Not just a little rash.

Storytelling, grunge, beat drop, emo, epic, heartfelt, theatrical, circus, catchy

(Verse 1)
Dispatch cracks through static rain,
“Pediatric allergic reaction,” screaming parents in pain.
Backseat tears and swollen eyes,
Little lungs pulling shallow tries.

Mom says it started twenty minutes ago,
Birthday cake, peanuts, nobody knows.
Asked about soaps, detergent, clothes,
Medication history, every exposure.

Was it a sting?
Was it a bite?
New antibiotics started tonight?
Past reactions? Asthma before?
Now he’s cyanotic on the kitchen floor.

Hives crawling up his skin like fire,
Chest getting tight, oxygen higher.
Difficulty swallowing, wheezing screams,
Capno climbing in jagged streams.

(Pre-Chorus)
This isn’t urticaria anymore,
This is anaphylaxis at the door.
Not just itching, not just fear,
Shock is already standing here.

(Chorus)
Epi first, don’t hesitate,
Seconds decide who walks away.
0.15 if he’s under thirty kilos,
0.3 if he’s bigger, everybody knows.

Blood pressure falling through the floor,
Sixty over forty, maybe less than before.
No such thing as “stable” tonight,
I’m chasing pulses under red and blue lights.

(Verse 2)
Firefighter squeezing the BVM tight,
I’m drilling IO by fluorescent light.
Monitor screaming sinus tach,
Poor perfusion, we’re fading fast.

Twelve-lead running while the mother cries,
Cardiac monitor under ambulance lights.
IV bags swinging from ceiling rails,
Epinephrine dripping while the oxygen fails.

Listen to lungs— diminished air,
Edema swelling everywhere.
Face and lips like rising tide,
Angioedema closing inside.

Differentials running through my brain:
Could it be asthma? Shock? Airway pain?
Aspiration? Vasovagal collapse?
But this reaction’s moving too fast.

(Breakdown)
Mild is skin.
Moderate is systems.
Severe is hypotension.
And death comes with silence.

Epi IM every five,
Trying to keep this kid alive.
Diphenhydramine can wait in line,
Steroids don’t buy us time.

(Chorus)
Epi first, don’t hesitate,
Seconds decide who walks away.
Albuterol through the neb on flow,
Repeat three times if the wheezes won’t go.

Twenty per kilo crystalloid wide,
Push the fluids, keep pressure alive.
Titrate drips till the systolic climbs,
“Seventy plus age times two” tonight.

(Bridge)
I remember the protocol pearls by heart,
But medicine feels different in the dark.
Tiny fingers wrapped around my glove,
Every call reminds me what I’m made of.

The shorter the onset, the worse it gets,
That’s one lesson I’ll never forget.
No rash needed for airways to die,
Sometimes allergic reactions hide.

(Outro)
We rolled into children’s just after one,
Monitors humming beneath neon sun.
Mom mouthed “thank you” through exhausted eyes,
While I cleaned epi stains under midnight skies.

Another report.
Another near loss.
Another kid balanced
between chaos and cost.

And I still hear wheezing
when the sirens end—
Because pediatric calls
never really end.

2834/7500

(Verse 1) Dispatch cracks through static rain, “Pediatric allergic reaction,” screaming parents in pain. Backseat tears and swollen eyes, Little lungs pulling shallow tries. Mom says it started twenty minutes ago, Birthday cake, peanuts, nobody knows. Asked about soaps, detergent, clothes, Medication history, every exposure. Was it a sting? Was it a bite? New antibiotics started tonight? Past reactions? Asthma before? Now he’s cyanotic on the kitchen floor. Hives crawling up his skin like fire, Chest getting tight, oxygen higher. Difficulty swallowing, wheezing screams, Capno climbing in jagged streams. (Pre-Chorus) This isn’t urticaria anymore, This is anaphylaxis at the door. Not just itching, not just fear, Shock is already standing here. (Chorus) Epi first, don’t hesitate, Seconds decide who walks away. 0.15 if he’s under thirty kilos, 0.3 if he’s bigger, everybody knows. Blood pressure falling through the floor, Sixty over forty, maybe less than before. No such thing as “stable” tonight, I’m chasing pulses under red and blue lights. (Verse 2) Firefighter squeezing the BVM tight, I’m drilling IO by fluorescent light. Monitor screaming sinus tach, Poor perfusion, we’re fading fast. Twelve-lead running while the mother cries, Cardiac monitor under ambulance lights. IV bags swinging from ceiling rails, Epinephrine dripping while the oxygen fails. Listen to lungs— diminished air, Edema swelling everywhere. Face and lips like rising tide, Angioedema closing inside. Differentials running through my brain: Could it be asthma? Shock? Airway pain? Aspiration? Vasovagal collapse? But this reaction’s moving too fast. (Breakdown) Mild is skin. Moderate is systems. Severe is hypotension. And death comes with silence. Epi IM every five, Trying to keep this kid alive. Diphenhydramine can wait in line, Steroids don’t buy us time. (Chorus) Epi first, don’t hesitate, Seconds decide who walks away. Albuterol through the neb on flow, Repeat three times if the wheezes won’t go. Twenty per kilo crystalloid wide, Push the fluids, keep pressure alive. Titrate drips till the systolic climbs, “Seventy plus age times two” tonight. (Bridge) I remember the protocol pearls by heart, But medicine feels different in the dark. Tiny fingers wrapped around my glove, Every call reminds me what I’m made of. The shorter the onset, the worse it gets, That’s one lesson I’ll never forget. No rash needed for airways to die, Sometimes allergic reactions hide. (Outro) We rolled into children’s just after one, Monitors humming beneath neon sun. Mom mouthed “thank you” through exhausted eyes, While I cleaned epi stains under midnight skies. Another report. Another near loss. Another kid balanced between chaos and cost. And I still hear wheezing when the sirens end— Because pediatric calls never really end.

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