Standing By

Panicked

(Tim)

 I heard voices before my brain really started processing much of anything. Something about shit. And someone was shrieking hysterically, something about home. Suddenly it all came crashing back. Austin—Austin sick—Austin unconscious—Austin in a coma—oh God. Oh good God. My heart was racing and I gasped sharply as someone was crushing the hell out of my left arm and I felt the world crash behind me again as I descended into darkness, into nothingness but voices.

"He's crashing!" I heard someone shout and I panicked again. Oh God, Austin's crashing, Austin's crashing, don't let him die! I tried to yell out but my mouth wouldn't work, and I couldn't even get my breath to push any air through my larynx. I think I passed out again as I heard someone shout Austin's name. I swear I let out some of the most silent screams ever, still struggling to make my lungs work, hell, they felt like they were on fire, the ring of fire, the ring of fire, the lungs on fire. I managed to pull open my eyes, my hand flying to my throat. Breathe, breathe—hell, why won't anything work? Where's Austin? And who the hell was sitting on my chest and crushing me?

Blue eyes were looking down at me. Blue eyes. Adam's blue eyes? No, that's not Adam. I started to push whatever was on my chest off of me, if I could just get it off of me I could breathe, I was sure of it.

"Tim," someone said my name. "Tim. Can you hear me? Can you see me?"

I gasped in again, still trying to find my voice, but all that came out was a small, high-pitched wail. My right hand flew to my throat again while my left hand flew to my chest. I was very aware of every beat my heart was making. Hell, was I having an emergency? Not Austin, but me? My vision still flashing, my heart racing, my lungs on fire, my voice stuck somewhere between my larynx and my lungs, I closed my eyes and let myself cry.

"Tim," the blue-eyed man—a doctor?—said again. "Tim. Nod yes or now. Can you hear me?"

I nodded, feeling strong hands lift me up off the floor and onto a stretcher.

"Are you in pain?" he asked me, and I nodded again, gesturing to my chest, then to my throat. I thought I could talk, if I could catch my breath. Why the hell was I so out of breath? I felt like I was running a marathon without moving.

"Your throat and your chest?" he asked and I nodded, trying to focus. OK. Now. Deep breath. I started to inhale but it caught in my throat; I tried to exhale but I couldn't get my diaphragm to push in either. They whisked me off into the ER, my thoughts trying to focus on getting in just a nice breath of air to put out the burning in my chest. I tried to force the air through my trachea but only succeeded in making myself dizzy. I started tossing around in a complete and utter panic; I was thrashing about. I felt a hand come down on me.

"Stop," another voice said, not Blue-Eyes but someone with a deeper voice. "Stop. OK? I want you to take a deep breath." Someone removed my shirt for me and started to stick cold electrodes all over my chest.

"Tim," he said again. "Please. Be still. I'm Dr. Matthews; I'm trying to get a feel of your heart, see what it's doing. I need to put this EKG on you."

What my heart's doing? It's racing, can't you tell that from my pulse? And you're supposed to be a doctor?

"Bingham, hold him down, please. I need to get a rhythm here," he told Blue-Eyes. "Put on oxygen at four liters per minute."

I felt a mask clamp down on my gasping mouth. "Here, Tim, take some deep breaths of this. Concentrate. Deep breaths." He was holding my arms back to prevent me from getting in Dr. Matthews' way. I heard the machine click to life and start sketching out my heart rhythm, needle jumping like mad. Dr. Bingham jiggled a clip on my finger.

"Oxygen level still in the mid eighties," he reported.

"Breathe, Tim!" Dr. Matthews advised.

I'd love to! I was still fighting to catch my breath as somebody else was taking my blood pressure.

"150 over 110," she said.

"Sarah, start an IV, give him Levaphed ten milligrams, got to get that down. Draw labs, I want to see his CPK and troponin. Bingham, is that EKG indicative of an AMI?"

They were lucky I didn't understand much of that. I squeezed my eyes shut, still battling wave after wave of panic, firstly for my own health—I couldn't help wondering if I was having a heart attack or something—secondly, for Jenika, she can't be a widow after a mere month of marriage—thirdly, for Home Free, they'll have to replace me and find another bass singer—and lastly but not least, Austin, in a coma, somewhere in this hospital. I felt another wail escape my lips.

Sarah pierced my skin with a needle and immediately started administering medicine and taking blood, which she shipped off via orderly. "Look, sweetheart, you're going to be OK. You are not going to die. Dr. Matthews and Dr. Bingham are excellent doctors and you're going to be OK. I need you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, OK? Come on, sweetheart. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Listen to the cadence of my words. Hear it as it rises and falls. Concentrate. Think of something relaxing. You will start to feel better once you get some oxygen to your brain."

I tried to do as she was saying, tried to focus on nothing but her words, hear her soft, light voice. Probably a soprano. I actually grinned at that thought. Singing. Music. Calming music. Relaxing music. I pursed my lips and pushed air out, trying to remember the five of us, a week ago, singing together in Adam's basement. How we sounded. How it all came together. Rob's and Chance's perfect harmonies. I felt my breath start to flow through my airway again, start to penetrate my lungs again. Austin's voice, soaring over the notes, hitting those beautiful highs only he could. The fire started to dissipate inside of me, just receding into a warm melody in my body. Adam's sweet baritone that he so often hid, his rhythm and his beats calming the beats of my heart. I could still hear the whizzing, the drumming, the clanging he could do with just his mouth and body alone, my own body slowly drumming to a slower rhythm. Then I heard my own voice come in, slow and steady, deep and calming. I allowed myself to meld into the bass line. I am the bass line. Doom-do-do-doom, doom-do-do-doom. In, out. In, out. I was breathing in and out easily now, air flowing deep inside of me. The world was coming in clear and bright, and I could easily see everything. I was OK. I was OK. I was not dying. I will live to see another day.

"Good, good!" Dr. Bingham, or Blue-Eyes, was saying. "Oxygenation back up to 97%."

"Labs are back," Dr. Matthews told him. "No AMI."

"What's that?" I mumbled behind my oxygen mask. Sarah reached over and pulled it up.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Sarah, my sweet soprano angel, asked.

"What—," I paused to caught and clear my throat. Yay, found my voice! "What was the doctor saying?"

"You did not have a heart attack," he informed me.

Well, that was certainly good news. I'd been scared of that of that ever since I started having issues. "What was it then?" I was still croaking. I cleared my throat again, trying to get things in order there.