A Rush of Blood to the Head

I'm Okay, (Not) Really

"Well?"

Mark took his stethoscope off John's chest. "You're a little brady," he replied.

John's dark brown eyes widened. "Really?"

"Heart rate is fifty on the dot," He pulled off his latex gloves and threw them in a nearby bin. "Nothing to worry about too much."

"Nothing to worry about? Anything under sixty is something to worry about."

"We can run some tests, but since you're asymptomatic, I think the best thing for you to do is to go home and get some sleep. You look exhausted."

John spluttered out a chuckle. "No way. I'm staying here," he groaned as he got up. "Plus, it beats laying around, thinking myself to death."

"Been one of those nights, huh?" Mark asked, tilting his head slightly.

"You could say that," he murmured, just audible enough to get a small snicker out of Mark. "You know what's funny? My whole life I've been at a low. Even as a kid. Then Gant–" John's words got caught in his throat, unable to get anything past the lump that was wedged in there. He coughed and tried again. "Well, let's just say I didn't think I could get any lower."

Mark set himself down where John had been just moments ago, put one leg over the other, and rested his clasped hands on his knee. "Is that why you haven't been sleeping?"

As he plucked up his doctor's coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves, he nodded. "Among other things."

"You shouldn't beat yourself up over this. You're not guilty of anything."

"Aren't I?" His voice raised to a degree. "I could have stopped him. I could have. Instead, I had to go screwing around with someone who I'm never going to see again anyway."

"You mean Doctor Keaton?" Noticing John's puzzled expression, he added, "Word gets around quickly here."

"I've noticed," he flopped down beside Mark, forcing out a harsh exhale. "I'm not doing well, am I?"

"You're doing your best," Mark lightly patted him on the upper back. "Why don't you go into one of the empty exam rooms and sleep? I'll tell Benton you're out sick."

John rose to his feet once more. "That wouldn't be too much of a lie. I do feel sick."

"All the more reason to rest."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already headed there.

In that instant, Doug sidled up next to Mark, tucking his basketball under his arm. "I have a proposition for you."

"Good morning to you, too," Mark said, focused on finding the list of pager numbers.

"Yeah, sure. Seriously."

"What's up?"

"If I pay for your lunches for the next week, will you please get Weaver off my back?"

"Still pestering you, is she?"

A sigh accompanied a roll of Doug's eyes. "I'm telling you if I hear about filing out forms one more time, I swear!" Taking his basketball in both hands, he shook it as though it were Kerry and he was strangling her.

"You could just fill out the forms."

"Meh, who wants to do that? Jerry?"

Jerry placed his hand over the desk phone's receiver. "No can do, my good man. Busy."

"Busy? You're never busy!"

Carol, trailing behind, wandered over to them, her olive green eyes fixed on John. "What's going on with him?" She gestured to John.

"Ah, nothing, he's just running on empty. Picking up those extra shifts is killing him. I told him to rest up," He picked up the phone at the front desk and dialled.

Doug nodded to John, his expression deadpan. "So we shouldn't worry about him staggering around like he's blitzed out of his mind?"

Mark glanced up to see their view, and initially paid no attention to it. "He's–" Once he did a double-take, he realised he was right. "Oh, God," Promptly, he hung up the phone. "Carter!"

The three of them sprinted towards him.

John stumbled about until he finally fell flat on his face.

"And down he goes," said Doug, somewhat winded and not even remotely surprised at that point. "Is he out?"

"Yep. How many times is that now? Three?" Mark knelt down to check his pulse.

"Eight," Carol stated.

"Hmm. I lost count after Chen knocked him out," He removed his fingers from John's neck. "His heart rate has gotten slower. I think we have to admit him."

***************

Five hours went by — still no change. John was out cold, heart rate holding steady at forty-eight.

Lydia, one of the ER's nurses, entered his room to check his vitals. The sound of her moving near his bed caused him to stir, but she thought nothing of it and left shortly after.

Gradually, John woke up to blinding fluorescent lights; he couldn't make out his surroundings. His bleary eyes scanned the area for a familiar face, but after only seeing various medical equipment, surmising that he was in the ICU.

"Lydia?" He croaked out to her.

She spun around and hustled back inside. "Carter. How are you doing?"

He gave her a half-smile. "Never been better," he sleepily said just before dozing off, and his breathing stopped.

Lydia's once relieved demeanour swiftly changed. "Carter?" Her eyes flicked from the monitor to John and back, watching his O-sat and heart rate drop, though not for long. She ran out to the hallway and screamed, "I need help here!"

John's eyes snapped open. He snorted loudly and began hyperventilating, slowing down bit by bit.

This snagged her attention, but she remained outside the room.

He sniffled hard, sat up and nonchalantly asked, "What, what happened?"

Hearing the ruckus, Kerry hobbled to Lydia as fast as she could. "What's going on?"

"Carter. He–"

"Carter?" she echoed, incredulous. She shuffled in and was instantly both mortified and confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing," He took notice of the heart monitor going crazy to his left, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized it. "Is that working?"

"It's working perfectly, which is what concerns me. These levels aren't good."

Not good was an understatement; his oxygen sat was eighty-nine, his heart was beating at a whopping fifty-three beats a minute, his respiratory frequency was fourteen and his BP was ninety over sixty, but each improved the longer he stayed awake.

He waved her worries away like they were gnats. "Nah, I just stood up too fast earlier, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Definitely. Can I get to work now? Those patients aren't going to see themselves."

Kerry's face remained a plank of wood, her amazement hidden only by a slow breath. She motioned her hand in the direction of the door. "Alright, go."

John wasted no time in ripping off the electrodes stuck to his chest and the IV from his forearm, even though it hurt like hell. He didn't care, he just wanted out. However, his excuse for earlier came true; he got up too quickly and felt off, his vision going fuzzy and his head feeling full.

He lost his balance, and despite his best efforts in keeping himself upright, hanging on to the tray next to his bed, he wound up crashing to the floor for the second time that day.

Kerry stared at him, shaking her head. "What were you saying before?"

He still uttered the mantra he refused to give up, for fear of worrying about how wrong he was. "I'm fine," he rasped, in great pain.