest cuts, you can still lose so much blood.”
(bleeding out, gunshot wound, rescued by the enemy)
The gunshot echoed loud throughout the old house.
Russell’s head shot up, instinctively raising his gun to point straight ahead and back out into the hallway. He had been rifling through the drawers of the desk of the attorney that his brother and him were looking for. A favor that they had been gladly willing to help Reenie with. Up to this point, Russell had found nothing that felt relevant nor helpful to finding the missing man.
Russell was silent as he listened for signs for his brother who had been somewhere down on the ground floor looking for anything before a second, third, and fourth shot quickly filled the air. All was silent as Russell launched from the room, his steps silent on the carpeted flooring as he turned his flashlight off. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the lighting before he continued his silent trek through the landing.
He reached the banister that would allow him to look into the foyer below him and he heard the first sound he had since the gunshots had stopped. It was wet breaths, accompanied by a cough that were not quite able to clear whatever had been in their chest. Russell immediately recognized it as a death rattle, the sound a person makes as they take their final breaths. Russell’s heart drops as he immediately thinks of his brother and he shines a light over the railing and is met with a man lying just inside the front door, lying on his front, blood spreading across the white carpeted rug beneath him.
It took Russell a moment, but he knew it wasn’t his brother. His heart rate steadies for a moment before he remembers that he can only assume the worst until he lays eyes on his brother. Russell rushes around the corner to the stairway and is offered another angle of the foyer but his brother is nowhere to be seen and the ragged breathing has ceased. Russell reaches the bottom of the sweeping staircase and decides to not check the pulse on the man laying on the carpet, instead, he bypasses him and heads towards the kitchen that goes past the stairway and sits nestled on the backside of the first floor.
Russell notices that the sliding glass door is wide open, letting in a cold wind that swept Russell’s hair back. Russell trains his flashlight on the floor where red crimson streaks disappear into the dining room. He knows its blood, and once again his heart clenches as he tries to find any other rationale for the copious amounts of blood that wet the ground. Instead, he quickens his pace, stepping into the kitchen before turning.
There he is.
Colter rests against the partitioning wall, separating the fancy dining room from the kitchen, his back to the wall, legs spread out before him, head laying on his chest. Russell loses all pre-tense of self preservation and darts to his brother, dropping to his knees at his side and throwing a hand to Colter’s throat.
“Colt!” Russell roars, feeling for a pulse before his brother's head snaps up, his gun pointed right at Russell’s chest. Colter's eyes are unfocused, his face white in the moon light that pours through the window in the kitchen.
Unfocused but his gun's aim was not. “Woah, Colter, it's me. It's Russ.” Russell removed his hand from his brother's neck slowly and carefully as Colter’s eyes tracked Russell finally, and fortunately decided to relax his grip on his weapon, his hand falling to the floor. A lazy grin on his face. “Oh, hey.”
Russell ignores his brother's sense of cavalierism as well as the puddle of blood that is under his brother. “Where?”
Colter nods, “Leg, and also abdomen.”
Russell drops his gaze and immediately hones in on the two wounds. His right thigh has a wound that is pumping bright red blood out, and Russell immediately presses his palm into the wound and places as much pressure as he can onto it. Colter tenses up, grabs a handful of Russell's pant legs, and makes a pitiful grunt of pain, but otherwise lets Russell do what needs to be done. Russell looks up and sees the blood that is also still trickling from a hole in Colter's shirt and swears as he presses another palm against the second wound. “Shit, Colter, we need to get you to a hospital. Can you call 911?”
Russell looks up at his brother's face again and finds Colter leaning his head back against the wall, a fine sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Russell presses a little harder into the leg wound and Colter's eyes fly open and his head shoots forward. Russell can feel the bone shift beneath his ministrations and worries that he could make things worse, but given that Russell thinks that there is damage to the femoral artery, his options are limited.
“What was that for?” Colter gasps out, and Russell watches his eyelids fluttering.
“Colter, I wear to god, focus! Call 911, now!” Russell urges and Colter nods, his hand snaking to his back pocket where he feebly pulls his phone out. He manages to call and then looks back to Russell, “Arterial?” he pants. He puts the phone on speaker, and Russell nods as he listens to the ring. Colter’s face seems to turn another shade of pale, Russell can feel a sense of dread and panic building deep in his chest.
“911, what is the location of your emergency?” Russell rattles off the address and swivels his head around, looking for anything that would work as a tourniquet. He spots the curtains that are nestled on the window behind the dining room table as well as the silverware that is on the table. “My brother has been shot and he’s bleeding out really quick, he needs help yesterday.” Russell stated before looking at his brother, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression.
Russell prayed it was resolve, but he’d seen his brother wear that face, and this was nothing like it.
“Colter, now more than ever, I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?” His brother's oddly alert eyes look at him and he nods his head, croaking out a quick confirmation. “You have to hold pressure on this leg for a second. I’m going to make a quick tourniquet.”
The 911 operator was still talking to the two of them, but neither paid any attention as Colter's hand, weaker than usual, covered Russell's. “I was going for,” Colt pauses, taking in a quick breath, “a knife and the curtains.” He takes another quick breath and Russell ticks off another indication of hemorrhagic shock. “Didn’t make it.”
“Good idea,” Russell quickly slides his hand out from under Colts and Colter presses his palm as tightly as he can into the wound. Russell launches to his feet, knowing time was of the essence and pointedly ignoring the blood that trailed out from under Colters hand.
Russell grabbed the fabric that held the curtains close, a few inches wide by a few feet long as well as a spoon off the table before returning to Colter’s side. He threads the fabric under Colter’s leg two or so inches above the wound, and his brother offers a pointed groan of pain, before Russell brings the end together and grabs the spoon. He makes a quick knot to hold the pieces together and to the spoon before beginning to turn the spoon rapidly, the pressure builds beneath the twisting, and Colter’s breathing increases rapidly the tighter Russell makes it before Russell looks at the wound. Colter’s hand has fallen away, his brother panting beneath him.
The bleeding has stopped.
Russell loops the end of the spoon into some of the excess fabric, stopping the spoon from unwinding before dashing to the kitchen counter and grabbing a washcloth that rests there. He goes to pack the wound in the abdomen with it, ‘Hey operator, can you let personnel know that the tourniquet was placed at this time?”
“Understood sir, can you describe the injuries for me?” the operator asks and Russell shakes his head but relays his assessment.
“Two GSW’s. One to the right thigh, crepitus noted with pressure. Bright red blood, bleeding controlled at this moment. Abdomen to the right lower abdomen, bleeding sluggishly, just packed it with a washcloth and am holding pressure.” Russell states analytically but his heart drops when he notices his brother's lax features. “He’s unconscious again, do you have an ETA on an ambulance?”
Russell goes to sternal rub his brother as the voice responds with “Three minutes.” He shakes his head, unsure if his brother can make it another three minutes. He rubs at his sternum and Colter's head shoots forward again, his eyes flying open as he struggles with consciousness.
“You gotta hang in there, Colt. The ambulance is almost here.” Russell reassures, moving his hand to his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks.” Colter says plainly.
“For what?” Russell asks.
“Trying to,” a breath, “save me.”
“Well, there’s no trying, I’m succeeding.” Colter loosens another one of his smirks, before his lips turn downwards.
“Didn’t think…this would be…how it ends.”
“Shut up, Colter. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get some fluids, some bandaids, maybe some pain meds if you ask nicely, and be just fine.” Russell argues.
“No…pain.” Russell watches Colter's eyes flutter again, and he squeezes and pulls on Colter's shoulder. His brother's eyes hazily blink open. “Just…cold.”
“That’s because you have more blood beneath you and on me, than in you.” Russell tries to joke, but the joke falls flat on his own ears. Russell looks out the window as he pushes the fear in him down. He can deal with that later, for now, he keeps his brother alive.
“It’s…not…your…fault.” He turns back to his brother's face, and Russell finally understands the emotion that he couldn’t place earlier. It was never resolve, but resignation. Sirens are getting closer and closer, and Russell urges them to get closer.
“I didn’t think it was, now I do. Thanks for that.” Russell says, knowing damn well his brother is seeing straight through his eyes.
“Love…you…” Colter's eyes slide shut again, and there's a finality that Russell feels, all the tension that had been underlying in Colter's body goes slack as he hears the front door open.
“We’re back here, that guy is dead!” Russell calls out, shaking his brother's shoulder aggressively, needing Colter to just wake up again, “Come on Colter, come on man, I love you too. Just wake up buddy, come on!” Russell shouts, as a cop rounds the corner, his gun on the brothers. Russell turns to the man, “The guns are on the floor, I’m not a threat, but he needs help, now!”
Rusell reaches for a pulse before the officer grabs both his and Colter's guns, sliding them away from the pair and radios for the medics to come in. His gun remains trained on Russell and Russell doesn’t move an inch as he keeps his hands on the faint, hummingbird-like pulse beneath his fingers. The only thing that proves that his brother is alive.
The medics shuffle in quickly and as they push Russell out of the way, the cop pulls Russell aside. “I know that's your brother, but I need answers right now or you’re going to jail and not the hospital.”
It took everything in Russell not to turn and ignore the cop, to not punch the man.But he cooperates and gets as much out before he hears them lift colter up onto the stretcher, the monitor he’s been hooked too screaming behind him. He pleads with the cop with his eyes and the cop concedes, “I’ll drive you up there, give these guys some room.”
Russell restrains from kissing the man on the lips when he allows Russell the front seat and turns his sirens on, leading the ambulance to the hospital.
Authors Note: you Russell lovers will probably like this one more than some of my others lol. I love some good old fashioned angst.
“Reenie, move.” Colter seethed, the words cold and unwavering as he stared down at the lawyer who blocked the doorway, unrelenting in her own force.
“Colter, you can barely stand-”
“Reenie, move!” Colter shouted, knowing deep down that if this situation was any different, he would be listening to her. He would be getting back into bed, letting Reenie help wobble back to the bed on his unsteady feet, letting the nurse restart his IV, prepare for the surgery that he’s having in the morning.
But that’s not how it is. The situation is exactly how he knows it is.
Russell and himself were ambushed while driving to dinner. Bullets littered the sheet metal of the truck, breaking windows, tearing apart his bags in the back seat, and imbedding themselves into the brothers. When Colter had woken up after the truck had crashed, driving head first into a tree, he realized that he had gotten lucky. A bullet in his leg and another in his arm. He was lucky.
Russell was not. Colter had turned to look at his brother, his chin was still tucked against his chest. Colter had struggled to unbuckle himself, calling out for his brother. When Russell didn’t respond, Colter leaned over the center console and pressed a hand to his brother's clammy neck, a pulse was thready beneath his fingertips, but it gave Colter enough time to watch as blood pumped lazily out of his brother's chest. “Russell, come on man, wake up.”
Colter fell out of the crumpled truck, landing on his bad arm and leg, crying out into the quiet woods, but refusing to let it stop him. “Russ, I’m coming.” he ground out as he pulled himself up and hopped on his other leg around the back of the truck, grabbing for his first aid kit, and finally yanking open Russell's door.
Colter felt his heart in his throat quicken as he noted the blood dripping onto the floorboard, audible in the silence of the woods. “No, no, Russell, wake up!” Colter cried, leaning himself against the mangled door and placing his good hand against the primary wound and using his bad one to squeeze Russell's trapezius muscle in his shoulder, hard.
Russell hadn’t responded at all.
In the minutes it took for emergency services to get there, Colter had carefully lowered his brother to the forest floor so he could put more pressure against his brother's wounds and also allowed Colter to get off his feet as his own strength waned. Colter felt the blood running down his arm and down his pants but he ignored it. Instead he held pressure and continued to watch the rise and fall of Russell's chest as he took in breath after breath. Colter hadn’t stopped talking either, and he wasn’t sure who’s benefit it was for.
When Russell had been stretchered out of there, and Colter had a chance to collapse back against the truck, the sheriff who had shown up watched him warily. “Is any of that blood your own, son?”
Colter didn’t have it in him to respond.
He allowed the officer to drive him to the hospital, giving him some gauze to hold over the wound in his shoulder before he tourniqueted Colter's leg. Colter didn’t have the strength to tell the officer that the tourniquet didn’t stop the bleeding at all, but instead watched the blood continue to saturate and pool in the old leather seats beneath him.
When they made it to the hospital, the trauma team had to help pull him from the seat and into the stretcher.
When all was said and done, Russell was intubated in the ICU and Colter was waiting for his own surgery in the morning. A surgery that would have to wait, right now, his one concern was finding the people that tried to kill his brother.
“You are no good to Russell dead, do you understand me?”
“I don’t care, Reenie, this is my decision, and I am leaving.”
“Colter!” Reenie shouted in exacerbation, “Look at yourself in a mirror, you neanderthal. You can’t even open a door without help, much less go out and take down the people that put you here, and I am so sorry that you’re going through this, but your grief doesn’t give you an excuse to be a sad, stupid, moron.”
Colter did not, in fact, look himself in the mirror. He knew what he would see. Even now, he could feel where the bullet had danced with his femoral artery before finally lodging itself into the bone. He could feel where the bullet in his arm had torn through the bicep, leaving it nearly impossible to use the extremity. He had lost a fair amount of blood that he could feel, even now, even with a bag of blood given to him in the emergency department. He knew that logically, this wasn’t him. The way he was acting right now wasn’t rational, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. The only way he would be staying in this room would be for the police to handcuff him to the bed.
Even then, Colter’s not sure that would be totally effective at stopping him.
“Contrarily, I have every right to be a moron. My brother is dying and I know for a fact he would want me to do this.” Colter lowered his tone so the growing crowd on the other side of the door wouldn’t hear him.
“I know for a fact he wouldn’t.” Reenie said coldly.
“I’m going.”
“Then you are going alone. I refuse to be complicit in your stupid act of self-harm. Instead, I am going to sit with Russell and let him know that his brother is choosing to kill himself in his own honor. No reward you get out of this is worth the price of burning everything you stand for to the ground.” Reenie seethed, refusing to break eye contact with the man. Colter shook his head, not wanting to admit that Reenie was right and instead ripped the sling off and threw it to the ground, before taking a step forward with his braced and ace wrapped leg.
“Move, Reenie.” It was cold, calculating, and Reenie knew that despite her ability to argue, there was nothing that would change Colter’s mind.
So she moved, glaring at Colter's receding form as he walked down the hall towards the elevators. It wasn’t until he was gone that Reenie wiped her tears away. She knew deep down in her heart that there wasn’t a way that this would end without at least one of the Shaw brothers in a body bag.
Colter looks around Velma’s small kitchen table the group of friends had wedged themselves around, Velma to his right, Reenie to his left, and Bobby across the table from him. Eating the Chinese takeout that Reenie had requested for her birthday dinner on Velma’s ‘finest china,’ which in reality was very nice ceramic, but nobody that was here cared. The group had been laughing for the better part of two hours around the table, and Colter's plate had been empty for, at the very least, the last hour.
He loosens a cough into his elbow, the remnants of the flu he had been recovering from for the better part of two weeks. He catches Reenie’s eyes and she shakes her head and rolls her eyes, muttering something about ‘man flu’ under her breath before she stands abruptly, her plate in her hands, “I’m going for seconds, anybody else want me to grab anything for them?” She looks around the table, and Colter joins her in standing, swiping his plate off the table, a devilish smile on his face.
“I call the last of the lo-mein.” he challenges, knowing full well that if Reenie asked for it, he would give it to her. Colter's smile fades as an unsettling feeling nestles behind his sternum, like his heart was suddenly beating dully against his ribs. Reenie catches the expression on his face but chooses not to say anything as she and Velma converse about what they were going to grab seconds of.
Colter nods his head as if he’s listening,opening his mouth as if to say something but his breaths are hard to bring in and out in conjunction with the ache in his chest.
Then suddenly, the ache, the breathlessness, and the palpations in his chest, cease to exist.
Colter doesn’t even remember hitting the floor.
___
Reenie didn’t intend to watch Colter as the pair of them stood up, but it was hard not to as she watched his eyes become glassy, his mouth fall open and his lips and face lose all color and become waxy in pallor. She goes to ask if he is ok but he suddenly pitches downwards, collapsing to the floor. Reenie hears the plate shatter as it hits the floor, followed by a loud thump as Colter himself hits the floor, making no efforts to catch himself. She places her own plate on the table and drops to her knees beside him. He’s landed on his side behind his chair, and she rolls him to his back, watching as his body makes a few jerking motions. Reenie wonders if she’s watching him have a seizure, watches his lips turn a disconcerting blue. He takes a few short breaths, like a guppy when he gasps loudly and suddenly it all stops. Color returns to his lips, and he lies completely still. She reaches for a pulse in his neck and is grateful to feel a quick one beneath her fingertips.
“Colter?” Reenie asks, and Colter's eyes fly open, his chest heaving as his eyes dart around the room, not landing on her or recognizing anyone in the room. Instead he sits upright and grabs her arm, squeezing it as he blinks rapidly a few times. Reenie lets him grip her arm as she places a hand on his chest. She feels his heart racing beneath her fingertips.
Finally, after a long few seconds of him recovering, his eyes lock on hers and his panic dies down. “Uh, Colter, you ok?”
Colter nods his head slowly before looking over to Velma and Bobby, both of whom are standing around him. He clears his throat, “What happened?”
Reenie looks to her other friends and shrugs her shoulders before Bobby chimes. “Uh, dude, I’m pretty sure we just saw you die.”
Colter's eyes furrow together as if attempting to understand and not fully comprehend as Velma leans forward and puts her own hand on Colter's shoulders, “I think we should call an ambulance Colter. I think you might have had a seizure or something like that.”
Colter shakes his head before making to stand up, "That's not true, I've never had a seizure in my life.” He lifts a shaky hand before quickly placing it back on the ground, using it to brace himself to stand up before Reenie snatches and puts it back in his lap.
“I don’t care if you’ve never had one before, but I’m just saying what it looked like we saw. You need to stay put. Bobby, can you call an ambulance?” Reenie argues, never taking her eyes off of Colter's steely but confused gaze. The event had startled her to her core, she can’t imagine how it made Colter feel.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Colter began to argue, but paused at Reenie's gaze, “why don’t you guys just drive me to get checked out in the morning.”
“Oh, just for us to have to find you dead in bed? Pass.” Reenie argued back before turning to Bobby. “Just call for an ambulance.”
Colter ignores the repeated ask for him to stay on the ground, reaching for the chair and using it to prop himself up. Reenie throws her arms up in the arm, frustrated by her friend's stupidity, when she watches the color drain from his face and he drops again. This time Velma sees his body go rigid and grabs under his arms, lowering him to the ground carefully. Velma reaches for a pulse and her eyes fly open and lock on Reenies, “I don’t feel anything.”
Reenie lunges forward, taking in the blue of his lips and the grey, marble like coloring of his body, before feeling for a pulse herself and upon not feeling anything immediately jumps onto Colter's chest, starting compressions. Three compressions in and she feels like she's breaking dry branches under her compressions, but continues, knowing that this is what could and should happen during a good round of compressions. So she continues, she can vaguely hear Velma beside her, talking quickly to Bobby, who relays the information to the dispatchers, but Reenie watches her palms and the way they cave down deep into Colter's chest. Velma’s holding Colter's face and Bobby’s telling her to keep going as he gingerly gets down to his own knees across from her, and suddenly he’s telling her to stop for a pulse check. She rolls back onto her heels, out of breath while Bobby and Velma feel for a pulse.
Then they’re starting again. Bobby on Colter’s chest while Velma talks on the phone. Reenie stands abruptly and rushes for the door, wondering how this all went so wrong so quickly while she pulls the door open. She debates waiting here for paramedics before she decides against it and returns to her friends. Colter is still on the floor, his lips are blue and his face is grey. ‘He looks like a corpse,’ she thinks morosely as she drops back to her knees. She thinks she can hear sirens in the distance but she could just as easily be imagining things. Bobby has sweat running in rivulets down his face as he continues to compress, focused only on the life of his friend at this moment. Then, once again, the time to stop and feel for a pulse has come and Reenie reaches forward, her hand trembling as she feels for any flutter of life in Colter’s cold skin.
She shakes her head and Velma begins her own turn. A minute or so into it, Reenie feels a hand on her shoulder and a firefighter stands behind her. Reenie pulls back as the firefighter instructs Velma to continue her compressions as cuts open Colter's shirt beneath her hands and applies pads to his chest. Moments after that, compressions are halted briefly and the monitor analyzes the rhythm quickly before barking out an order to shock. The medic advises everyone not to touch Colter, touches a button on the machine, and Colter's whole body jerks as electricity courses through it.
Then the firefighter is on the chest and another is at Colter's head, pushing air deep into Colter's lungs with a mask. Shortly after a paramedic shows up and runs through the motions. Reenie hears him mention to the medic he’s with that they need an EKG of whatever ‘funky ass’ rhythm he’s in, while he focuses on Colter’s airway.
Reenie watches as the heart monitor prints out a strip and the second medic reads it and then shows the other medic. “Looks like V-tach, lets push one of epi and then shock again.” Reenie watches with disgust as a breathing tube is shoved down Colter’s throat, an IV is started in his arm, medications are given, another shock is given and then…
The medics fingers are on Colter's neck, his eyes staring intently at the monitor before, “I’ve got a pulse. ROSC at 2141.”
Reenie nearly cries as she watches the firefighter cease his own compressions and waits for an order from either of the medics. The medic at Colter's head turns to the other, “Can you print another 12 leads?”
“Way ahead of you,” The medic at the monitor says, pulling a long strip of paper out of the machine, swearing as he reviews it and hands it to the other medic.
The first medic looked at the sheet and then to the group of friends who were all huddled around, watching the activities. “Does he have any history of cardiac issues?” Reenie shakes her head, Colter was as healthy as it gets. “Any meds, any recent issues?”
Reenie snorts sardonically, “Aside from the man-flu? Literally nothing. He was laughing at dinner with us, then stood up, passed out, woke up, tried to stand again, passed out, and then his heart stopped, now here we all are.” Reenie’s steely tone surprised herself but was nothing more than a defense mechanism. She watched as the medics eyebrows raised at the mention of the illness and his gaze returned to the paper.
The medic nodded his head then looked back down at the paper. He handed the bag he had been squeezing into Colter's chest to the firefighter and pulled his phone out. “I’m calling the RACE line, I highly doubt that global st-elevation is actually a STEMI, maybe myocarditis because of the recent illness? Regardless, we’ll get our asses reamed if we don’t call it. We need to get him packed up and out of here though. Probably need to go to Central, they’re the closest cath lab.” He said then turned to the phone, “Yea, you got that EKG? Patch me through to the doc.” Reenie had zero idea what any of the words meant but watched with baited breath as the second medic grabbed a set of vitals and swore. Reenie looked and saw the red blinking blood pressure. Reenie had never seen a blood pressure with the top number being 60, but she imagined that's what happened after you die. His heart rate also looked odd to her untrained eyes. “Kurt, I’m starting norepi, his pressure is trash!” he called over her shoulder, rummaging through the bag at his side and putting together IV medications. Shortly after that was done, the medic and firefighter worked to get Colter on the backboard and then to the stretcher. The first medic returned and shrugged his shoulders. “They’re activating the cath lab, we gotta go.”
Then they left, and Reenie, Velma, and Bobby all stood looking at the mess that had been left behind in their steed.
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