I took a CPR/First Aid class yesterday to be a better babysitter. When we arrived at the class, a pile of legless, armless, decoy people were lying in a pile on the floor. There were even a few limbless babies in that pile. It was very disturbing.
We watched an American Heart Association DVD and then were directed to sit on the floor and choose a fake person – I’ll call them Peeps. It wasn’t that hard; they were all the same.
My Peep looked up at me with cream-colored eye sockets (he had no eyeballs that I could see). He did have a squishy chest, a bald head, and even a bellybutton. He had a mouth as well, which was guarded, for hygienic reasons, by a plastic sheet that went into his mouth, down his throat, and into his torso. Disposable lungs.
I did not like Peep.
As much as I disliked him, suddenly he was dying. What was I going to do? I had to save him! Peep – and all his buddies – were unconscious!
I looked left and right. “The scene is safe,” I announced. Then I tapped his shoulders. “Are you OK? Are you OK?” Peep didn’t say anything. I know what he was thinking: Do I LOOK OK?!
Since he made no reply, I had to take action.
I pulled his neck back, pinched his nose, and took a deep breath. I leaned down, hesitantly, and pressed my mouth against Peep’s. I wondered how many people had done this before. I breathed two deep breaths into him, and to my horror, his chest rose and fell.
I had to stay calm. “Good, Peep,” I said, and began pounding on his chest to the beat of the DVD. “One. Two. Three. Four.” I counted my way up to thirty. With each compression, his chest gave a sickening click. I wondered how many of his ribs I had broken already.
Two more breaths. Thirty more compressions. 2 breaths. 30 compressions. I repeated this over and over, a little light headed, bouncing up and down against his chest. I don’t know how I did it. It must have been the adrenaline rush. You can Google it.
Finally, it was over. Now it was time for infant CPR.
There must have been a defect when God made the Peeps, because they obviously were highly susceptible to dying. Peep Jr. thought he’d take after his father and stopped breathing.
I confirmed that the scene was safe and began to save the life of the little stubby dude. I cocked his head back – a bit too hastily; his neck snapped. I was in the zone now. I stuck my finger between his man-made nipples and started pressing my fingers into his chest, not realizing I was spearing him with my nails in the process. Oh well, he’ll live.
It was over and I was exhausted. Peep Jr. still looked a little pale; his skin was cold and his eyes unseeing, but I figured he’d better be OK by now.
I saved two precious lives that day. I was proud as a peacock. That is, until we had to dispose of the Peeps’ lungs. I pulled at the plastic around Peep’s mouth. It came up and got caught on something in his throat. I gave another pull and threw the lungs in the trash.
So long, Peep. It was nice saving you.