Page 3 of Fly with Me

Olive kneeled, pressing the stethoscope to his chest. He was barely breathing. He had a pulse. Perfusion poor. Color bad. Extremities cool.

The flight attendant appeared beside her again.

“They said he was eating a protein bar and coughed a couple times.”

Olive’s mind processed the information as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Not choking, though. That wouldn’t have been so fast.

The blood pressure was dangerously low.

Shit.

Protein bar.

Coughing.

She grabbed a penlight from the bag and looked at his throat. Not choking. Swelling. Allergic reaction. She breathed out slowly and grabbed the EpiPen from the emergency supplies bag. She pulled the cap and thrust it into the man’s thigh.

The man gasped and gagged. She rolled him onto his side, where he vomited. His skin was still super pale, and he wasn’t awake. Hypotension from anaphylaxis? Okay. Next steps. She tore his sleeve, wrapped a tourniquet around his arm, and started an IV. She let the fluid flow into him and checked his pressure again.

Still too damn low.

He was breathing better, but symptoms weren’t getting better quickly enough, and there was only one EpiPen in the bag.

Fuck.

Olive grabbed the mask and bag to start giving him rescue breaths. “I need someone to check with the passengers and see if anyone else has another EpiPen. Sometimes you need a second dose.”

A rash had bloomed all over his exposed skin. Olive pulled a flight attendant down to the ground and demonstrated how to give breaths with the mask.

The woman nodded nervously and picked up the motion. “I-I-I’ve had CPR training.”

“Good, thank you. You’re doing great.” Olive offered an assuring nod.

There was an AED beside her. She went ahead and ripped open the man’s shirt, sticking the pads on his chest.

If she couldn’t fix him soon, he was going to code. Could she manage a cardiac arrest here?

The other flight attendant came back with an EpiPen in his hand. Olive flipped it open and thrust it into the man’s other leg, holding it while rifling through the rest of the medications. She threw the used pen on the ground and drew up a dose of Benadryl and gave it through his IV, really hoping that Good Samaritan laws meant she wouldn’t get sued for this.

The man’s chest rose more steadily. His color improved. The hives weren’t better, but they weren’t worse either. He was breathing—really breathing. Olive stopped the attendant pushing in breaths with the bag-valve mask, and set up a continuous flow oxygen mask instead.

She took another blood pressure reading, holding her own breath as she watched the tiny needle on the gauge.

112/70.

Stable.

Olive sat back on her heels, almost gasping with relief. Thank god.

Two flight attendants helped her prop the man with a pillow. Olive sat cross-legged beside him, checking his pulse and monitoring the fluids dripping into him.

His eyes opened, and Olive leaned forward.

A hacking cough came first and then what almost sounded like a raspy laugh. “The packaging said no nuts. Those assholes.”

Olive grinned. Tears pricked her eyes. “Well, I think you should file a lawsuit. But you’re going to be okay.” She patted his shoulder.

The head flight attendant pointed to her. “This woman saved your life, sir.”

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