A Rush of Blood to the Head

DNR

After twenty-four minutes passed, the cardiologist, Louise Carmichael, came in to check John over. The ECG results were more than concerning. Louise went ahead and did an echocardiogram. Normally this would be done in the cath lab. However, this was an emergency situation.

John laid down on his side, arm behind his head. Almost instantly, they heard the sound of his heartbeat through the speaker, at a slow rate of forty-nine.

Louise eyed him with surprise. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm a little woozy..." John lethargically tried to get a glimpse of the screen. "It's not looking good, is it?"

"Not exactly, no," She turned the monitor towards John and Peter and pointed to the left ventricle. "See how thin this is? It means your heart isn't pumping as well as it should. That could also explain your inability to wake up. Not enough oxygenated blood means extreme fatigue, and your brain isn't getting the signal that something is wrong. Normally, the brain wakes you up when the levels are low."

Frightened by how critical John's condition was, Peter's posture straightened, and although he appeared as stoic as ever, worry assailed him. "So, he'll need a transplant?"

John, on the other hand, wasn't as subtle. The idea of having a major operation brought tears to his eyes. His lips and chin near imperceptibly trembled, prompting him to cover it with his hand.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Louise said. "He's young and otherwise healthy. I think he can recover from this," She then looked John in the eye. "But you have to eat right and avoid triggers. It's also important to know that, even after you've recovered, you will still deal with these symptoms."

"W-wait, for ten years?" John hastened to ask, worry in his tone and faltering his words.

"After today, it's more like eight, but no. For the rest of your life. It's possible you can reverse this, but you won't be the same, physically. Medications can ease the symptoms, though."

There it was — that bit of bad news he expected. He could handle ten, maybe eight years, but for the rest of his life? It wouldn't be easy, that was for certain. Always feeling winded after twenty or thirty steps, slow heart rate when lying or sitting down, then quickening when standing and moving and proceeding to feel faint? No-one could handle that, even with medication. He'd rather end it all.

Something clicked in his mind and he stared up at Peter, then back at the cardiologist. "Okay, uh..." As John's shaking voice came, he moved his fingers in the air between himself and Peter. "Can you give us a minute?"

"Of course."

Once more, it was the two of them, staring at each other for the longest time without a word. Finally, Peter spoke up.

"Look, um, we can figure something out. Some kinda pla–"

With trembling words, John tersely said, "I want a DNR order."

Peter blanched. "What?"

"If something happens to me, now or later, even if I've collapsed in the hallway at County, just leave me."

"Carter, you're young. You're–"

"I'm miserable," he interjected a second time. "Please. I know you don't respect my sexuality, but at least give me this."

"I respect your sexuality, Carter. I just think that you're being irrational."

"It's not irrational. I don't want to live like this. I can barely stand it now."

A faint, knowing and an almost rueful smile played on Peter's lips. He felt as though he had lost him already, and losing him was unfathomable. While he never showed it, Peter thought of John as a younger brother, just adopted. He couldn't see himself without him now, after three years together, even if it wouldn't happen right away. The thought haunted him. Even so, he had to honour his wishes. He owed him that much.

"Y-yeah. Okay," Peter replied, voice floundering to an extent. "When we get back to Chicago we'll set something up."

"Thank you. That wasn't so–" Out of nowhere, John found it hard to focus on anything. It wasn't for lack of trying. He widened his eyes to see if there would be any chance; it didn't help much. Everything came across as hazy, and the sensation of falling backwards returned. "Wow..."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I feel– Did they give me anything?" John studied the bags on the IV stand, searching for some kind of pain medication or even Atropine on a slow drip, in case some rare side effects kicked in; it wouldn't be the first time.

"No, just what they gave you during cardiac arrest, but that should be out of your system by now," Peter apprehensively looked John over. His vitals were normal, considering how much he'd been through. It didn't make sense. "Maybe you're just exhausted?" Peter ventured a guess.

John could feel himself start to slip away, so in an attempt to keep it from happening, he forcibly grabbed on to Peter's hand.

This caught him off-guard, leaving him both confused and alarmed. If John wanted comfort, he wasn't sure how he would get it. Peter was out of practice being a person. Regardless, he tried by intertwining his long fingers with John's, and softly spoke, "It's okay, Carter. I'm here, alright? I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice slurred.

Peter's eyes narrowed and his head tilted closer to him. "Say what?"

"You didn't... need to come... all the way out here," John breathed. "Just for me. It's stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

"Carter?"

"Hey," He slapped his other hand on top of Peter's. "On the plus side, this has gotten you to do something you'd never do in a million years," Clocking the man's perplexed stare, John held up their mingled fingers to him with a big grin. "You're holding my hand."

Peter cringed inwardly. It certainly was not something he would do, but he felt the need to. That was the embarrassing part. Flatly, he responded, "Yeah, well, I thought you needed it."

"I do," As he slid further down the bed into a more comfortable position, he snuggled up with against the pillows. Just before he could completely fall into a deep slumber, he said in a lethargic manner, "Don't leave me."

A delicate smile threatened to come to a head, but Peter didn't allow it to. "Wasn't planning on it," His free hand hovered over the crown of John's head, hesitating to touch him. In time, figuring that nobody would know, he caved and ran his fingers through John's oily hair. It was enough to make him jerk. "It's alright. It's just me," Peter whispered, and managed to draw up a deep breath from John, instantly mollifying him back to sleep. "It's alright. It'll be alright."