| OCR Text |
Show repeatedly beating the side bars of the gurney, clank, clank, clank, shaking it for all living in proximity to hear. There is scrambling for a paper pillow to cushion my blows, to save my hands and maybe my face from their own beating. "Get a B/P!" someone shouts. "Can't get the cuff on her!" comes a reply. "Try the forearm!" "Don 'tpull on me!" I try to communicate this important information in code-short statements. The reasons for my request have no voice because I have no breath to support them. A cool hand tries to pry my sweaty wrist from its fixed position against my face. They do not succeed in pulling the arm down but their trying causes my back to arch once again. Black spots in front of my eyes from lack of oxygen. Bones threaten to break, pulled wrong by hyper-strong muscles out of control. "Don't be afraid to go for the carotid." It is a doctor. His voice is striving for calm. The needle pricks my neck and within seconds my gums tingle. Then I am gone. |
