Loss (Act II), Part Six

missclairebelle:

Many thanks to @kalendraashtar​ for being such a great source of encouragement on this part and for gut checking me (don’t blame her for any of my non-medical brain slip ups; she’s an innocent bystander and will be deleting me soon if I keep it up) and to @kkruml​ who is always in my corner. 💕

Here is the song that was on repeat while I wrote this one –– Lord Huron, When the Night is Over.


Loss: Act I and ficlets

Loss: Act II: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five


Loss: Act II
Part Six

CPR is nothing like what is shown on television or in films.  

Done properly, the chest recoils under hands and blood rushes into the heart’s chambers.

The shallow, massaging and kneading of most fictional attempts at resuscitation accomplish, quite literally, nothing.

It takes muscle to save a life.

It takes grit to bear down. (Five centimeters into a chest again and again –– one hundred to one hundred and twenty times per minute.)

It is a violent act, digging deep enough to force life back into a body that is failing, willing itself to die and trying to quit forever.  

The echoes under hand of a breastbone cracking or of ribs giving way beneath compressions are wrenching.  But the gut reaction to pull back at the rush of nausea at the sound and feel of it is drowned out by the desire for a patient to live, live, live.  

Put bluntly, despite the number of bones I had broken in a career of forcing life back into someone’s chest, I had never received complaints afterwards.  

No one ever said to me that life itself just wasn’t worth that kind of pain.

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