Liz
Brian and I watched through the glass as they wheeled in Freddie and the dead guy on those wheely beds. The surgeons put a mask on Freddie's face and he slowly drifted off to whatever happens when you get morphined.
Watching the doctors take out his lungs and replace them... it was a fucking trip, man. They had to move his ribs and heart, it was wild, seeing our frontmen's insides. He's supposed to be in the hospital for a long time, healing and getting the replacement blood and marrow.
"Do you think it'll work," I whispered to Brian, who was standing on my right with his arms crossed. "The entire treatment plan is very new and experimental, but yes, I think he has a chance. Zin was able to donate blood to Freddie, so if they replace every vein, artery, and main bones wth the blood and marrow, there's a good chance it'll take and he'll walk away without a scratch," Brian turned away but leaned back again. "Of course he'll never be able to smoke again; it'll completely trash the work that was done to save him."
I watched as he was sewn up, ribs and lungs in their appropriate places. It took about half an hour, maybe 20 minutes, tops. It looked like the procedure went well. Freddie had a gnarly scar that looked to be around 20 centimeters long, from just below his collarbones to his diaphragm.
Suddenly, the doctors started rushing about. Having learned about biology as a young lass, I immediately thought to look for the EKG machine. That's the thing that tracks your heart rate. I soon found it to have... a flat green line.
The doctors started doing CPR while a nurse wheeled in a defibrillator. I could feel the hot, wet tears coming as I gripped Brian's arm. "Brian? Brian, you said he had a chance!"
"Do I look like a doctor?"
I watched as the doctors and surgeons shocked the man, his back arching time. I was terrified and scared and worried, all at the same time. I was supposed to have dinner with Brian on Friday, but we can't if we're burying our friend. Or cremating; he talked about wanting that instead.
Freddie was hooked up to this big tube onto his face, and the nurse put a needle of something into his IV drip.
The flat line started jumping again.
The next day
Brian
During the surgery, Freddie died on the table. From what the surgeon in charge told me, his lungs forgot to work for a moment and his heart stopped. They were able to bring him back with the defibrillator, but they had to put him in a coma.
While he's in the coma, there going to monitor his lungs. They'll take him out of it after a week, and he'll be in the hospital for a month. He has to use all of the donor's blood, which is frozen at the moment. The doctors froze it so the blood wouldn't spoil, and they've got enough marrow for his spine. They're going to out the marrow in his spine because it's apparently go to his brain, his brain will send out signals to his lungs, and he'll heal.
It's all very experimental and new technology; I personally thought it would fail.
Liz is worried out of her skin, there's nothing I can do help. She won't sleep, she's only eating a few snacks instead of meals; I don't know what to do. I'm worried, too. I mean, what if we have to bury our friend? My father died in '78, and my mother recently passed; I don't want to have to lose someone else.
The band has been taking shifts at the hospital; the order is Me, Liz, and John. I get morning shift, Liz gets afternoon and John gets night. We've decided to go ahead and continue with the album. We're writing songs, working on riffs and lyrics. The plan is to have the songs we want and when Freddie gets out, we start recording the voices.
Our album deadline is in a little less than 8 weeks, and Freddie is supposed to be out in 5 or so.
It was 12 noon the day after the surgery, and Liz walked in for her shift. "Hey Lizzie... You okay?" "I'm fine," she replied as she sat down on the chair.
"Did you take your-" "Yep." I always took care of her, making sure she ate at least 4 nuggets and took her estrogen. It was getting exhausting, having to take of both John and Liz, but I couldn't show her that. I had to stay strong, for the entire band. I was sort of the parental figure of the three; I made sure they were okay before myself. My wellbeing was less important than theirs; they can replace a guitarist any day. But it's hard to find a smart, respectful bassist, or a creative, innovative drummer.
Speaking of John, he didn't really need me to take care of him, but I sort of acted as a friend-parent, not a parent-parent. I guess he needed a friend instead of a parent, and I was more than ready to be that for him. He stayed quite strong during this whole thing, but Liz sort of... broke.
______
I unlocked the door to our flat and stepped in. It was light in the sitting room, the window let so much natural sun inside. I locked the door, hung up my jacket, and turned around to find John sitting on the couch, legs crossed.
"What the- How did you get in?"
"The window," John pointed to the sitting room window.
"But it's locked!"
"So?"
I decided not to press any further; John could be quite dark sometimes. I like to think he could sneak into Buckingham Palace, steal the crown, and be back in time for tea. "To what pleasure do I owe this visit?"
John sat forward and looked at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. (A/N- think of the way Castiel looks at Dean, the way he cocks his head)
"Brian, you're not okay." I blinked. Of course I'm okay, why would I not be. I gave a nervous chuckle, not looking him in the eyes. "What? No, I'm fine," I made to leave but John grabbed my shoulders and shoved me down. Guess I'm staying.
"No. You've been so busy worrying about us you forgot how to worry about yourself."
