Normal…. Normal…. Normal…. COLLAPSE!!

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

(Verse 1)
Dispatch says “pediatric weakness,”
But the mother’s voice sounds like defeat.
Rain on the windshield, diesel in the air,
I already know something’s wrong there.

Little boy curled on the bathroom tile,
Fever burning hard for quite a while.
Vomiting, diarrhea, skin gone pale,
Cap refill delayed and pulses frail.

Dad says he stopped eating yesterday,
Dark tarry stool before we came.
History running through my head:
Blood loss? Infection? Something else instead?

Restless eyes and trembling hands,
Trying hard just to understand.
Tachycardia screaming through the room,
Tiny body circling cardiac doom.

(Pre-Chorus)
Children compensate till they break,
Quiet collapse with every breath they take.
Blood pressure falling is the final sign,
By then you’re already racing time.

(Chorus)
Shock index climbing over one tonight,
Heart rate faster than the systolic line.
Seventy plus age times two,
That’s the pressure I’m fighting through.

IO drill in a shaking leg,
Fluids wide while the monitor begs.
Ten per kilo if the heart can’t cope,
Twenty if hypovolemia owns the road.

Because pediatric shock
Doesn’t always scream—
Sometimes it whispers
Through fluorescent dreams.

(Verse 2)
Cardiac monitor glowing green,
Capnography tracing everything.
Twelve-lead printing under ambulance light,
Trying to catch what hides from sight.

Differentials spiral through my brain:
Could this be septic? Trauma? Pain?
Cardiogenic failure? Congenital disease?
Anaphylaxis tightening lungs to freeze?

Distributive shock feels warm at first,
Pink skin hiding how bad it hurts.
Obstructive shock steals breath away,
One collapsed lung can end the day.

Needle decompression tray in reach,
Because tension kills before it speaks.
Distended neck veins in a tiny chest,
Muffled heart sounds stealing rest.

(Breakdown)
Kids don’t crash slowly.
They fall off cliffs.

Tachycardia first.
Hypotension last.
And bradycardia means
You’re already losing them.

(Chorus)
Push-dose epi through the line,
One microgram per kilo at a time.
Norepinephrine if the pressure won’t stay,
Trying to hold perfusion another day.

Fluids running cold and fast,
Sixty per kilo if the shock still lasts.
Every reassessment feels like war,
Every heartbeat harder than before.

(Bridge)
Sepsis smells like sweat and fear,
And every medic learns it year by year.
One sick child can change a crew,
Leave silence where adrenaline blew.

Mom keeps asking, “Is he okay?”
While I count respirations under my breath.
Because deep down we all know this truth:
Kids can look fine
Right before death.

Acute adrenal crisis crosses my mind,
Hypotension with abdominal signs.
Methylpred drawn beneath dim light,
Trying to buy another night.

(Outro)
Children’s hospital bay at four AM,
Another handoff, another near end.
“Patient improving,” I quietly say,
While dried saline stains my sleeves gray.

Truck washed down.
Monitor reset.
But I still hear that tiny pulse ox yet.

Because pediatric shock
Never leaves your chest—
It lives in the silence
After the sirens rest.

3034/7500

(Verse 1) Dispatch says “pediatric weakness,” But the mother’s voice sounds like defeat. Rain on the windshield, diesel in the air, I already know something’s wrong there. Little boy curled on the bathroom tile, Fever burning hard for quite a while. Vomiting, diarrhea, skin gone pale, Cap refill delayed and pulses frail. Dad says he stopped eating yesterday, Dark tarry stool before we came. History running through my head: Blood loss? Infection? Something else instead? Restless eyes and trembling hands, Trying hard just to understand. Tachycardia screaming through the room, Tiny body circling cardiac doom. (Pre-Chorus) Children compensate till they break, Quiet collapse with every breath they take. Blood pressure falling is the final sign, By then you’re already racing time. (Chorus) Shock index climbing over one tonight, Heart rate faster than the systolic line. Seventy plus age times two, That’s the pressure I’m fighting through. IO drill in a shaking leg, Fluids wide while the monitor begs. Ten per kilo if the heart can’t cope, Twenty if hypovolemia owns the road. Because pediatric shock Doesn’t always scream— Sometimes it whispers Through fluorescent dreams. (Verse 2) Cardiac monitor glowing green, Capnography tracing everything. Twelve-lead printing under ambulance light, Trying to catch what hides from sight. Differentials spiral through my brain: Could this be septic? Trauma? Pain? Cardiogenic failure? Congenital disease? Anaphylaxis tightening lungs to freeze? Distributive shock feels warm at first, Pink skin hiding how bad it hurts. Obstructive shock steals breath away, One collapsed lung can end the day. Needle decompression tray in reach, Because tension kills before it speaks. Distended neck veins in a tiny chest, Muffled heart sounds stealing rest. (Breakdown) Kids don’t crash slowly. They fall off cliffs. Tachycardia first. Hypotension last. And bradycardia means You’re already losing them. (Chorus) Push-dose epi through the line, One microgram per kilo at a time. Norepinephrine if the pressure won’t stay, Trying to hold perfusion another day. Fluids running cold and fast, Sixty per kilo if the shock still lasts. Every reassessment feels like war, Every heartbeat harder than before. (Bridge) Sepsis smells like sweat and fear, And every medic learns it year by year. One sick child can change a crew, Leave silence where adrenaline blew. Mom keeps asking, “Is he okay?” While I count respirations under my breath. Because deep down we all know this truth: Kids can look fine Right before death. Acute adrenal crisis crosses my mind, Hypotension with abdominal signs. Methylpred drawn beneath dim light, Trying to buy another night. (Outro) Children’s hospital bay at four AM, Another handoff, another near end. “Patient improving,” I quietly say, While dried saline stains my sleeves gray. Truck washed down. Monitor reset. But I still hear that tiny pulse ox yet. Because pediatric shock Never leaves your chest— It lives in the silence After the sirens rest.

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