Checks and Balances
Chapter 5
The need to draw breath brought Johnny out of a deep and dreamless sleep. His eyes flew open and he found himself gasping for air. Adrenaline surged through him; he sat bolt upright clawing at his shirt as primal fear threatened to overcome all reason.
Panic shot through the young man. His vision grayed and he swayed back and forth. Searing pain in his chest was the only thing that kept him from falling back down against his pillow. Instead he wrapped his arms around his chest rocking forward; wondering if this is what dying felt like.
What the hell?
Johnny tried to force himself to calm down. He didn't know what was happening, or why.
Oh, God! Am I dying?
Johnny had to mentally shake himself.
Stop this and relax. Where am I?
Looking around, he recognized the dorm room of the station, which helped to calm him somewhat. He wasn't alone at home without any way to call for help. He tried to slow the shallow panting that passed for breathing, but he couldn't get enough air to truly accomplish that feat. The sight of the dorm room at the station helped him to allow his training to take over. Using his skills as a paramedic, Johnny did his best to focus on the problem at hand while assessing his situation.
Textbook phrases passed through his mind; phrases fleshed out by hands-on training and years of experience. It did little to assuage his fears, but he clamped down on the anxiety, telling himself that staying calm was his only chance of survival. He had to mentally distance himself from his fear.
He could almost hear Dr. Brackett's voice in his head.
"As paramedics in the field, remember, you are in control of the scene. You have to keep the patient calm, get the information vital to accurately assess the problem, and initiate appropriate first care. Mr. Gage, take a look at the scenario in chapter two. What are your patient's symptoms?"
Johnny forced himself to slow his breathing as much as he could and tried to evaluate what he was experiencing.
The patient is having extreme difficulty breathing, but he is still able to draw in some air. Sitting up has eased his breathing if only marginally. He is experiencing crushing pain through the right side of his chest. His skin is cold and clammy and his heart rate is fast; too fast. Respiration is rapid and shallow and his head is spinning.
Fear prickled at the edges of Johnny's consciousness. He was in serious trouble and he knew it.
First step, get help.
He called out for help, but he didn't have enough air to produce more than a strangled and weak noise.
Well, that was underwhelming. How did I get in this predicament anyway?
He was dizzy and confused, but the events of the last sixteen hours began to come back to him.
I fell off that roof this afternoon. Now I can't breathe and I'm showing all the signs of having a tension pneumothorax.
That thought alone nearly undid his composure. He needed to get help. Now!
Johnny instinctively glanced at his watch. He had been asleep for nearly two hours. He realized that the rest of his shift mates must still be in the day room finishing up the movie. They should be almost done, but if he waited, they would wander into the dorm room to find him already dead.
His heart rate jumped up a notch and his shallow panting grew more frantic. He knew he couldn't wait. He had to get to Roy, and then to Rampart.
What am I going to do?
He couldn't call loud enough to attract attention, so he had no other choice but to get to the day room on his own. He swung his legs down off his bunk, feeling disconcerted when his bare feet hit the cold cement floor and he could barely feel them.
That's bad. Doc, you can add decreased peripheral sensation to that list.
With sheer force of determination and enormous effort he stood up only to have his entire world tilt alarmingly.
How about some vertigo as well, Doc?
Johnny nearly fell back down onto his bunk. Somehow, through strength of will and throwing his arms out like a man teetering on a tightrope, he managed to keep himself upright. He moved forward with a shuffling sort of walk, not really sure if his feet were lifting off the floor. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down into his eyes. As he made his way forward, darkness began to encroach upon his peripheral vision and he had to grab hold of the short brick wall beside Roy's bunk to keep from falling. If he went down now, he knew he would never be able to get back up. It would be over, right there on the dorm room floor. He would die alone with his friends only yards away, unknowing until they found him.
Stop it John! That kind of thinking will get you killed!
He focused on the divider wall next to Cap's bunk and moved steadily toward it. The pain in his chest was becoming overbearing and wanted to bring him to his knees, but he stubbornly pressed on.
He had made it to the end of the row of bunks as dizziness threatened to take him to the floor.
I can't do it. I want to, but I can't. God, please help me.
John sent a silent plea to what ever deity might be listening. As positive as he commanded himself to remain, the fact of the matter was he would never make it all the way across the apparatus bay. If he didn't draw the attention of his shift mates he was going to die.
A feeling of helplessness started to grow in his heart. He looked at the door of the dorm room which was a mere ten feet away, but it might as well have been ten miles.
This is all there is? Really? It can't end like this. I won't let it end like this!
Even though deep down he knew there was no real chance for him to make it to the day room, he refused to give up. Being impossibly stubborn was one of John Gage's most notable traits, and he would use that to its full advantage. As he looked up again at the dorm room door, an odd thing happened. The sharp cry of a falcon or possibly an eagle rang in his ears, and he shifted his eyes to look for the bird. Instead, he caught site of the alarm pull box next to the door.
The red pull lever was like a beacon of hope. It was his salvation. The errant sound forgotten, he centered all of his attention on that alarm pull box. If he could just make it to the alarm he could call for help. His vision was becoming narrow as cyanosis took hold, but he focused all his remaining strength and attention on that alarm and launched himself straight for it. He reached out with his right hand, noting in the back of his mind that his nails were blue, and closed his fingers around the thin lever as darkness swallowed him whole.
TBC
A/N: This is a short chapter, but I felt it should be a stand alone scene. I thank everyone who has taken time to read this story and post reviews, or marked it for updates and labeled it as a favorite. It is always gratifying to know that the hard work that goes into a story is appreciated. That is what makes FF authors do what we do.