I am not one to look to in an emergency situation. Florence Nightingale, I am not. I have to look up "antihistamine" in the dictionary at least once a year (Not really related but Brad gets frustrated because I think the terms "antiperspirant" and "deodorant" are interchangeable). I consider the expiration dates of medication to be a diabolical manufacturer's plot to coerce me into unnecessarily spending more money. Many years ago, after receiving intensive infant first aid certification, I reacted to infant daughter, Savannah, choking on a Cheerio and completely forgot what to do, instead grabbing her by the ankles and tipping her upside down, walker and all, to dislodge the multi-grain blockage. Following another ironic bout of first aid training, I found myself in another medical crisis as I faced the problem my unconscious father. I sprang into action, leaping over his prone form. I dramatically ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere (The first aid class didn't teach me that, by the way...I improvised) as I hovered over his chest, struggling to remember the ratio of compressions to breaths...10:2? No...that was where my hands are suppose to be positioned on the steering wheel. I was just about to administer CPR when a soft but persistent voice broke through my cloud of panic. "Amy? Amy? Amy." I looked up to see my husband next to me, crouched like a Bengal tiger if I had attempted to follow through on my idiotic plan. "What?" I snapped at him. Couldn't he see this was a crisis? "Amy," he said gently as though to a crazed lunatic, "Your dad is breathing." Oh. Oops.
Despite my history of medical incompetence, I was determined to be a help during Sydney's recent trial. Although I couldn't understand her infatuation with applying an Ace bandage to her sprained ankle, I did intensive research to meet her ridiculous request. I stared unblinkingly during my first viewing of a Youtube instructional video. I took detailed notes during the second viewing before approaching Sydney's giant tree-stumped sized ankle. With great care and concentration, I gently wrapped my daughter's injured foot before sending her on her wobbly way to apparently bad mouth me to all our friends and family.
"The first time she wrapped my ankle," she told her father later, "it sagged like a a great loose sock. The second time, my foot bulged inside it like it was stuffed in a sausage casing." Oh how they laughed. Well laugh away, family o' mine! Guess who my 4th graders go to for quality medical care? Guess who has a desk drawer full of animal-print themed band-aids (sorry PETA)? There are people out there who have faith in my abilities to handle emergency situations. Sure they're all under 10 but nonetheless, they believe in me. And I believe in myself. Just look at my record...I haven't lost a patient yet.
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