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Pads are slapped on to his torso and wires clipped into place, leading to a heart monitor. The second it comes to life, my own heart nearly slows to a stop. His heart rate is completely irregular. He’s unconscious, but his body continues to jerk. No matter how hard I search my medical brain for a reason for these symptoms, I’m coming up blank. Is he having a seizure? Then all hands are off him, just for a split second, but in that split second his body stills. And I realize why when hands return to working on him and his erratic twitching begins again.
He doesn’t like them touching him. The comprehension gives me a tiny glimmer of hope. His body is trying to react, but he hasn’t the strength. He’s aware. He knows what’s happening but can’t stop it. And neither can I, because if I get these people off him, he’ll die. His head is pulled back and a breathing tube fed down his throat. I wince at another sign of preparation. They think he could go into arrest at any moment.
I silently beg them to work faster, to give his heart the shock it needs to reset and find an organized beat before it stops completely. One of the nurses pulls the pads out, ready to give that shock.
But then it happens. He flatlines, and the pads get tossed aside by the nurse with a small curse. It’s too late for pads now. The alarms go mad, the shrill, warning ring of the heart monitor piercing my ears so much I’m forced to cover them with my palms until the monitor is quickly turned off. I can’t watch. But I can’t leave, either. I feel like I’m in limbo, depending on these people to save him. I look at the screen of the machinery and see the flat line. I can feel my heart slowly stopping, too. ‘No,’ I mumble, my eyes bursting with devastated tears. ‘No, Theo, no.’ I back up, feeling everything inside me beginning to give up completely.
Everyone starts scurrying around the bed, the urgency of the nurses cranking up to the highest level. A cardiac team appears, pushing me aside, and Theo’s quickly hooked up to various monitors. I’m frozen, just watching him slip away from me. He’s not jerking any more. Hands are all over him and he’s not moving. A broken sob bursts past my lips, my hand coming up to cover my mouth as I back away. The calm talking of the nurses becomes distant, the movements slow. A male nurse is pumping frantically at Theo’s chest while another rushes to get a drip into Theo’s arm. Looking at the heart monitor again sends tremors down my spine. Still no beat. CPR isn’t working ‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, my world crumbling beneath my feet.
‘I need someone to take over,’ the nurse pumping at Theo’s chest says, so calmly, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Another nurse jumps in and relieves him, and Theo’s body starts jerking again, but now it’s because of the constant compressions being delivered.
I look at the monitor again. Nothing.
The nurses throw constant worried looks at each other, the atmosphere becoming more and more tense. Some drugs are pumped into him as they continue to work frantically but calmly, attempting to establish why his heart has stopped. I watch as the pharmacist prepares the next combination of drugs, anything to try to encourage the electrical activity of his heart. It’s a process of elimination, a race to find out why his heart has stopped before it’s too late.
‘Switch,’ the nurse performing CPR calls, moving aside to let her colleague take over again. She looks up at the clock. She breathes in. She flicks a despairing expression to the nurse who’s just accepted the next round of drugs from the pharmacist. He administers them and stands back, his face grave.
They’re going to give up soon. I can sense the defeat. I peek at the monitor. And again there’s no change in the flat line. ‘Come on, big man,’ the nurse grates, sweating as he relentlessly pushes into Theo’s chest.
‘One more?’ the other nurse asks her colleague as she looks at him. I hold my breath.
‘One more,’ he agrees, removing his hands and letting her take over again.
Everyone looks at the screen, waiting for that line to start jumping.
But it doesn’t. It remains a continuous green glow, like still water. The straightest, most perfect line you could imagine. The nurses are glancing at each other again, all of them thinking the same thing, but no one wanting to be the one to call a halt on their work. And then one of them nods his head and the other pulls her hands away from Theo’s chest. That’s it. They’ve given up. I shake my head as agony tears through my body like acid, burning away any hope that may have remained. ‘Please,’ I beg.
