Don'tDotheVooDoo2.0

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The ambulance sways as it speeds through the night, lights flashing across the interior.

She lies motionless on the stretcher, skin pale, eyes closed.

“No pulse.”

The paramedic immediately positions his hands at the center of her chest—one over the other, fingers interlaced. Arms straight. Shoulders locked above her sternum.

Compressions begin.

Hard. Fast. Precise.

“One, two, three, four…”

Her body moves rhythmically beneath each push, the force deliberate—deep enough to circulate blood, controlled enough to maintain pace.

“Keep it at 100–120.”

The count continues, steady, relentless. Sweat forms despite the cold air. The ambulance jolts slightly with a turn, but his hands never lose position.

“Switch in ten seconds.”

Another paramedic moves into position.

“…eight, nine, ten—switch.”

Seamless. Hands replace hands without losing rhythm.

Compressions continue.

No pause. No hesitation.