Shock Doc CPR

The Bodine girls always said the water in the Hollow ran cold even on the hottest days of August, on account of some old spring feeding it from up underneath. I never did believe it till I was nine and swam in it myself and came up teeth clacking like the dominoes mimaw used to play at the baptist church.

Today the hot was so bad the cold water sounded like mercy. Ninety-seven by ten in the morn, and the kind of humidity like a wet blanket on ol route 9, and the cicadas so steady you stop hearing em like you stop hearing your own heartbeat.

I'd graduated 2 weeks prior, cap and gown, mama crying in the gym bleachers, daddy shaking Mr. Crawford's hand like he hadn't been in town since the divorce, which he hadn't. I had a scholarship to Knoxville a hundred miles off and a job at the dairy freeze till labor day and not a plan in the world past that, which is its own freedom if you don't look at it too hard.

Me and Tucker Cade drove out to the creek in his daddy's 83 F150 with the seats so hot it near took the skin off the back of my thighs. Tuck had been tryin' to kiss me since the sixth grade and had about as much success as the cows on his paws farm, which is to say none, but I let him drive me places mostly because his windows opened and mine had been locked shut since it belonged to my grampa.

"You gonna miss this place," he said, meaning the creek, the town, all of it really. I said I reckoned I would to shove him off though you don't know the difference between missing and mourning at 18.

We climbed down the sumac to the Hollow where the Coper river doubles back on itself like it changed its mind where its headin'. Memories flooded back of my cousin Dana teaching me to dog paddle there her hand holdin me up palm flat like I was a tray at the diner. There's a photo out there somewhere of me gap toothed sitting on the boulder we was climbing over eating a purple popsicle blue from the water.

The water ran high from a storm two nights back, higher than I had seen it in years, brown-gold and pulling around the bend like someone chasing it. I tossed my yellow top to the side and grabbed the rope swing from Tucker swung out over the water like I had done a thousand times before wooping like I was still twelve years old. I let go at the top of the arc and sank for the water.

The Hollow took me different than it had before, t'wasn't like falling in water at all. The water grabbed me in the way something does as if it had been patiently waiting since sixth grade. There was a log down under there or an old piece of mining equipment, maybe an ol' confederate cannon who knew holding me in a way that didn't want me to get away, the current had opinions about where I was going too as long as it wasn't the surface and didn't much care what my say on the matter was either.

I wanna say it hurts, it does, for a moment anyway. The water shoves itself into places it never asked, my chest working like bellows on a fire already out and there's a certain violence to begin entered by something you trusted since you were small enough to be held up by the stomach. The Hollow had never once in eighteen years asked me for anything didn't ask now, the creek believes its owed.

But then a strange thing happens, it stops hurting. That burning water goes cold, reminds you of the mercy from the hot you reached out to it in the first place for. The gold silt goes soft like the light after 8p in July when every tree looks like it was dipped in honey. I'm not drowning so much any more as remembering everything at once, the popsicle, the divorce, the third period math course I'm anywhere but in the water. There's new warmth filling from below my navel like Dana described being with a boy and I understand. I shudder under the water without leaving a mark on the surface. The water will look the same tomorrow and everyone will kindly call it a misunderstanding without asking if it really was.

It doesn't feel like dying the way they describe it in church, it feels like being unwrapped against my will by something that won't recall doing it.

*

I can hear Tucker and screaming my name from somewhere far off but very close at the same time, the way sound works underwater, and also the way it works I'm understanding when you're dead or close enough kin to it the distinction don't much matter.

He must've pulled me out because I'm on the bank, a family of ants rummaging through soaked strands of my dirty blonde hair. I can feel them and see the pale blue sky against the trees, I can see everything even Tucker pounding on my chest with both hands laced on my chest like he was trying to break down a jammed door. He even seals his lips to mine probably in ways he didn't expect that kiss to come from. I'm not in my body so much as hovering behind my own eyes watching my own eyes unblinking.

Then there's a siren, hands that aren't Tuckers gloved and professional, a gruff voice, she's not breathing, get the board. I wanna tell them I'm breathing I'm right there. I can hear the gravel under the gurney the pounding on my chest unflinching like the heat. I can smell the ambulance the sticky mix of ammonia and Winston reds, I count the water stains to pass the time, five of them, shapes like nothing, shaped like Mississippi, shaped like nothing but there's no connecting wanting and doing. I have become a woman made entirely of watching.

*

The ER is cold in the particular way Hospitals are cold, the way it's almost trying to prove something. Someone has cut my top off, quick and business like and I lie exposed to the room and the harsh light and every strangers hands and eyes. Some part of me is still that eighteen year old girl from Cade County and wants to cover myself and think to myself, fool thing to think at a time like this how upset mama is gonna be for me being bare like this unable to cover up like they told us in church. It's easier to mourn your baby girl being seen naked by the congregation than it is to grieve the larger elephant, which is to say I've been opened up and gone through and no one will ask why.

I hear mamas actual voice out in the hall, asking someone, anyone, to please, please tell her something and its the sound of her voice clean breaking in half that is worse than the water, worse than whatever is happening to my body on this table; because I know what they'll tell her. The kind version, a misunderstanding, an accident, that I was asking for it in that water, and that the water will always call it swimming.

A doctor is over me now, young sounding, but tired in the way everyone in this county sounds tired.

"C'mon now" he says there's a charging wine, a word I don't catch and a cold on my chest thicker and stickier than the water. "C'mon honey stay with us"

Stay with us, like I had a say in the matter like I'm lying there deciding. I want to tell him I'm trying, I want to tell him I've been in that water my whole life, I trusted it, I was baptized in a creek right around the corner that same water held me up my whole life. Maybe those are different waters doing both things in a person's life the way it needs to be done, eventually.

The shock goes through my breast like a held breath breaking. It feels like a screen door slamming two rooms away; distant but equally deep in your chest.

Somewhere outside it's still ninety nine degrees, the cicadas haven't stopped, Tucker dad's truck still parked sideways at the creek, door ajar, the rope swing swinging lightly in whatever breeze is left over and none of that has noticed the world change.

I'm eighteen, an acceptance letter on my dresser a job at the dairy freeze and some old bathing suit with a purple popsicle stain buried in my closet I haven't thought about since I was nine years old.

"Stay with us"

I'm trying

As a creator, I get it. We need to make money. Videos take time and people and money to produce. But amateur videos have no business being priced higher than that, let alone $100. We occupy such a small corner of the internet that pay-walling and gatekeeping content at that price is absurd. Sorry not sorry

Gosh I have so many. Here’s a couple that I’ve had a hot minute.

As the victim, one of my favorite fantasies is choking on purpose with a partner who would watch me try and Heimlich myself until is was turning colors, then they’d haul me into their lap so was was straddling their leg as they thrust into my belly as I would grind on them. It wouldn’t work and they weren’t trying that hard yet, teasing me and giving me rescue breaths which either do a little or nothing to help, ideally just extend how long I could last. Then, as I get more limp by the moment, they begin to panic a little, thrusting harder and lifting me to my feet. They’re trying their best now and urging me to breathe. The obstruction finally clears but I need air, so they breathe for me until I come to and then long after. I certainly wouldn’t mind being the rescuer in this scenario either.

Another would be seeing a cute masc girl start choking but they’re being ignored and no one is helping them. They sneak off to try and handle it themselves and I follow them, watching them desperately throw themselves over the back of a bench or into a bathroom sink counter, Then I finally ask if they’re ok, fully knowing the answer, before heimliching them, continuing even as the victim falls to their knees, I keep trying, but they’re blue and starting to black out. Then i lay them on their back and I begin rotating mtm, supine abdominal thrusts, and chest compressions. I tear open her shirt and straddle their hips. I keep going until they’re ok, and they wake up flustered and sore.

This last one is honestly one I’ve had a few specific people in mind for throughout my life, such as daydreaming, way back in high school, of saving one of my ex-best friends who I was painfully crushing on. while the first is more of idealised fantasy. I guess my ultimate choking fantasy differs depending on the mood

Goth Chick didn’t wake up in the hospital, she came to. She remembered what it looked like from last time, it looked just like this time. Goth got her GHB dosage wrong again and was paying the price. 

WIP. started working on something a little different. I've been inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 and Detroit Become Human lately, and would love to do some more robo/cybernetics resus related art eventually :)

Another thing I was working on, but I lost the original file...

Beach day. You can imagine the kinds of... interesting situations that can lead to⚕️

Final beats…

You found me, unconscious, laying in the ground. Me chest rise and falls harshly, you could almost swear t you can see a rapid pulse in my neck covered in sweat.

“Finally” You think to yourself as as you pull out you stethoscope and press the bell against my chest. My heart beating hard and fast covering your ears with its faint murmurs…

You have been waiting for these for months now, since you discovered about my heart condition. Exchanging the pills with sugar induced ones, taking me to parties to drink, inviting me cigarettes and all to watch my neck afterwards. Lurking to catch it racing, and eventually skipping.

And now, the day finally came that you little experiment has grown its fruits… you can listen it yourself, to the damage you have made to your little toy.

My heart, tired, starts to slow down while your free hand caresses my breasts, the feeling of my heart failing to much for you to handle.

Finally, it starts stumbling on itself, loosing the rythm into a fatal arritmia till nothing but silence fills your ears.

What comes next? Will you fuck me? Do cpr to me as you do it? Shock me into life? Or just let my heart die as your fantasy finally realises… Ideas Ideas…

23 y/o male looking for an RP partner

Mainly interested in women and nonbinary fellows

Interested in many different aspects of resus and medical

Primarily a doctor/rescuer/caregiver

Was thinking about that one tumblr post a bit ago so here’s a quick thing

+ some sketches of these two under the cut!