I jab two fingers into your neck and feel your pulse flutter pathetically. Your chest is no longer expanding with air. I know what's going to happen next. This isn't the first time your heart gives out in the middle of a seizure and it won't be the last.
I feel your seizure change shape. Your arms and legs contort, then your jaw drops wide, a long snore rattling out of your throat. Your eyes roll forward but looking nowhere. I can barely feel your pulse now.
Still mounted on you, I let it happen. Like you always tell me to. My own heart thumps inside my chest as I feel the agonal convulsions ripple through your body, slamming into me.
You watch me fall into respiratory arrest and as you press your fingers into the soft skin of my neck you can feel I’m clammy, my weak heart is failing. And your suspicions are immediately confirmed as the seizing becomes posturing, my heart quivering into useless activity and my body spastically flexing into a twisted position. Arms drawn to my chest, hands in fists and wrists tucked in on themselves, my legs extend and rotate inwards, toes pointing. And then my blue lips spasm open mouthing a breath that doesn’t exist, snorting and gasping irregularly over and over.
You lose my pulse, the fluttering against your fingers vanishes and I’m left arching weakly into you, agonal and blue. My pupils dilated and eyes glassy, drool down my cheeks, desperately relying on you as my caregiver to help me.
