Hello there, you valuable member of society! How’s it going?
Yesterday was my first in a two-day training course in paediatric first aid (or PFA for those in the know, darling). It’s a strange experience, because it combines something incredibly important and worth knowing (i.e. how to save a life. Thank you, The Fray) with something quite amusing: twelve strangers in a room spending all day pretending to resuscitate the world’s creepiest doll.
First aid is truly vital, and ordinary members of the public save lives all the time by knowing its procedures. I am truly grateful to have this opportunity to learn more about it, and I only hope that if I am ever in a situation where I need to use my newly-found skills, I will be able to stay calm enough to remember what the heck I’m supposed to do. Having said that, yesterday’s training gave me several moments of amusement, and I would like to share a few of them with you.
Firstly, the trainer was a lovely woman who was clearly very passionate about her work, but she was also pretty odd. For example, she was explaining the importance of sensory perception when approaching a patient: “what can you see? Blood, perhaps? What can you hear? Is their breathing a bit shallow or too quick? What can you smell? Maybe they’ve been sick. What can you feel? Are there any swellings or possible broken bones?” All very sane and sensible advice, you might think. Absolutely. But the poor woman ruined her point by adding in the serious, long-suffering tones of someone who has genuinely had to deal with this scenario before, “Not taste, though. That’s the only sense you mustn’t use. Never taste your patient.”
Secondly, as you may already know, current thinking on CPR is that you should give thirty chest compressions followed by two rescue breaths, and the compressions should be in a tempo of 100-120 compressions per minute. Roughly speaking, this is a similar tempo to the Bee Gee’s hit Stayin’ Alive, which is a bit tongue in cheek, but makes it pretty memorable. The only problem with this handy hint was that every single person in yesterday’s training session almost failed the CPR section, purely because we kept humming the song to ourselves and losing count of how many compressions we’d done.
Last but by no means least, our trainer was also one of those people who has some verbal peculiarities. Some of them are the kind that would usually drive me up the wall, such as saying “pacific” when she meant “specific”. However, there was one oddity that endeared her to me forever: when lecturing us on the importance of abdominal thrusts (also known as the Heimlich Manoeuvre), she kept referring to them as “abominable thrusts”. I am ashamed to say that I had to excuse myself more than once to go and have a giggle in the corridor.
So, having unsuccessfully reassured you that I’m mature enough to save lives, I will go back for a second day of training and hope for better things. You have yourself a merry little Wednesday.