Dreamboat (Resusci) Annie

If you're going to collapse you have two weeks. Yesterday I completed my biennial CPR/first aid class and I figure I'll have forgotten it all long before I'll have the chance to dislodge a razor from an unlucky Trick-or-Treater's throat. But today I'm roaring with confidence. It helps that they've really simplified things since I last took the course, a fact I find fascinating. I mean, CPR's been around a long time now, I think, but they're constantly tinkering with it, changing
the techniques. I supposed it's encouraging that they're never satisfied, that they want to evolve, but part of me wants them to just get their act together. Last week it had been two years since I learned this stuff, and a guy at work went into repiratory arrest. Fortunately I was able to call 911 while the guy was still conscious and saying "I feel funny" (he hit the ground when the EMT tried to get him off the couch), but it was too damn close for comfort. What would've really pissed me off is if I had to perform CPR and failed because I was struggling to remember how many fingerlengths below the breastbone to place my hands, and then found out that, "No, you don't need to worry about that silly stuff anymore! Just put 'em between the nipples."


The saddest thing was my boss's laugh when I asked if we'd be getting a defibilator.The guy had just demonstrated how easy they are (It speaks! It tells you what do-- FW knows about this--in a calming, authoritative voice! It's like an Oracle that wants you to change fate!) so of course we need one on the unit. But my boss's laugh: They cost $2000. An agency that resisted giving us freakin' walkie talkies is not spending $2000. Good thing we live in Puget Sound, however.
It's got the highest population of CPR trained people in the world.

Until we all forget it in two weeks.