video and was fairly certain he wasn't having a coronary. His skin was a little pale, but not ashen and he didn't look or feel clammy. She grabbed his hand and took his pulse. It was very fast, but regular and strong. He wasn't sweating and he didn't seem to be having any pain in his chest. He was, however, hyperventilating and in grave danger of passing out if he didn't bring it under control. She took a firm hold of his head and made him look at her.
'Nat, shush…listen to me. It isn't your heart. You're not having a heart attack - you're breathing too fast and you're not getting enough air. You need to slow down or you're going to pass out. Do you understand?'
It didn't appear that he did. His rapid breathing had blown off his carbon dioxide, his stimulus to breathe properly, and it was up to her to do something to correct the balance. She remembered the apples she had bought that morning and the paper bag they came in.
She made to get up. 'I'll be one second, Nat! Don't move.'
He grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back down to him. 'Don't…leave me,' he pleaded. 'I'm…going…to die…help me…Meg…I…don't want…to die!'
Panicking, he took a strong, painful hold on her arm. She broke free to place her hands against his head and hold him still, forcing him to look at her. His eyes wandered from her for an instant, oxygen imbalance affecting his ability to concentrate.
'Look at me, Nat! You're not going to die! Do you hear me? You are not going to die! I won't let you!' She shook him gently to get his attention. 'Listen to me! Are you listening?' She could see he wasn't. 'Breathe with me, dammit. Come on, slowly in…and out…and again. Come on, try.'
Her effort was already lost cause, he was drifting toward unconsciousness. His eyes lost focus and rolled, his head flopped to his shoulder and he became an insensible, unresponsive weight. Unable to hold onto him, she let him slide to the ground where the side of his head struck the floor with a dull thud .
Almost immediately, oblivion released him from the grip of his panic attack and his breathing began to slow, becoming deeper and more consistent.
She strained to heave him onto his side and arrange him into a classic recovery position, snatching the cushion from the chair and sliding it under his head for what little comfort and protection it would offer. She then sat on the floor beside him to tend to her own wound.
A small sliver of glass had pierced the fabric of her trousers and lodged itself in the skin of her knee. She rolled the leg material and plucked at the sharp shard with her fingernail, carefully working it free, all the while trying not to look at the bright red blob oozing from the nick. She managed to fight off the wave of nausea that usually accompanied even the briefest sight of her own blood.
Nat's breathing was now regular and even and it took a little over five more minutes more before he groaned and rolled slowly over onto his back. He blinked open his eyes and stared up at her.
'Lie still.' She took his hand to feel for his pulse again. It had slowed considerably from the hammering it had been just moments ago. Hers, however, was racing. 'Just rest,' she said. 'You'll be okay in a minute or two.'
Ignoring her counsel, he tried to sit up. Overcome with dizziness, he lay back down.
'Do as you're told why don't you?' she chided. 'Be still.'
'What the fuck just happened?' he said, still groggy and rubbing at a spot on his head where a small lump was beginning to form.
'You passed out.'
'Wha'?'
'You had a panic attack.'
'Don't talk stupid, woman.'
'You got yourself all het up over something and when you couldn't get your breath, you passed out. A panic attack.'
'Where the hell did that come from?'
'You were yelling at someone on the phone. I heard you when I came in. You were pretty upset. That must have been the trigger. Do you remember what it was about?'
He frowned. 'No. I thought I was having a heart attack. I thought I
'Nat, shush…listen to me. It isn't your heart. You're not having a heart attack - you're breathing too fast and you're not getting enough air. You need to slow down or you're going to pass out. Do you understand?'
It didn't appear that he did. His rapid breathing had blown off his carbon dioxide, his stimulus to breathe properly, and it was up to her to do something to correct the balance. She remembered the apples she had bought that morning and the paper bag they came in.
She made to get up. 'I'll be one second, Nat! Don't move.'
He grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back down to him. 'Don't…leave me,' he pleaded. 'I'm…going…to die…help me…Meg…I…don't want…to die!'
Panicking, he took a strong, painful hold on her arm. She broke free to place her hands against his head and hold him still, forcing him to look at her. His eyes wandered from her for an instant, oxygen imbalance affecting his ability to concentrate.
'Look at me, Nat! You're not going to die! Do you hear me? You are not going to die! I won't let you!' She shook him gently to get his attention. 'Listen to me! Are you listening?' She could see he wasn't. 'Breathe with me, dammit. Come on, slowly in…and out…and again. Come on, try.'
Her effort was already lost cause, he was drifting toward unconsciousness. His eyes lost focus and rolled, his head flopped to his shoulder and he became an insensible, unresponsive weight. Unable to hold onto him, she let him slide to the ground where the side of his head struck the floor with a dull thud .
Almost immediately, oblivion released him from the grip of his panic attack and his breathing began to slow, becoming deeper and more consistent.
She strained to heave him onto his side and arrange him into a classic recovery position, snatching the cushion from the chair and sliding it under his head for what little comfort and protection it would offer. She then sat on the floor beside him to tend to her own wound.
A small sliver of glass had pierced the fabric of her trousers and lodged itself in the skin of her knee. She rolled the leg material and plucked at the sharp shard with her fingernail, carefully working it free, all the while trying not to look at the bright red blob oozing from the nick. She managed to fight off the wave of nausea that usually accompanied even the briefest sight of her own blood.
Nat's breathing was now regular and even and it took a little over five more minutes more before he groaned and rolled slowly over onto his back. He blinked open his eyes and stared up at her.
'Lie still.' She took his hand to feel for his pulse again. It had slowed considerably from the hammering it had been just moments ago. Hers, however, was racing. 'Just rest,' she said. 'You'll be okay in a minute or two.'
Ignoring her counsel, he tried to sit up. Overcome with dizziness, he lay back down.
'Do as you're told why don't you?' she chided. 'Be still.'
'What the fuck just happened?' he said, still groggy and rubbing at a spot on his head where a small lump was beginning to form.
'You passed out.'
'Wha'?'
'You had a panic attack.'
'Don't talk stupid, woman.'
'You got yourself all het up over something and when you couldn't get your breath, you passed out. A panic attack.'
'Where the hell did that come from?'
'You were yelling at someone on the phone. I heard you when I came in. You were pretty upset. That must have been the trigger. Do you remember what it was about?'
He frowned. 'No. I thought I was having a heart attack. I thought I
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