Aimee didn't even grab a jacket. Wearing only her thin navy scrubs, she threw open her door and sprinted down the three flights of stairs, taking them two at a time.
She shoved open the heavy front door of the building and burst out onto the chilly autumn street. Her eyes scanned the pavement wildly.
Near a small patch of grass by the corner, a little boy—maybe seven years old—was on his knees. He was screaming, tears streaming down his face as he shook the shoulder of an elderly man lying flat on his back.
Aimee sprinted toward them, shoving past three bystanders who were just standing there with their phones out. She dropped to her knees on the damp grass.
The old man's hands were clawing desperately at his own throat. His face was rapidly turning a horrifying shade of purple.
"I'm a doctor! Back up! Give him air!" Aimee screamed at the crowd.
She leaned over the man, pressing her ear close to his mouth. She heard a high-pitched, whistling gasp—stridor. His airway was closing.
Aimee placed her hands on the angles of his lower jaw and pushed upward, performing a jaw-thrust maneuver to open the airway. It didn't help.
She forced his mouth open and checked for food or objects. Nothing.
"A big bee bit him!" the little boy, Leo, sobbed hysterically. "Right on his neck!"
Aimee's blood ran cold. She ripped open the collar of the old man's flannel shirt.
Right over his carotid artery was a massive, rapidly swelling red welt. A black stinger was still embedded in the center of the swollen flesh.
Her brain fired rapidly. Anaphylactic shock.
"Who has an EpiPen?!" Aimee roared at the crowd, her voice cracking with desperation.
The bystanders stared at her blankly. No one moved.
The old man's lips were turning blue. Cyanosis was setting in.
Aimee pointed a shaking finger at a teenager holding a phone. "Call 911! Tell them we have a severe anaphylactic reaction with airway compromise! Now!"
She used the edge of her fingernail to carefully scrape the stinger sideways off the skin, making sure not to pinch the venom sac and inject more poison into his bloodstream.
Suddenly, the old man's body seized. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his hands fell limply to the grass. He lost consciousness.
Aimee didn't hesitate. She interlocked her fingers, placed the heel of her hand on the lower half of his sternum, and locked her elbows. She began deep, rapid chest compressions.
One, two, three, four... She counted the rhythm in her head. Sweat broke out on her forehead, stinging her eyes.
Leo wailed louder. Aimee kept pumping the chest, turning her head to lock eyes with the terrified boy. "He is going to be okay," she said, her voice projecting absolute, commanding calm.
Her intense focus worked. Leo stopped screaming and just gripped his grandfather's pant leg.
Two agonizing minutes later, the wail of a siren cut through the air.
Aimee didn't stop her compressions. "Go wave them down!" she yelled at a bystander.
A red and white FDNY ambulance slammed on its brakes next to the curb. Two EMTs jumped out, hauling heavy orange trauma bags.
"Elderly male, bee sting, severe anaphylaxis, airway is completely swollen shut!" Aimee barked the handover without missing a beat of her compressions.
The younger EMT immediately pulled an EpiPen from the bag and jammed it hard into the outer muscle of the old man's thigh.
But it was too late. The monitor they hooked up began to emit a rapid, high-pitched alarm. His oxygen saturation was plummeting.
The senior EMT grabbed an Ambu bag and clamped the mask over the man's face, squeezing the bag hard.
"The air isn't going in!" the EMT yelled, panic bleeding into his voice. "The airway is totally locked!"
Aimee stared at the monitor. The jagged line of his heart rate was widening, preparing to flatline. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits.
