Oy, my wrists! CPR/First Aid certification training

One of the universal bits of Americorps training is getting your Red Cross CPR/First Aid certs. Pretty much, if you’re going to be working around people who are doing things, you’ll need to be certified by the Red Cross in order to get govt. grant money to do so. It’s just the way things are. And it’s also a massive pain for us geekazoids with repetitive-strain-weakened, Barbie-sized, decorative-only-not-for-actual-use wrists, like me.

Ouchie.

I just about couldn’t hold my pencil for the written exam at the end of the CPR class.

(And what sort of temporary mental retardation is it exactly that makes me always fill in at least one answer that I know on a multiple choice test incorrectly? Like filling in “A” for “All of the above”, which is actually answer “D.” GAH! I hate that! )

I mean, it’s nice knowing I can yank some poor near-escapee back from the brink of coporeal release with my bare hands, but man…you gotta worry about a life-saving technique that involves the possibility that your would-be savior is standing over you as you breathe your last debating over whether saving you is worth possible permanent manual disability. Because, if we’re talking about an IT code-monkey who makes more money keeping the corporation’s hinky software afloat than most of the grunts upsatairs make shifting paper, the answer may well be “no.” Especially if you’ve called him or her up from the comfortably darkened and climate-controlled depths of IT out into the sunlit regions of meatspace to show you how to make “that CD thingy” work, again, more than twice this week.

I’m not saying it’s a choice I would make. It’s just that the standard “keep doing CPR until you are too exhausted to continue” bit is likely to come way earlier in the game with me than with some of our team’s ex-volleyball stars. I’m just saying.

The first aid bits were easy though. After you’ve lived through your husband taking off two fingertips, slicing through the tendons on a third and degloving a major chunk of his palm with a circular saw – and the months of wound care that follow – you’re in pretty good shape when it comes to the “wound-bandaging demonstration test.” And my splinting sk11z are off the hook, yo. Plus, I’m only barf-squeamish, not blood squeamish – I’m big CSI fan with years of experience eagerly oggling gruesomely recreated and vividly lit wounds – so as long as you’re bleeding and not hurling I’m right there with you.

So, if I were you, I’d stick with me for all of your open wound needs and leave the CPR stuff to someone whose wrists don’t get whiny after a hard night banging out blog posts.

*whimper*

PS: Tomorrow is our re-scheduled boat trip. Looks like the weather will be perfect. Crap. Stay tuned for further updates from the burn center’s Terminal Overexposure to unAcclimated Sunlight Therapy (TOAST) ward.

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