Fell In Love With My Roomy Chapter 36

When Brendon returns, I feel anxious but try to recall what I know. "I'm Julianna, Lauren. Can I assist you?" She nods weakly. "Is there an Epi-pen in this room?" She gasps, and I glance at the group of kids she's with, who are standing nearby. The other lifeguards had already ushered everyone else back to the changing room.

Who among them would know where Lauren's Epi-pen was?

As I raise my voice, one of the girls steps forward with wide eyes, asking, "Does she have an Epi-pen?"

"I-I didn't know Lauren had this condition," she murmurs softly, her eyes on the verge of tears.

"Alright, calm down. This is not your fault," I reassure her. "Could you please check her locker?"

She quickly nods and hurries away, leaving me feeling anxious. Lauren is struggling to breathe, her face reddening and purpling.

"I'm here," Brendon says as he approaches. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Is there an Epi-pen in here?" I inquire, but he shakes his head as if uncertain.

"I'm not sure," he mutters.

I open the kit and head to the compartment where we store items like aspirin and the Epi-pen for emergencies.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I grasp the Epi-pen and withdraw it. These kits are checked monthly, so I knew it was still viable.

"I need you to call 911 and inform them that we're administering an Epi-pen to a patient experiencing an allergic reaction," I calmly instruct Brendon. He nods and gives me a thumbs-up. "We also need to find Micheala."

You would think I was a seasoned operating room surgeon with how composed I appeared when speaking. Despite the fear and difficulty of the situation, I had to remain calm; panicking wouldn't help anyone.

I hurriedly don my gloves, even though my hands were wet.

"I'll give this to you, Lauren. Have you ever done this before?" I ask, but she shakes her head, her concern seemingly focused on the needle rather than her potential difficulty in breathing. "I understand it's frightening, but take a deep breath and be brave, okay?" I assure her, and she coughs before nodding rapidly.

I position myself behind her so that if she loses consciousness, she won't strike her head on the pool deck. She trembles, and it's unclear how much longer she can continue to breathe.

"Alright," I say softly to keep her from becoming more upset. I remove the injector by sliding it out and removing the protective cover. I discard the blue cap from the end and grip the barrel with all my fingers. She appears so terrified that it elicits a sigh from me. "Hold my hand," I suggest. She has been pulling away, so she places her hand on mine and clutches it tightly. "Ready?" I ask as I position the barrel against her skin; she lets out a whimper. "One, two, three," I count aloud as I firmly press it into her thigh until I hear it click.

Her eyes widen, and she appears on the brink of fainting. "Count to three," I continue counting out loud for three seconds while maintaining the needle in her leg. Then I extract it and return it to the case, which is now at a distance.

"Alright, that's it. You did great, Lauren," I reassure her, placing my fingers on her leg and massaging the area to expedite the process.

Although she is still experiencing discomfort, her airway is slightly more open. She can breathe a bit easier now, though she still appears distressed. We urgently require the arrival of the ambulance.

"Okay, they're on their way," Brendon informs me as he returns and dons his own gloves. "What do I need to do?"

"Let's get her into a comfortable position," I suggest. "She just received an injection, and if she has another pen, she can administer it herself in five minutes."

"Is she stable now?" he inquires, and I confirm that she is.

"She's improving," I inform him, and we turn her onto her side to maintain an open airway. "How are you feeling, Lauren?" I inquire, and she manages a weak nod. "You were very brave to do that, even though it was scary." I signal to Brendon to retrieve the blanket from the first-aid kit and place it over her. "Where's the new lifeguard? I can't recall her name."

"Brianna is talking to them," he informs me. When I glance up again, I see her questioning the group of teenagers.

"Could you provide her with some incident reports so she can piece together what happened?" I inquire, and he retrieves them from the first-aid kit using a pen.

I place my hand over her mouth and nose to feel her breathing. "Okay, let me check your heart rate." I place my fingers on her neck to feel her pulse.

"I've got it!" I inform her friend as she rushes over with a new Epi-pen. Tears stream down her face as she asks, "Is she okay?" I reassure her that she is.

"She's fine now because we administered one of ours," I explain. "But thank you; your assistance means a lot." I notice Brendon placing his hand on her shoulder, leading her away from the situation.

I keep a close eye on Lauren because it's not over yet. She's still struggling to breathe on her own, and the rash hasn't subsided.

As her eyes begin to close, I gently shake her shoulder. "Stay with me, Lauren," I implore, and her eyelids flutter. "Lauren," I urge her to be alert, but she doesn't respond.

Swiftly, I turn her onto her back and grasp her shoulders, but all she can manage is to move her eyes. That won't be enough for long. Although only two minutes have passed, I can't administer another shot yet.

"Brendon," I say firmly, and he goes back to speak with Brianna's friend. "I'm concerned she might deteriorate, so please open the AED."

He nods and opens the device, removing the pads but not attaching them. Lauren's eyes are closed when I turn around.

"Lauren!" I call her name and tap her on the shoulder, but she doesn't respond. Frustration wells up as I thump her chest with my knuckles, but she remains unresponsive.

I sit beside her and tilt her head up, but she remains motionless. My stomach churns, and I remove the blanket covering her. "Damn it," I mutter. "Brendon, get it ready."

Although I've never performed CPR on a person before, I initiate compressions immediately. The procedure and all its sensations become etched in my mind. As I count aloud while she lies there lifeless, I feel a sense of sickness. Brianna instructs her friends to leave, and I sigh as Brendon cuts away the front of her swimsuit, revealing her chest.

"Her navel is pierced," he notes, and I confirm.

"It's inside of us; we can't remove it," I agree with him. As he activates the AED, the machine's voice prompts us.

"Call nine-one-one, stay calm, continue CPR," it directs. Brendon opens a pocket mask for me to provide rescue breaths as I continue with the compressions. "Dry the skin, shave any hair, and attach the pads," it advises. He follows these instructions while I apply the pads to her skin and resume compressions. "Analyze the heart rhythm, but do not touch the patient," it cautions. We refrain from touching her as the machine searches for a shockable rhythm.

"No shockable rhythm detected; continue CPR," it instructs. I return to administering chest compressions, my heart heavy at the thought of a 16-year-old girl potentially losing her life. I'm responsible for security during this shift, and I can't bear the thought of someone dying on my watch.

This is the most challenging task I've ever faced.

"I'll take over after this cycle," I state as I nod to Brendon. He begins chest compressions after I provide two rescue breaths. I lean back on my heels, attempting to push aside the dread of what could go wrong. It's difficult, but I mustn't let myself spiral.

"Come on, Lauren," I mutter while touching the back of her neck with my fingers. Fear starts to creep in, which isn't a good sign.

"Following the heart's rhythm," I say aloud as the AED beeps. We both withdraw our hands and wait anxiously, a few seconds feeling like an eternity. "Shock advised; press the red button labeled 'shock.'"

"You understand, and so do I," I affirm aloud, taking a step back and raising my hands. He gives a nod and presses the button.

"Shock delivered; continue CPR and watch for signs of life," the machine instructs.

I turn my head and listen, but she's still not breathing on her own. "Keep going," he concurs with my statement. Then I see Micheala coming over with paramedics following her, which brings some relief. They are prepared for this situation, unlike us.

"What's happening?" The first paramedic inquires as they set down their equipment, and I take a deep breath.

I explain, "She has a severe cold allergy, and this has never occurred before." In a hushed tone, I inform the second paramedic as they join Brendon in performing CPR.

I field numerous questions, responding to some and not knowing the answers to others. After five minutes, the paramedic administers the second Epi-pen into her leg.

"We'll set up, so please continue with what you're doing," the first paramedic instructs. "I'm resuming CPR."

My anxiety has reached a point where I can hardly think. I can't believe this happened while I was in charge. Perhaps if I had been more cautious or acted more swiftly...

"We need to intubate her," one of them says after assembling some equipment. Her throat has swelled shut, making breathing impossible.

We yield to their expertise, and once the tube is in place, we deliver two more rescue breaths. We continue CPR until we hear the AED restarting.

"Following the heart's rhythm," we move aside and wait. My heart pounds in my ears as we stand by. "You have to shock her," the paramedic directs after a brief pause, and the heart rate monitor begins to beep.

"Okay, we've got her," the EMT states. "She's stabilized, but her heart rate is still weak."

As I sit back on my heels, they initiate an IV. "We need to sedate her to prevent further breathing difficulties during transport to the hospital. We have the necessary equipment to address her condition." He instructs them to administer medication, prepare a stretcher, and prepare her for transport.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" I ask, and the paramedic sighs.

"We won't know for a few days. Is she here with family?"

"She was here with her friends just now. She knows someone," I reply.

"I understand," he acknowledges. I feel guilty, as if I allowed this to happen to her. The other paramedic uses a bag-mask to assist her breathing, and I feel a chill. "But she and her friends are all young." He nods and jots something down in his notebook as I provide more information. "I'm sorry."

"Hon, you did everything you could, and that was a lot," he reassures me. "Leave her in our care. You and your team did everything within your power."

"Alright," I mutter, and they converse with Micheala, likely about paperwork and contact information. After she departs, her friends follow suit, and the three of us remain on the pool deck with heavy hearts.

My chest aches with every breath, and my eyes burn. What did I do wrong?

"Micheala says, "The three of you should pack up and bring everything to the office, where we'll debrief." We stow away the first-aid kit, and I head to the lifeguards' office with the others.

In these situations, we're required to complete a form that feels self-reflective. She informs us that we can reach out to her if we need to talk. I remain silent, fearing that speaking will bring tears.

She instructs them, "Okay, you three need to head home." She sighs and shakes her head. "The pool is closed for the night, so go get some rest. I'll inform the front desk." We comply with her instructions. "You won't be back to work for a week, so I'll find someone to cover your shifts. If you need more time after a week, let me know."

We all rise and begin gathering our belongings. I need to leave.

"Also, I can't stress this enough," she says, folding her hands on her desk. "Don't spend the night alone at home; go stay with someone who cares about you."

We all nod. I should probably call my parents, I think.

I'm the last one to leave the office, carrying a bag filled with the clothes I wore earlier. My body is exhausted, my legs ache, and my knees are bruised from the pool deck.

"Julianna?" she calls out. "Turn around," and I comply. "I want you to know that you handled the situation well today. These things happen." I respond with a silent nod, feeling tears brimming in my eyes. I return to the pool deck, slipping my feet into the sandals I had kicked off earlier. Then, I put on my raincoat and rush out the door, carrying the rest of my clothes in my backpack.

I can't catch my breath until I'm outside. The rain pelts down on me, but I need to feel it. My anxiety won't subside, and I'm uncertain about what to do next.