The Neighbor

Chapter 29

As the ambulance speeds toward the hospital, the paramedics continue their focused work, their communication concise, a reflection of their training and experience in handling emergencies.

"Her heart rate's still too high," one paramedic notes, glancing at the electrocardiogram (EKG) monitor that displays your erratic heart rhythm. He carefully adjusts the EKG pads on your chest, ensuring accurate monitoring while keeping an eye on the fluctuating numbers.

"We need to keep her conscious and responsive," the other paramedic says, turning towards you with a concerned expression. "Can you hear me?" she asks, her voice firm yet imbued with an underlying kindness meant to penetrate your haze of pain and shock.

You muster the little strength you have to respond. Your eyelids flutter, a sign of your struggle to stay present, to cling to consciousness. "Y-yes," you manage to whisper, each syllable a monumental effort, your voice a faint thread of sound amidst the ambulance's clamor and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Wanda, witnessing this small yet significant display of your determination, feels a surge of both pride and heartache. Her eyes, wide with worry and glistening with unshed tears, stay locked on your face, reading every grimace, every twitch that speaks volumes of your inner battle.

"We're going to change this dressing, okay? I need you to focus on me or Wanda," one of the paramedics instructs, preparing the necessary supplies with swift, practiced movements.

As they begin to carefully remove the blood soaked bandage, the air tinged with the sharp scent of antiseptic, the touch to your wound, despite their gentleness, sends a sharp jolt of pain through your body. You can't help but cry out, the sound muffled by the oxygen mask but loud in the confined space of the ambulance.

Your head turns instinctively, seeking escape from the pain, and your eyes find Wanda's. Her face, etched with worry and love, comes into focus. "Hey, look at me," Wanda says softly, reaching out to gently cradle your cheek, guiding you to maintain eye contact with her. "You're doing so well. Just keep looking at me, okay? I'm right here with you."

As the paramedics efficiently work on your wound, Wanda seeks to find a memory strong enough to distract you from the pain. "Do you remember the first movie we watched together at home, just a few months back?" she begins, her voice a blend of warmth and nostalgia, aiming to shift your focus from the present agony.

"It was that old sci-fi comedy you love, and we ended up laughing so much," Wanda continues, a soft smile touching her lips despite the distressing circumstances. "You were quoting the lines, and I couldn't keep up, but it didn't matter because it was so perfect, just being there with you, sharing that moment."

Her hand squeezes yours, her thumb caressing your skin in an effort to transmit her calm and presence. "We made that huge bowl of popcorn, and we got more on the couch than in our mouths," she adds, chuckling softly, the sound tender and intimate in the harsh setting of the ambulance.

As you groan out, the pain breaking through the reminiscence, Wanda's expression tightens with concern, but she doesn't falter. "I'm here, love. Just focus on me," she whispers, her voice a steady

They check the pulse oximeter clipped to your finger, its small screen displaying the oxygen saturation levels in your blood. "Oxygen's dropping," the paramedic monitoring the device states, a hint of urgency creeping into her voice. She turns up the oxygen flow from the tank connected to the mask fitted over your nose and mouth, hoping to improve the vital sign that's so crucial to your overall condition.

Wanda, observing every action, every exchange, her hand tightens around yours, her other hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, her gestures trying to convey comfort and love in the sterile, tumultuous environment of the ambulance.