Stupid woman probably forgot to eat breakfast.
I head in her direction with the sole purpose of pissing her off by forcing her to drink some juice when I’m stopped by a woman looking for the french fry stand. By the time I’m finished pointing her in the right direction, I glance over at Phina just in time to see her sway and then collapse like a ton of bricks to the ground right next to the table. My heart plummets straight down to my feet and I stand there in shock for longer than I ever have in an emergency situation. Strong, independent Phina just fucking fainted.
Pulling my head out of my ass, I race to the back of the ambulance, fling open the doors and grab my first responder bag and the portable oxygen tank from the floor, throwing their straps over my shoulder as I sprint over to where she’s lying.
“What happened?” I shout to the man hovering over her as I fall to my knees, throw my bag to the ground and flip the switch on the tank.
“I don’t know, man. I was just standing here drinking my juice. I asked her if she was okay, but she didn’t answer me. Then she just keeled over,” the guy replies in a worried voice behind me.
Placing my hands on either side of her face, I turn her head towards me, not liking the clammy feel of her skin at all. Sweat beads on her forehead and she’s white as a sheet.
“Phina! Baby, can you hear me? Phina, open your eyes,” I tell her softly as I check her pulse on her neck, right behind her jaw. It’s fast…way too fast. Letting go of her face, I reach into my bag for my stethoscope, putting the ear tips in and placing the diaphragm against her chest in the V-neck opening of her scrub top. Her heart is thundering out of control and sounds like a herd of elephants in my ears.
“Oh, my God! What the hell happened?”
I recognize Finnley’s voice next to me and see her kneel down out of the corner of my eye and grab one of Phina’s hands.
“She passed out after donating platelets. Is she diabetic?” I question Finnley as I unwind the oxygen mask from the tank and place it against Phina’s mouth and nose, gently wrapping the head strap around her to keep it in place.
“No. No, she’s not diabetic. She’s given platelets a ton of times before and nothing like this has ever happened,” Finnley informs me with worry in her voice.
Grabbing the Accu-Chek glucometer from the bag, I power it on, lift up Phina’s hand and prick her finger with the sterilized test needle. After a few tense seconds, the machine beeps and I look at the screen.
“Jesus Christ. Her glucose level is 23. She’s hypoglycemic,” I mutter, tossing the machine to the side and snatching a Glucagon syringe from the side pocket of the bag.
“What does that mean? What are you doing?” Finnley asks frantically.
“It’s alright, babe. It just means her blood sugar is way too low,” Collin reassures her from somewhere behind me. I can hear an edge in his voice and know he’s thinking the same thing I am, but doesn’t want to voice it out loud in front of Finnley. If Phina isn’t diabetic, there is no way her blood sugar would have dropped this low without some help. Not even a platelet donation would cause a reaction like this.
“I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I should have kept her on the truck longer,” the nurse from the vehicle says as she squats across from me, checking Phina’s pulse for herself.
I glare at the nurse, but keep my mouth shut. Right now, I just want Phina to open her eyes and look at me.
“Finn, I need you to pull her pants down for me,” I tell her as I ready the syringe.
She doesn’t question me, just quickly leans over Phina’s body, grabs onto the waistband of her scrubs and yanks her pants down to her knees. With a quick stab, I press the needle into Phina’s thigh and release the glucose into her system.
Handing the needle over to the nurse for her to dispose of, I press the stethoscope back to Phina’s chest and wait. It takes almost twenty minutes for her heart rate to slow to a normal level before Phina slowly opens her eyes and squints at me.
“Hey there, Fireball. Welcome back,” I tell her with a smile, trying not to kiss every inch of her face and pull her into my arms.
I’ve never had to work on someone I know. When I’m on the job, I’m a robot, doing what I need to do to save someone’s life. I never think about who they are, what would happen to their family if I couldn’t do my job or how me possibly fucking up in a critical situation could end their life. I do what I’m trained to do and then I walk away. Kneeling here next to Phina, I didn’t even realize I was praying to God the entire time, begging Him to keep her safe. As much as she pisses me off, she’s wormed her way into my life and I can’t stand the idea of her not being in it. I want to know everything about her. I want to know why she’s so angry and why she won’t let me in. I want to know what makes her tick and there is no fucking way I’m going to lose her before I can get to that point.
Phina reaches up and pulls the oxygen mask away from her face before pushing herself up on her elbows. I finally let myself touch her, wrapping my arm around her back to help her sit up. Placing my hand on her back, I rub slow, comforting circles there, the constant touch the reassurance I need that she’s really okay.
I watch as she looks down at her bare thighs and then quickly scrambles to pull her pants back up. When they’re in place, she holds her hands against her hips at an awkward angle before shooting me a dirty look.
“Why the hell were my pants off? Did you look? What did you see?” she fires at me.
I head in her direction with the sole purpose of pissing her off by forcing her to drink some juice when I’m stopped by a woman looking for the french fry stand. By the time I’m finished pointing her in the right direction, I glance over at Phina just in time to see her sway and then collapse like a ton of bricks to the ground right next to the table. My heart plummets straight down to my feet and I stand there in shock for longer than I ever have in an emergency situation. Strong, independent Phina just fucking fainted.
Pulling my head out of my ass, I race to the back of the ambulance, fling open the doors and grab my first responder bag and the portable oxygen tank from the floor, throwing their straps over my shoulder as I sprint over to where she’s lying.
“What happened?” I shout to the man hovering over her as I fall to my knees, throw my bag to the ground and flip the switch on the tank.
“I don’t know, man. I was just standing here drinking my juice. I asked her if she was okay, but she didn’t answer me. Then she just keeled over,” the guy replies in a worried voice behind me.
Placing my hands on either side of her face, I turn her head towards me, not liking the clammy feel of her skin at all. Sweat beads on her forehead and she’s white as a sheet.
“Phina! Baby, can you hear me? Phina, open your eyes,” I tell her softly as I check her pulse on her neck, right behind her jaw. It’s fast…way too fast. Letting go of her face, I reach into my bag for my stethoscope, putting the ear tips in and placing the diaphragm against her chest in the V-neck opening of her scrub top. Her heart is thundering out of control and sounds like a herd of elephants in my ears.
“Oh, my God! What the hell happened?”
I recognize Finnley’s voice next to me and see her kneel down out of the corner of my eye and grab one of Phina’s hands.
“She passed out after donating platelets. Is she diabetic?” I question Finnley as I unwind the oxygen mask from the tank and place it against Phina’s mouth and nose, gently wrapping the head strap around her to keep it in place.
“No. No, she’s not diabetic. She’s given platelets a ton of times before and nothing like this has ever happened,” Finnley informs me with worry in her voice.
Grabbing the Accu-Chek glucometer from the bag, I power it on, lift up Phina’s hand and prick her finger with the sterilized test needle. After a few tense seconds, the machine beeps and I look at the screen.
“Jesus Christ. Her glucose level is 23. She’s hypoglycemic,” I mutter, tossing the machine to the side and snatching a Glucagon syringe from the side pocket of the bag.
“What does that mean? What are you doing?” Finnley asks frantically.
“It’s alright, babe. It just means her blood sugar is way too low,” Collin reassures her from somewhere behind me. I can hear an edge in his voice and know he’s thinking the same thing I am, but doesn’t want to voice it out loud in front of Finnley. If Phina isn’t diabetic, there is no way her blood sugar would have dropped this low without some help. Not even a platelet donation would cause a reaction like this.
“I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I should have kept her on the truck longer,” the nurse from the vehicle says as she squats across from me, checking Phina’s pulse for herself.
I glare at the nurse, but keep my mouth shut. Right now, I just want Phina to open her eyes and look at me.
“Finn, I need you to pull her pants down for me,” I tell her as I ready the syringe.
She doesn’t question me, just quickly leans over Phina’s body, grabs onto the waistband of her scrubs and yanks her pants down to her knees. With a quick stab, I press the needle into Phina’s thigh and release the glucose into her system.
Handing the needle over to the nurse for her to dispose of, I press the stethoscope back to Phina’s chest and wait. It takes almost twenty minutes for her heart rate to slow to a normal level before Phina slowly opens her eyes and squints at me.
“Hey there, Fireball. Welcome back,” I tell her with a smile, trying not to kiss every inch of her face and pull her into my arms.
I’ve never had to work on someone I know. When I’m on the job, I’m a robot, doing what I need to do to save someone’s life. I never think about who they are, what would happen to their family if I couldn’t do my job or how me possibly fucking up in a critical situation could end their life. I do what I’m trained to do and then I walk away. Kneeling here next to Phina, I didn’t even realize I was praying to God the entire time, begging Him to keep her safe. As much as she pisses me off, she’s wormed her way into my life and I can’t stand the idea of her not being in it. I want to know everything about her. I want to know why she’s so angry and why she won’t let me in. I want to know what makes her tick and there is no fucking way I’m going to lose her before I can get to that point.
Phina reaches up and pulls the oxygen mask away from her face before pushing herself up on her elbows. I finally let myself touch her, wrapping my arm around her back to help her sit up. Placing my hand on her back, I rub slow, comforting circles there, the constant touch the reassurance I need that she’s really okay.
I watch as she looks down at her bare thighs and then quickly scrambles to pull her pants back up. When they’re in place, she holds her hands against her hips at an awkward angle before shooting me a dirty look.
“Why the hell were my pants off? Did you look? What did you see?” she fires at me.
