#agonal gasps

I've never seen anything like this in my entire life.

But I've taken first aid classes.

It's been awhile and I rack my brain trying to remember everything I've learned. First I kneel by your side.

"Miss? Can you hear me? Is everything okay?" I say loudly, pushing through the booming music from the speakers.

You respond with another long snore. I put the back of my hand in front of your mouth and nose and feel nothing. You're not actually breathing, despite the noise. I jab my fingers into the side of your jaw but I'm panicking so I can't really find a pulse.

I flinch when you suddenly jerk convulsively. For a moment I thought you were waking up, as your limbs flail for a moment before stretching out again with yet another snore.

Shit.

I straddle your jerking hips and plant my clasped fists on your sternum and begin pushing as I yell for help. I doubt anybody can hear me. But at least I hope I'm doing this right. I push down repeatedly in a rhythmic pattern, feeling your chest go down and your exposed soft stomach rise up to meet my groin. This doesn't feel at all like doing chest compressions on a dummy and I feel a panic attack coming.

Your eyes stare past me as your jaw drops open with another snore.

Continuation of this ask, excuse my tardiness ☺️

my little heart is still in my chest, my circulation slowing to nothing, oxygenated blood being withheld from my vital organs and my brain actively rebelling against that fact.

You've not seen someone die before, until now. It's brutal.

In my moment of need you cross the room to my side, jabbing your fingers where you think you should be able to feel a pulse and you feel nothing, just the shifting of spasming muscles in my neck and throat as my dwindling automatic instincts demand for me to make some snoring attempt for oxygen. It's ineffective.

Before you know it you've swung your leg over the top of me, kneeling either side of my fit little body and digging the heels of your hands into my sternum. You lock your elbows and start to push into me, caving my chest in rhythmically, too deep to look healthy or natural but you remember this is how it's done. This is how you save people. if they can be saved. With every compression deep into my chest my flat stomach pushes out to meet your groin in a see sawing effect with your efforts.

My spasms had seemed to be slowing down before you started an attempt at resuscitation but now my limbs stiffen out once more, my arms are flexed at my sides, almost hyperextended, my feet twisted and turned inwards. But all you're staring at is my expression, a blank terror across my pale features bar my lips which are a horrifying shade of blue grey. You keep going though, you think the choices are death or you trying something and possible death and really that means there's no choice at all.

You count out compressions as you go with your hands sinking deep into my chest over and over. My gasps are slowing down now, when they do happen they're still large movements as my mouth gapes and the sound of an attempt at breath through a collapsed airway is made but now they're starting to come with gurgles and you almost can't put your finger on it until you realise it sounds like i'm drowning in my own fluids.

It's at this point you notice a little bracelet on my wrist, a string of pearls linking to either side of a metal plate with a medical alert symbol on it. It says 'epilepsy' and informs you that 'rescue medication in backpack' but that doesn't make sense, this isn't a seizure, this is something much differeent.