I've taken CPR & First Aid when I was in Junior High, but it has of course changed since then. I expected that, and I certainly learned some things that are super duper helpful.
For example, DID YOU KNOW that you're supposed to make chest compressions at 100 beats per minute? But who has time to think about rhythm when you're saving a life? Not this chick. So the tip? Sing the BeeGee's Stayin' Alive while you do it!
John Travolta and leisure suits save the day. Who knew?
So yeah all that was cool. But I do not EVER remember being told that I need to push hard enough to BREAK THEIR RIB CAGE. The facilitator said that CPR, when done correctly, is a violent act that statistically only ends up working 7% of the time it's implemented. You literally have to squish the heart between the breast bone and the back bone.
Excuse me?
Squish the heart?
Break bones?
Be violent?
Eww, for starters. Break my heart too. The facilitator - who, by the way, is a retired nurse - said "I see the mortification in all of your faces. When this class is finished I'll ring all of the humanity out of you."
I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly.
That thought definitely made it's way through my mind on more than one occasion. I get her point - saving their life is more important - and evidently her husband is taking chemo and she had to wake up on the hour every hour all night long to administer his medication so I think she was a bit more glib than she meant to be. Still, it just jarred me.
I'd imagine that the little plastic baby was Lydia and it would make me feel sick. And I felt myself freeze up, and then my doubts would worm their way to the forefront of my mind. Those doubts that are so fierce you KNOW they aren't organic. They are of the devil, pure and simple. He's an opportunist, always waiting in the wings to twist a knife somewhere soft.
I know that. I KNOW THAT. But the knife still twists.
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