Roses and Dreams: A Collection of Short Fantasy Stories

Grim and Marcie

"Wilhemina Jordan, ninety-five years old, found unresponsive by family in the living room about an hour ago," said the paramedic as the home doctors and nurses took over CPR.

"Not quite a living room now, is it?" commented Grim. His crow merely stared at him in disbelief as the people beneath them worked on the patient, oblivious to their presence.

"Background of Type 2 diabetes, CKD stage 3, two strokes, MI about six months ago and severe congestive cardiac failure, NAFLD, early stage dementia, bowel cancer five years ago with colostomy, total hip replacement, discharged two weeks ago..."

"For full resus?" said the accident and emergency doctor. The paramedic hesitated and nodded. The family stood at the end of the bed, probably ignorant to how much they hindered the resuscitation process by blocking everyone's way.

"Wow. Seriously?" said Grim, aghast, floating closer for a better look at the medical personnel smashing the chest of a tiny, frail woman. "Pretty sure the old girl doesn't have any organs that are working the way they should..."

"What are all those letters the guy in green said?" Marcie asked, hopping closer on his shoulder.

"Oh, you'll learn them on the job. The girl's old enough to have bussed tables at the Last Supper. She's got diabetes, shot kidneys, shot heart, rubbish liver, all her large intestine missing, brain's not that great... and the family wants a tube shoved down her throat and her ribs crushed before she tops it." Grim rolled his eyes.

"Surely that's..." Marcie hesitated.

"Inappropriate? Yeah, look at the faces of the docs. They know the score. I don't know if even half of those who insist against medical advice on getting CPR and fancy pancy tubes realise they aren't choosing to live, but rather how they die. Well, choosing how this person dies, in this case."

The nurses continued to slam on the chest. The anaesthetist shoved a tube down the girl's throat, tying a knot at her lips.

"Pulse check," said the head doctor, squinting at the monitor. "PEA, okay, continue CPR. Look." He turned to the stricken family. "I'll be frank. She has very little reserve and I don't know what's caused this. Could be another heart attack. Or another stroke. Or a massive clot in the lung. Or her kidneys gave out. There's not much we can reverse and even if we restart her heart again--"

"She has to have everything," interrupted the daughter.

"Even if we bring her back, she'll never get off the venti--"

"She's an honest taxpayer and she's paid into the system! She's to get everything. I'm her power of attorney!"

Pandemonium, as usual. A doctor once told Grim that both A&E and ICU were in perpetual states of controlled chaos, and she was right. Doctors, nurses, porters, support workers rushed about, appearing calm and professional on the outside. Patients writhing on beds, some of them crying out. A few others in the resus room seemed to be circling the drain, but the Book didn't have their names... yet.

"How are these people so relaxed when there are so many sick ones around?" Marcie said in wonderment.

"Oh, they're screaming on the inside too, don't you worry," Grim said. "Dying in a room with family present is better than having your ribs crushed and tubes and stuff shoved everywhere and dying in rowdy old ICU, Marce. Mark my words. I've seen it done enough times. It ain't pretty."

"PEA again," said the doctor. "Push adrenaline. Resume CPR. Get an Autopulse, Jan."

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" said Grim snidely, but nobody could hear him, of course. In the background, the machine took over human compressions and smashed repeatedly into the dead woman's ribs.