In November each year, my part time employer sends me to renew first aid credentials. Often I go alone and sit with groups of people who work for other companies. So when it comes to ‘partner activities’, I’m usually a bit of a Nigel (no mates) and have to lurk on the cusp of (non sexual) threesomes, asking if they mind if I ‘swap in with my own mask’.
Due to the platonic nature of the threesome (or foursome or fivesome) the ‘swapping in with mask’ question only involves body-on-body contact with one of these beauties. Nothing sordid or untoward with other humans in the first aid class.
That’s been the case during the many previous times I have attended these courses. This year, I witnessed something a little different, but when push came to shove, it was all done for the sake of ‘saving someone with the kiss of life.’
Our instructor was mid-sixties, very experienced and hard-core first aid. If it was physically possible, I’m sure she would have had a tattoo of this symbol emblazoned on her forehead.
If it was deemed politically correct, she might set up large intern camps in remote areas where civilians are conscripted for DRABC cult activities and bandage folding drills for years on end. If it were at all possible, our strict instructor may want ‘Advance Australia Fair’ to be changed to ‘First Aid’s The Loife for Moi.’
Seriously, Nan really knew her stuff. She had war stories about drug-induced coma victims slumped against moving trains, hypoglycemic sufferers impaled onto barbed wire fencing at a local jam-making festival, and bones placed at right angles to the human body when accidents occurred via skating/surfing/riding/karate/basketball/walking.
Quite scary stuff, and Nan was Mistress of the Explicit Injury Tale. So detailed were her anecdotes, a refresher course that was due to last a couple of hours went for (almost) five (sure, with a morning tea break) and a couple of ‘students’ gasped so vigorously at the verbal carnage, I was certain they would need treatment for hyperventilation.
Nan didn’t just pontificate. She was also quite the sensuous minx. During the practical demonstrations, it’s traditional for random members of the class to be ‘used’ as casualties. One is often pointed AT and asked to lay on the floor in specific ways to demonstrate a person in distress/state of unconsciousness/spinal injury possibility.
Now, before I proceed, I don’t want this to sound like sour grapes. I wasn’t chosen this year – much to my relief – and I’m not commenting on Nan’s selection because I had secret ambition TO lie spread-eagle on the floor. It’s quite uncomfortable. The carpet is often dirty and people (strangers) get to prod and jostle your hips and chest and face.
Some folk enjoy this. In the past, I may have taken little pleasure in play-acting ill/injured and being man handled by classmates, but not anymore. My hips used to enjoy being grappled with while slung into the Lateral Position, now anything resembling this movement could be grounds for an actual hip replacement.
Luckily, Nan the (young) Man (lover) wasn’t in the mood to palpate the female form. The term palpate is used in the medical assessment sense of the word …
EXCEPT for where Nan was concerned. The three young males of First Aid Troop 2009 were utilized to demonstrate every possible emergency scenario. The more malleable and attractive they were, the harder they fell . . . or is that felt? They suffered:
• breathing difficulties (shirts were too tight, undo them please)
• heart stoppage (Nan needs to feel your chest and touch your sternum with her first aid hands)
• back injury (after falling from a ladder, Nan needs to ‘frisk’ every part of your body to check for bleeding)
• head injury (Nan must put both her hands around your neck and leave them there while instructing)
• broken femur (both legs must be bandaged together for immobilization so Nan has to reach betwixt legs to negotiate this)
• broken pelvis (!)
• choking (no longer DO the Heimlich Maneuver, but Nan shows it anyway to highlight the error of this action. A shorter person performing the Maneuver on a larger MAN must reach right around the waist and place breasts to back)
• and a misaligned neck in the side position (because her patients have such BROAD shoulders and are so muscly, they need to have their head supported on Nan’s lap)
Nan! You vixen! No wonder you have been in the First Aid Arena for nigh fifty years! It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it! And you definitely have the touch.
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3 Responses to Checking For (firm-buttocked) Dangers
Oh, I can picture this perfectly. I am subjected to the same thing (not the groping…er, palpating…but the class) every year. And you get pretty cozy with your classmates pretty quickly, don’t you? In my experience, there’s always certain types in these classes: the bored teenagers who just want summer lifeguard jobs and don’t care, the over-eager wanna-be firefighters getting their first responder license, mostly so they can listen to police reports on their CB radios, and then the rest of us, who really just want these awkward 8 hours to be over.
Good times.
That Nan is a classic. I bet she goes home with moist underwear and a skip in her step. *g*
Amy? I know you’re only in it for the groping . . . er . . .palpation! LOL. yep, you get to know your classmates very well, especially with the secondary survey -- I wonder if you do that one? You check for bleeding with your hands.
Good times, indeed. AND very important work, I know you haven’t misinterpreted what I’ve written here, but i needed to say it ; )
Fiona! That Nan is a classic indeed. She’s living the life, my friend. *hugs*