Chapter 1
I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that my nerves were running haywire as I frantically paced for what seemed like hours, as the medics continued to work on him. I could hardly stay back as far as they wanted me to—fearful of missing his final moments. I needed to be with him; to see him; to hold him. But I knew that they had to do their job. I knew that I would just be in the way.
It all happened so quickly before they arrived. I remember fumbling for my phone, putting them on speaker and talking to them as I did chest compressions over and over again. I had no idea what I was doing; I wasn’t certified or anything. All I had was a general idea, and a heart full of love for the man.
It had worked.
He had breathed, but only slightly and only for short amounts of time.
A small wailing sound roared from my throat and past my lips as I held him closely, trying to shake him awake and make him breathe again. I kept trying to hold my sobs in and keep my calm, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop crying, but I pushed through the tears and kept on compressing. Until they arrived…and shoved me away.
And I wasn’t sure if it was being feet away, and unable to lay my eyes upon him, or what, but it seemed like time stood still.
“Clear!” the medic called, just before using what I believed to be the chest paddles on him.
I gasped in a wailing cry and nervously buried my hands in my hair. I tugged and yanked the strands into a ball, and pulled, hoping that the pain might take me away from the moment.
I stumbled, as I took a step back, and looked down in the puddle of vomit. I couldn’t imagine ever being as sick as he clearly was; I couldn’t imagine how I hadn’t known how sick he was that night; and I couldn’t believe that I had left him.
All that vomit…
And he was still unconscious….
Was that really going to be the way the great Derek Sholts was going to be defeated?
Derek…
Suddenly, as if I had blacked out, we were outside, and Derek was on a stretcher. I was in a daze, following him. In fact, he was all that I could focus on.
His clothes were cut down the middle so that his bare chest shined out, and I could see red marks on them, likely from the paddles and chest compressions.
I continued to look at his weak and frail body, as tears rolled down my cheek, soon followed by a multitude of others until I was a sobbing fit of a mess. I felt myself hyperventilate as I stumbled towards the ambulance. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t think; and I could hardly even walk.
“C-coming!” was all that I could manage to release from my mouth and through some miracle I was able to understand what one of the medics said. He was telling me to get in the front seat, and that I couldn’t ride in the back.
I hated it, but I listened. I made my way towards the front, hardly able to take my eyes off of them.
Over the last couple of months, he had been everything; he had all my entire focus. Being with him gave me brightness, despite the gloomy coldness of his illness. And looking at him, un-moving, unconscious, and covered in his own vomit, I felt as if he was being ripped out of my life—even sooner than I thought.
I’d fallen for him utterly and completely. And I had somehow managed to grow forgetful that a day like this was ever going to come… and I hated myself for it.
I listened in horror, as he struggled to breathe. I didn’t want to turn around and get into the large red and white vehicle; I didn’t want to take my eyes off of him. But I knew I needed to. I knew I needed to get ready to go so that we could leave as soon as they loaded him into the back.
But it was hard. All I wanted to do was look at him, go towards him, hold him, and whisper that everything was going to be alright—whether I believed it or not.
I sighed, knowing that I couldn’t.
Just as I turned on my heel to grab the front doorknob of the ambulance, I heard him breathe loudly. The crackling
I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that my nerves were running haywire as I frantically paced for what seemed like hours, as the medics continued to work on him. I could hardly stay back as far as they wanted me to—fearful of missing his final moments. I needed to be with him; to see him; to hold him. But I knew that they had to do their job. I knew that I would just be in the way.
It all happened so quickly before they arrived. I remember fumbling for my phone, putting them on speaker and talking to them as I did chest compressions over and over again. I had no idea what I was doing; I wasn’t certified or anything. All I had was a general idea, and a heart full of love for the man.
It had worked.
He had breathed, but only slightly and only for short amounts of time.
A small wailing sound roared from my throat and past my lips as I held him closely, trying to shake him awake and make him breathe again. I kept trying to hold my sobs in and keep my calm, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop crying, but I pushed through the tears and kept on compressing. Until they arrived…and shoved me away.
And I wasn’t sure if it was being feet away, and unable to lay my eyes upon him, or what, but it seemed like time stood still.
“Clear!” the medic called, just before using what I believed to be the chest paddles on him.
I gasped in a wailing cry and nervously buried my hands in my hair. I tugged and yanked the strands into a ball, and pulled, hoping that the pain might take me away from the moment.
I stumbled, as I took a step back, and looked down in the puddle of vomit. I couldn’t imagine ever being as sick as he clearly was; I couldn’t imagine how I hadn’t known how sick he was that night; and I couldn’t believe that I had left him.
All that vomit…
And he was still unconscious….
Was that really going to be the way the great Derek Sholts was going to be defeated?
Derek…
Suddenly, as if I had blacked out, we were outside, and Derek was on a stretcher. I was in a daze, following him. In fact, he was all that I could focus on.
His clothes were cut down the middle so that his bare chest shined out, and I could see red marks on them, likely from the paddles and chest compressions.
I continued to look at his weak and frail body, as tears rolled down my cheek, soon followed by a multitude of others until I was a sobbing fit of a mess. I felt myself hyperventilate as I stumbled towards the ambulance. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t think; and I could hardly even walk.
“C-coming!” was all that I could manage to release from my mouth and through some miracle I was able to understand what one of the medics said. He was telling me to get in the front seat, and that I couldn’t ride in the back.
I hated it, but I listened. I made my way towards the front, hardly able to take my eyes off of them.
Over the last couple of months, he had been everything; he had all my entire focus. Being with him gave me brightness, despite the gloomy coldness of his illness. And looking at him, un-moving, unconscious, and covered in his own vomit, I felt as if he was being ripped out of my life—even sooner than I thought.
I’d fallen for him utterly and completely. And I had somehow managed to grow forgetful that a day like this was ever going to come… and I hated myself for it.
I listened in horror, as he struggled to breathe. I didn’t want to turn around and get into the large red and white vehicle; I didn’t want to take my eyes off of him. But I knew I needed to. I knew I needed to get ready to go so that we could leave as soon as they loaded him into the back.
But it was hard. All I wanted to do was look at him, go towards him, hold him, and whisper that everything was going to be alright—whether I believed it or not.
I sighed, knowing that I couldn’t.
Just as I turned on my heel to grab the front doorknob of the ambulance, I heard him breathe loudly. The crackling
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