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#respiratory distress

gary83 · 1 year

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Gianna from Digital 02

#cardiophile #defib #cpr resus #respiratory distress #dark cardiophilia #defibs

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actress4him · 11 months

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June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugwhump

Day 8 - “Breathe, darn you!” | Shock | Amputation | Infection

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ‘s Whump Girl Summer Day 4 - Stress Position | Begging

Contains: lady whump, captivity, stress position, mentioned dislocation, referenced broken bones, respiratory distress, touch aversion, thoughts of death, fantasy prejudice, passing out, referenced burns

It’s Isa’s turn for punishment today. Sometimes he’ll hurt them both at the same time, but he tends to alternate back and forth between them, either giving them ‘treatments’ for the magic that supposedly ‘plagues’ them, or punishing them for having the magic to start with. This time he hung Isa by her wrists from the ceiling, toes just barely brushing the floor, burned her torso and arms with a lighter, and left her there, as he often does.

It hasn’t been too awfully long. She’s been left in stress positions for much longer before. Her main concern is that her shoulders will dislocate - not for the first time - so she’s trying to stay as still as possible, focusing on her breathing and not the pain in the entirety of her arms and the fresh sting of the burns.

Only that’s becoming increasingly difficult with each passing moment. The pressure on her ribs keeps becoming more and more noticeable. Her breaths have been shallow ever since he hoisted her here, but now it feels like she can barely get any air past her throat.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look okay.” Lainey always gets really worried about her when she’s hurt, and has been checking in every couple of minutes since he left. It’s touching, though it sometimes makes her feel guilty for not being able to offer the same emotional support back. She worries about Lainey, too, of course, but she doesn’t know how to express it in the same open, honest way that the other girl does.

Right now, though, she isn’t sure she can answer. “I’m…” She huffs a few more quick, barely-there breaths. “I…I can’t…” She’s starting to panic. A tear runs down her cheek and dangles from her chin.

“Whoa!” Lainey is in front of her immediately, eyes wide and looking her over. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe. Deep breath with me, okay?” She mimics the intake of oxygen that Isa is longing for.

“I…can’t!”

“Crap!” Her eyes search Isa’s body again. “Is…is it the position?”

She nods frantically, unable to form any more words.

“Crap.” Immediately Lainey springs forward, bending over to wrap her arms around Isa’s thighs and lifting with a pained grunt.

The slack lets Isa’s elbows drop and takes pressure off her lungs. Having someone’s arms around her is strange and makes her heart skip a few beats, but being able to breathe is taking much more of her focus. She desperately gulps in sweet oxygen. “You shouldn’t…your ribs…”

“I can’t just let you suffocate! I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t, you’ll make yourself…worse, and…you can’t just…keep holding me until he comes back!”

Lainey stubbornly refuses to let go, no matter what Isa says to try and convince her. She’s beyond grateful to be able to breathe, but she doesn’t want that to come at Lainey’s expense.

Eventually, the younger girl’s arms start to tremble, and she begins to sway slightly. “Put me down, Lainey. I’ll be okay. You gave me a good break.”

She finally gives in, lowering her as carefully as possible and taking a couple of shaky steps backwards before sitting. “Sorry,” she says breathlessly. “Stupid diet he’s got us on. I used to be in a lot better shape.”

Isa just gives her a weak smile, trying to conserve her oxygen. The pressure isn’t as bad to start with as it had been, but it doesn’t take long to get that way. Lainey’s watching her closely and sees the moment she starts to struggle for breath again.

“Isa…”

“You can’t.” She shakes her head, eyes trained on the hand Lainey has pressed against her broken ribs. It’s obvious she made them worse, just like she said she would.

“I can if it means saving your life.”

She just shakes her head again, unable to say anything else. Black spots are starting to dance through the air in front of her eyes, the buzz of the fluorescent lights fading. Hardly any air is making it into her lungs now.

“-sa! Isa! Come on, breathe, dang it!” Lainey’s hands are suddenly on her face, holding her cheeks, but she’s too busy panicking over the lack of oxygen to panic about the touch. Then they’re gone again, and Lainey is racing across the room and up the stairs as fast as her wrecked body will allow her.

A thrill of fear goes through Isa’s chest. No, what are you doing, don’t get us in trouble!

“Hey!” A loud banging sound just filters through the cotton that seems to be stuffed in her ears, cutting in and out along with Lainey’s voice. “Help!...need help! She’s g-...die, you…-ere! Please!”

The next few…minutes? seconds? pass in a blur. Isa thinks she can vaguely hear a low pitched mumble accompanying Lainey’s frantic pleas, but her vision has gone completely dark. She’s dying. After all of this time, all these years surviving in this basement, her time has finally come. The emotions that accompany the realization are too mixed to name.

Then she’s staring up at fluorescent lights and Lainey’s tear-streaked face. Her straight brown hair, constantly a disheveled mess, hangs over her shoulders and nearly brushes Isa’s face.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasps, one hand flying to rest against her heart while the other swipes tears from her cheeks. “You…you’re okay, you’re alive. I didn’t…I thought…” The hand on her chest moves to her mouth, but is unsuccessful at holding back a sob.

Isa draws in a long, purposeful breath, holding it in as if savoring it before letting it back out. “I’m alive,” she repeats, almost blown away by the concept. “How…did you…?”

The sound of the door shutting and the locks clicking startles her. Wide eyes glance toward the stairs, then back at Lainey’s face. “He…?”

“Thank goodness he heard me…and actually listened. I didn’t know if he would. I was about to come pick you up again when he opened the door, but I don’t know how long he would have taken if I hadn’t called him and I don’t know if I could’ve…”

“Is he mad? Did he punish you?” If she was the cause of more pain for Lainey, she’d never forgive herself.

“No, no punishment,” Lainey assures her, shaking her head. “He seemed…I dunno, just as aggravated about life and us as usual. But obviously he doesn’t want you to die, since he came and took you down and didn’t do anything to me for calling him.”

“Yeah…I don’t know why.” Isa massages her left arm, gaze sliding over to the wall. It hasn’t been that long since the break healed, and hanging from it made it sore. “You’d think if he wants to rid the world of magic so badly, he’d just kill us and be done with it.”

“Well I don’t want you to die. I know you did all this by yourself for a long time, but I can’t even imagine being alone. And more importantly, you’ve gotta stay alive so that we can get out of here together.”

Isa huffs a humorless laugh and shakes her head a little. “I can’t believe you still believe that’s going to happen.”

“It is. Either we’re going to get out of here, or someone’s going to find us.” She says it firmly, but Isa’s not sure she’s imagining that it sounds less sure than it did several weeks ago. “You and I are not going to die down here.”

“Okay, Lainey.” Not today, at least.

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artisticdivasworld · 6 months

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Breathing Easy: A Comprehensive Guide to Helping Patients with COPD

Living with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) can be challenging and overwhelming for both patients and their loved ones. COPD is a progressive lung disease that affects millions of people worldwide and can significantly impact their quality of life. However, there are various strategies and treatments available to help patients manage their symptoms and breathe easier. In this…

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howdoesone · 9 months

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How does one manage airway and breathing in critically ill or injured patients?

Managing the airway and ensuring adequate breathing is a critical aspect of caring for critically ill or injured patients. In emergency medical services (EMS), prompt and effective airway management can significantly impact patient outcomes. This article will discuss the essential steps and considerations in managing the airway and breathing in critically ill or injured patients. Continue reading…

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kaesaaurelia · 7 months

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petrichor, ozone, and copper

For @whumptober day 14, using the prompts “water inhalation,“ “just hold on,” and the lyric prompt, “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Continued from Day 1, wherein Crowley definitely did not move into the bookshop, took a nap on the couch afterwards, and when he woke up his lungs hurt and he passed out, Day 2, wherein Muriel carried him into Maggie’s record shop, because they hoped a human might understand better than they do what was wrong with him, Day 10, wherein Crowley's illness was causing strange and terrible weather, and help from Heaven was not forthcoming, and Day 13, wherein Crowley got even worse, but Muriel thought they might've worked out what had happened.

Muriel brought Crowley back to Nina's shop, which was very empty. When they put him down on one of the tables, he looked very grumpy indeed.

They didn't know if that was consistent with what they thought was happening to him, but it was consistent with Crowley, so they didn't worry about it too much. "I think it's holiness poisoning," they told the humans. Crowley made an incomprehensible but thoroughly grumpy noise. "Only I don't think it's usually this slow?"

"What do you know about holiness poisoning?" Crowley asked.

"Oh, it's all in the employee handbook!" said Muriel, perking up. "All the ways it can happen, and what it looks like, and how we mustn't do it to any demons, because it's a violation of all kinds of treaties."

"And how to fix it?" Maggie asked hopefully.

"Er. No, actually," said Muriel. There must be a way to fix it, though, because... well, because. Surely God wouldn't let this just happen to Crowley, who was very nice except for the demon thing, so if he had got holiness poisoning somehow, there must be a way to fix it.

"So they told you how to do something you aren't supposed to do?" said Nina, leaning against the counter. Nina sometimes asked questions in ways that made Muriel awfully uncomfortable, which they tried to ignore, because surely Nina didn't mean to do that. "Sounds more like they just wanted you to make sure you weren't caught."

"Oh, no, they would never want us to do something we weren't supposed to," said Muriel, appalled. "That's the first thing in the employee handbook! And the third, and several other things also. It's definitely very important to the mission statement."

"Right," said Nina, but it was a slow, drawn-out sort of way to say "Right." Muriel decided to try not to worry about it.

"Anyway!" they said brightly, "I think I know what caused it, actually, and since it would be such a terrible treaty violation, I can only assume Hell is trying to frame Heaven for it, so Heaven should be very happy to help me fix it!"

"Mmhmm," said Nina, exchanging a look with Maggie. Crowley tried to say something, but he started coughing again, so conversation was briefly impossible because of the thunder.

"Anyway! Now that I know who to talk to, I'm going to go back to the bookshop and try to get a hold of then!" This would be much easier, because reaching somebody who knew specific things about physical matter would probably be easier than waiting for someone, anyone, to answer a general prayer and redirect it to the Supreme Archangel.

"Er. Good luck with that?" said Maggie. "But isn't there anything we can do for him now?"

"Don't put any holy water on him," said Muriel, brightly.

"Seems easy enough," said Maggie.

"And don't light any candles you got recently as housewarming gifts," added Muriel, just in case, because they were reasonably sure that was what had happened. They felt stupid now, not thinking to check that the candle had come from the Supreme Archangel and not an infernal malcontent hoping to provoke a terrible war according to Hell's timeline instead of Heaven's.

"House... warming?" Maggie asked.

"It's a charming human tradition!" said Muriel, who was surprised the humans did not already know about their own traditions. "I'll be back as soon as I have a solution."

They hurried back to the bookshop, waving away several lightning bolts. That seemed awfully dangerous for the humans to deal with, they thought. Which was yet another reason there must be a way to help Crowley!

Once they were back, they started the circle up again, but this time they knew exactly who they were going to be contacting, and it wasn't the Supreme Archangel, because clearly there was something wrong today with how Heaven was directing prayers. At one point in Heaven they'd memorized the entire internal directory, and an angel in the lower rungs of the Physics & Metaphysics Division had to be easier to reach than the Supreme Archangel.

And so it was that, in very little time at all, they were speaking with Arariel. "Sorry, who are you, exactly?" Arariel asked.

"Oh, I'm Muriel!"

"Do I know you?"

"No." Muriel had just liked their name, which they thought was fun to say. They decided not to explain that, though, because it seemed a bit rude. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, no, no," said Arariel, shaking their head. "It's a bit dull here now the world's all created and everything. Last thing I had anything to do must've been, oh, a hundred years ago at least, maybe more."

They'd gone a lot longer without anyone bothering them, so that didn't sound that bad, really. "What was it about then?"

"Some Principality wanted us to end support for fire. I knew the idea was mad from the start, but there was so little going on I read all fifty pages, just in case they had some good points."

"Did they?" Muriel asked. It seemed an odd request to them; fire was so nice and cozy.

"Nah," said Arariel. " But I'm sure whatever you need won't be that weird. So! What do you need?"

"The cure for holiness poisoning." Arariel frowned at them, so they clarified. "In demons. Well, one demon."

Arariel nodded slowly, and Muriel waited for them to explain the cure. But instead they said, "Sorry, you know we don't like demons, yeah?"

"Oh, no, obviously," said Muriel. "But this one is nice! Also his symptoms are pretty dangerous for the humans. I'm on Earth," they clarified, "so there's a lot of them! Anyway, what should we do to fix all of that?"

"Erm. Well. Have you tried holy water? Once the demon is gone for good there won't be any more dangerous symptoms," Arariel said.

"But that would kill him!" said Muriel.

"Right," said Arariel. There was a long silence, and then they said, again, "You know we don't like demons, right? Because they're evil?"

"This one isn't, though. I mean he is, but he's not really," Muriel said. "And he's really suffering. I don't think God would let that happen, do you?"

Arariel frowned. They did not seem angry so much as fearful, though Muriel could not tell why they were afraid. "Well. Look, I don't know what to tell you."

"But it's a terrible treaty violation," said Muriel. "Hell's clearly set this up so that it would look like we provoked a war, but we didn't, and then we'll have --"

"I really don't think the leadership would mind if there was a war," said Arariel.

Some leadership would, Muriel knew. "Look," they said, "if you can't help me I really do need to be put in contact with the Supreme Archangel --"

"The Supreme Archangel?" Arariel repeated this with incredulity, as if Muriel had asked to speak to God. "He'd smite me. He'd smite you, too. Very smitey one, I hear."

"I've met him and he's very nice," said Muriel. "He gave me a cup of tea."

"Don't know what that is."

"It's nice to look at!"

"Well. Er. Great for you. Look, anyway --"

"The reason I'm asking about the cure for holiness poisoning," said Muriel, determined to keep what little foothold they had, "is because the demon who's got it is the Supreme Archangel's... er... er..." They were not quite sure how to describe the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley. "Well, Crowley's sort of his demon, do you understand?"

Arariel looked very dismayed. "Oh. Oh no. Yeah, we've all heard of Crowley."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, never mind," said Arariel. "I don't know what can be done for him, though, so --"

"If you don't help me I'm going to tell the Supreme Archangel," said Muriel, impulsively.

They felt a bit bad about it later, but it did seem to help things along, in that Arariel went from dismayed to terrified in short order, and said "Right! Yes! I'll -- we'll -- we'll work something out, yeah. It wasn't by holy water, I would imagine, because I think he's immune, and anyway if he wasn't he'd be dead. What was the method of exposure?"

They thought about Crowley's tiny lung knives, and the candle they'd been gifted from, supposedly, the Supreme Archangel. "I think inhalation?"

"Of some sort of incense, or --"

"No, I don't think so -- let me just check something," said Muriel. They hurried back to the desk, where they found the candle, and they sniffed it carefully. Yes, that thing that had made them feel at home was definitely holiness. They rummaged around in Aziraphale's desk drawer until they found a little letter opener shaped like a sword, which they used to cut the candle open.

In the center was a hard white thing buried in wax, but melting that away with a quick miracle, the thing looked like a knucklebone.

They hurried back to the circle and held out their hand for Arariel to see. "This was in a candle. It's very holy."

"Aah, a human saint's relic," said Arariel. "Very holy indeed. Well. And the demon's still... alive, and reasonably intact?"

"He's coughing a lot and he's lost all his strength," said Muriel.

"Well. You'll want to ease the holiness out of him... somehow. Let me run some tests. I'll get back to you," said Arariel.

"I'm sorry to put you to all this trouble, only it's very important," said Muriel. "He's a very nice demon."

"I don't know about that," said Arariel, doubtfully. "On the other hand, at least you're not proposing to edit a fundamental chemical reaction out of the universe entirely, so. Small favors."

The longer Crowley stayed out of the bookshop, the better he felt. He was still feeling awful, but the blood rain had turned into regular rain, which was good because that would probably keep it from clotting up in the gutters, and his temperature had gone down enough that he was safe for humans to touch. It still hurt to breathe, though, and to move, and it was all deeply infuriating because all he wanted to do was sleep and the only place with a bed was the place he couldn't go into. But between the two of them Nina had got someone to lend her a cot and Maggie had got blankets from somewhere and he was dozing uncomfortably in the record shop's storage area, which wasn't really a room of its own but it was at least slightly hidden from human view.

Muriel came by late in the evening to explain what they'd found out, which was that Crowley could be cured by the simple expediency of inhaling holy water.

"What," said Crowley.

"Because you're immune, you see," said Muriel. "That's what Arariel said, anyway. I didn't know a demon could be immune to holy water," they added, "but that's very handy, isn't it?"

"Ah." Crowley did not exactly have regrets about escaping his execution by switching places with Aziraphale, but also, it did mean Muriel's information was a bit useless. "So the problem with that iss I'm... not... completely immune? I mean, I'm definitely immune enough that you don't need to go telling Heaven I'm not."

"Oh," said Muriel, nodding as if that made sense. "Well. Could you -- er. What if you just breathed in holy steam?"

"That would hurt a lot," Crowley said. His voice no longer sounded like his own, but on the plus side, he wasn't coughing as much anymore, because it was hard for a throat to itch when it was in this much pain.

"It would, but it would dissolve all the little spiky holy particles in your lungs, hopefully," said Muriel.

"Holy... particles?" Maggie asked, dubiously.

"Yes! Arariel told me about them," said Muriel.

"And you believe thissss Arariel?" Crowley asked.

"I did tell them that if you died I was going to tell the Supreme Archangel," said Muriel, "and they seemed to want to avoid that."

"Hmph," said Crowley, not thinking much of this threat. But then again, he was in enough agony, and how much worse could inhaling holy steam be? And as little as Aziraphale must think of him, Crowley couldn't imagine he wouldn't be at least a little upset if Crowley died. So he supposed he might as well try it, because either he'd die and it would be over, or he wouldn't die and he could make everyone else at least half as unhappy as he was about it the whole time.

It took until the next day to obtain both the holy water and a humidifier, since nobody was keen on making Crowley put his face in a boiling pot of holy water. When he was finally able to try this supposed cure, the storm around Whickber Street became a mist to rival the bad old days of pea-soup fog, and all he could recall of the day was a searing pain and Muriel trying to be encouraging at him while he felt like his throat was being eaten up by acid.

But eventually, finally, when he faced away from the steam, the pain was significantly lessened, and Muriel suggested he rest for a few hours, and by the end of the day the only traces of the brief but strange local weather disturbance were the mingled scents of petrichor, ozone, and copper, and a handful of thinkpieces in the papers about the unexpected consequences of climate change, and Crowley was still wobbly and exhausted and achey, but he could breathe without pain.

#whumptober2023 #no.14 #water inhalation #just hold on #lyric #good omens #fic #respiratory distress cw #anthony j crowley #muriel good omens #maggie good omens #nina good omens

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comfort-questing · 2 years

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"sleeping in shifts"

dim light filtered through stormclouds, a sullen golden band at the horizon beyond the half-open window. the wind ruffles the curtains with the scent of the sea on its wings. in the bed, their eyes are closed, but parched lips part to receive a few trickles of water. where the bandages show beneath the rumpled blanket, blood spots them, ominously red. their breathing is rapid, sharp past the congestion.

"should we..."

"I don't think they should be alone. I'll - I'll watch."

blackness of near-midnight, with rain slipping down the window glass, slow silver drops glinting like stars in the lamplight. they cough, shaking, twisting back and forth on the pillow.

"...couldn't sleep?" looking up, towards the doorway.

"couldn't sleep. how are they?"

a hand brushed over their burning-hot forehead, palm cupping the sweat-streaked side of their face.

"not good."

"you rest, then. I'll take a turn."

it's in the small hours of the night when the rain stops, and the damp cold air sits heavy and foggy in the dale beyond the windowpane. their coughing alternates with ragged struggling breaths through the bloody fluid filling their lungs.

lips pressed to their forehead, whispered words begging them to hold on. stifled yawns from an exhausted caretaker with their own wounds and bruises to deal with, aching in the late-night chill.

someone drops a blanket around the caretaker's shoulders. "sleep. I'll stay with them."

"just - let me stay here."

"of course."

it's no harder to watch over two sleepers than one, really.

early faint daylight, puddles on the grassy hillside, the fire burnt to coals on the hearth. in the bed, the slow weary breaths like tearing cloth are half pain to listen to, half a relief. still alive, still here.

"hey, it's morning."

"oh. ow, my neck."

"mind if I - "

"no. I'll watch."

another day begins.

#whump #hurt comfort #whumptober2022 #whumptober no. 9 #tw respiratory distress

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gary83 · 1 year

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Flatline from biomed video

#cardiophile #dark cardiophilia #respiratory distress #defib #cpr resus

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actress4him · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022

NO. 12 - WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

“Mayday, mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail

Contains: cave in, respiratory distress, team whump

The air is thick with dust. It coats the inside of their lungs, burns their eyes. It nearly obscures the pile of rubble that now surrounds them, piled across half their body and precariously close to their head, but that becomes more and more clear as it begins to settle.

For the first several minutes, they can’t stop coughing. Pain seizes their body with every jolt. When it finally subsides, they suck in greedy, dust-filled breaths, fingers digging into the ground beneath them as they try to steady themself.

Their radio. They have to call for help, surely their team will be able to get to them, somehow.

Thankfully it’s on the hip that isn’t buried. With a shaking hand, they remove it from its holster after three tries and bring it up to their lips, using strength they’re not sure they possess to press the button.

“M—” The sound rasps across their throat and causes them to start coughing again. A few involuntary tears slip down their cheeks. Another shuddering breath, and they try again. “M-mayday, mayday, mayday. I nee—” Their breath catches. “I-I’m trapped. I need h-help.”

They release the button. A chorus of static echoes back at them.

#whumptober2022 #no.12 #mayday mayday #cave in #original content #fic #respiratory distress #ficlet #drabble #whump prompt #writing prompt #team whump

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improvidus · 1 year

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Cairo Day 3 | Respiratory Distress

Fandom | Macgyver (2016)

Warnings | None

Genres | Gen, Family, Angst, H/C

Characters | Riley Davis, Angus MacGyver, Desi Nguyen

Word Count | 6K

Summary:

"Mac?"

Mac sits on the bench that runs between the locker stands, elbows on his knees, hands fisting in his dripping hair. His gray sweatpants are splotched with darker patches where they cling to his skin, and she wonders if he bothered to dry off at all. A white T-shirt is pooled on the floor before him, as though he dropped it there and hasn't bothered to pick it up yet.

But it's the shaking that catches Riley's attention. Mac is hunched over, but his posture is absolutely rigid. She can see the tremble of taut muscles beneath his chill-mottled skin, and his knuckles are white where they clench in his hair.

Tag to 5x09. Written for Cairo Day 2023 prompt "Respiratory Distress."

Read on AO3

(@macgyvercairo)

#macgyver #cairo day 2023 #day 3: respiratory distress #fic by improvidus #riley davis #angus macgyver #desi nguyen #fanfic

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soapysudz · 27 days

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Hello! Would you be interested in answering ask game questions 8 and 14 -> what could you give a 40 min presentation on with no preparation and what's the most ridiculous wrong number/call/text you've ever received respectively?

Heck yeah!! I could give a 40 min presentation on dogs, I'd probably specifically talk about dog breeds, especially working dog breeds, how they were developed, and how becoming registered with kennel clubs is slowly destroying many of these breeds. (I have to stop myself here or I'll just keep going)

Hm I don't answer numbers I don't recognize and now that I think about it I haven't gotten ridiculous texts. Oh wait there was one time someone wrong numbered the landline, she was trying to call Homeland Security. I'm still curious as to what she was trying to report but alas I was too confused to ask her in the moment

#Dogs #Dogs are so cool #Did you know that bulldogs suffer from respiratory distress #Yes all of them #They slowly suffocate because of how they've been bred for their flat face #It makes me so sad #And according to some people the gene pool within the breed is too small to breed for healthier dogs #without introducing dogs outside the breed #Sometimes I get mad at breed purists #Is dogs having horrible quality of life really worth a uniform look #Is it worth that piece of paper #You say you care about your dogs and yet they are suffering #Whew ok rant paused for now

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