Something stings, but after a little while the dizziness recedes somewhat, and Ma'ar's mostly-empty stomach stops trying to turn itself inside out. He coughs, and tries to spit, except that someone is shoving something in his mouth again. Why do they keep doing that. 

...The familiar mind is back. The one person who, as far as he can tell, hasn't tried to hurt him at all. He doesn't understand why she's here now, right in front of all the other guards-or-whatever, but - maybe - if he can stay conscious and concentrate for just a few more seconds... 

Her hand is on his arm. She's saying incomprehensible words; comforting ones, he thinks, though he doesn't understand the content. Her mind is focused on him, trying to communicate, and so unconsciously holding herself open. It's hard, incredibly hard, like lifting a massive boulder - but he can reach her with a whisper of Mindspeech. 

:Help: 

Marian doesn't jump this time. She's busy taping the precious IV line in place more thoroughly, and looking for other veins though she's not hugely hopeful, and she's not looking at the patient's face when she hears - not-hears? - the word. But he's obviously freaked out, understandably so, and this is a situation she's been in before. Lots of times. 

She wraps her hand around his and squeezes. "You're going to be okay. You're very sick right now, but we're here to help." He remembers her, she thinks; his eyes are fixed on her now, desperate and pleading. "Listen to me. I work here and I'm not going anywhere. These nurses need to give you some drugs to put you to sleep, for a while, so you can get better. But I'll be there when you wake up. Okay?" 

Even with the young woman - scarcely more than a girl, really, now that he can see her face in better light - holding her mind open, Ma'ar can only grab onto fragments of her surface thoughts. 

She says he's ill. Well, something definitely feels wrong. Maybe the other guards hurt him worse than they had meant to? The girl is saying that she's allowed to be here. That he has to sleep, but...she's staying. 

It's a slim thread of hope, but right now it's the only one he has. 

Marian considers asking if she can have her hand back, but she's really not sure the guy is lucid enough to follow, and besides, she feels too bad about it. She has good access to his IV line, here, and she can push meds one-handed. 

The monitor dings. 

"BP up to 120 systolic, think that's enough wiggle room. Sats at 98%, we're not going to get better than that. Marian, maybe bump the norepi drip up to four before you push the propofol, just in case? Where's respiratory therapy - are we waiting for them?" 

     "Probably in shift report," Matt mutters, looking over at the clock. "Which I need to be in in fifteen minutes. I can bag him." 

Emmy nods. She almost asks Marian what the deal is, how she can get this patient to chill out - at least a little - but now doesn't seem like the time. "Right. Let's go." 

Marian manages to one-handedly - and only slightly using her teeth - alcohol-swap the port in the IV line, and screw on the propofol syringe. "...Uh. How much. I don't think he needs all of it." 

"God, no! Start with 4 ccs, we'll go from there. He's already got some midazolam in his system." 

One is not technically supposed to push propofol through a line running norepinephrine, but probably it'll be fine, and Marian has other worries right now. She holds eye contact while she pushes the drug in and, rather than re-capping the syringe, shoves it in the opened saline-flush package in case she needs the rest later. She manages to get the saline pushed through as well before anything terrible can happen to the two drugs mixing in the short length of tubing. 

She keeps talking to the patient until his eyes close. Not really saying anything with content, she suspects he isn't parsing most of it anyway, just...reminding him that she's there. 

It doesn't feel like falling asleep. It doesn't feel like anything, really. Just - one moment the world is there, and then the curtains close and there's nothing. 

The phone picks this exact minute to ring. 

"It's probably the lab! Someone needs to answer that!" Emmy's hands are very busy right now. 

     Matt gets it. Listens for about three seconds. "- Got some critical results for this guy." 

"What a big surprise." Emmy's voice is flat; she's trying to concentrate. "What ar– Marian, I don't have a good position here, help me wedge this pillow further down? ...What are the results." 

     "Magnesium and phosphate critically low. Phosphate is...zero point nine. I didn't know that was possible. Potassium's pretty low but not quite in critical range. Calcium's low too." 

Marian doesn't swear out loud but she's doing it a lot in her head. 

"Shit. We need another line - I think mag's one of the ones you really shouldn't run with propofol. Matt, call the pharmacy and get IV supplements as fast as you possibly can." 

     "What dose?" 

"- I don't have a clue and I'm a little busy." ...Did she say that out loud. That's mortifying. "They're pharmacists, they should know– Got it! I think! Marian, mind listening for air entry?" 

Marian feels pointlessly for her stethoscope around her neck, before remembering that she wasn't actually done getting ready for her shift. "If I can borrow your stethoscope? Thanks. ...Got bilateral air entry. I think. Sats are - crap what happened to the sat probe, sorry -" 

Emmy looks down at the patient's face. 

"Marian." 

She finishes swapping the sat probe to another finger. "What?" 

"Can you check if we've still got a pulse. He looks..." 

It's not a dead person colour - yet - but it's not exactly an alive-person colour either. Emmy would check but she's having that inconvenient and horribly embarrassing problem where her hands are shaking and she's not sure she would be able to tell. 

Marian nods and does this, with the same sort of distant matter-of-factness she would if Dr Beckett had asked her to pass the tape. 

"...I think so?" She glowers at the monitor tracing, trying to decide if the faint fluttering that she maybe feels under her fingertips matches the rate of those too-slow spikes. "Uh. I'd like it if I were...more...sure of that..." 

She has one hand free, at least, if she awkwardly cranes around she can bump the norepinephrine up to its maximum rate without otherwise moving.

"His cardiac output is probably shit right now, with everything that out of whack. Can someone who has their hands free right now please look up whether, uh, 31 C is cold enough that epi might not work. Also it's past seven can someone please page Dr Prissan right now that holy crap that got bad faster than I'd expected. And we should get a blood gas and a lactate. ...Also I think I'm just going to assume he's really acidotic and would benefit from an amp of bicarb before we have results. Uh is someone writing that down...?" 

Marian kind of wants to tell Emmy to take a deep breath, but it feels too patronizing to say in front of everyone else standing around. She cycles the blood pressure again instead. 

The machine considers this with bemusement for a while, deflating and re-flating a few times, and eventually settles on 67/39, which is honestly a lot better than it could be. The sat probe is still picking up occasional ripples but not managing to settle on a waveform. 

"You're pretty sure there's a room ready?" Emmy asks Marian quietly. "How would you feel about we push some epi and then run like hell down that hallway? Because I would much rather be there and not here." 

"...There's a room that I'm pretty sure is empty. I, uh, haven't checked if it's fully set up, it probably isn't. I guess if we steal the suction canister from here then we'll have a backup plan at least. Oh, and I don't know if admissions is going to, uh. Have a snit if we just decide to stick him there without telling the computer. If he's not properly admitted then I don't think the Pyxis would let us get drugs and I would rather be somewhere we can get drugs." 

"I suppose we're waiting for some phosphate and mag and I don't want those getting lost."

Emmy remembers to take a deep breath. It helps. 

Marian takes another blood pressure. "We're up to 72/45. That's...any better, I guess. Uh, want me to try for another IV while we're here anyway? Guessing you'd rather do a line over on the unit."