Page 129 of Carry On
“Please, please, please… ” I begged.
Shoving the coffee table aside, I dragged him down from the couch onto the floor and pressed my ear to his chest.
Nothing.
No heartbeat
Not even a little one.
A sob tore through me as tears flowed faster, making it damn near impossible to see the phone as I dialed 911.
“911… what is your emergency?” a woman answered. My hands shook so hard that I dropped the phone, and I rushed to put it on speaker. “Hello? Is there someone there?”
“Please… he’s not… he’s not breathing.” My voice cracked. “He’s not breathing. Help me… he’s not….”
“Who’s not breathing?” she asked.
“My husband… I think… I think he overdosed, and he’s not breathing, and I don’t know what to do,” I rambled.
“I’m going to get help for you, okay? But I want you to stay on the phone with me,” she replied. I nodded stupidly, not sure what the hell I was supposed to do. I answered her questions, giving her my name, confirming my address, and giving her the doorman’s information. “Lincoln, is your husband responsive?”
“No… no, he’s… he’s not breathing. He’s not breathing at all.”
“I need you to start chest compressions until help arrives, okay?”
“I don’t know how,” I admitted. Why hadn’t I ever bothered to learn CPR?
“That’s okay,” she assured me. “I’ll talk you through it. Is he on a flat surface?”
“Yes… yes…”
“Good, I want you to kneel next to him, keeping your knees shoulder-width apart,” she ordered. Shaking head to toe, I did as she asked. “Now, you’re going to place the heel of your hand on the center of his chest.”
I did, another sob ripping through me at his lack of breathing.
“Stay with me,” she said quickly. “Interlace your fingers with your other hand, one on top of theother.”
“Okay… okay.” I nodded as I did just that.
“Now, push hard and fast, thirty times. I want you to count out loud for me, Lincoln.”
I did, my voice catching in my throat with every number. Counting to thirty took forever.
“Keep going, Lincoln. Another thirty for me,” she ordered as I neared the end of the first set.
I did.
And I kept counting.
And begging.
And praying.
And hoping with every fiber of my being that Nash would open his eyes.
I wanted him to sit up and yell at me for being dramatic and making a scene. I wanted to fight with him about it.
I just wanted to hear his voice and know he was okay.
