Yesterday TD and I had to go to a CPR recertification course. Granted, CPR and general rescue guidelines have been pared down a lot in the past few years to make it easier for lay people to attempt to help someone in an emergency situation. But our training was a little too relaxed.
As soon as we walked into the room, I made our trainer for a Baywatch castoff. Tan, laid back, looking like he still had remnants of sand in his sun-bleached hair. He promised to let us out early.
The first thing we worked on was adult CPR. When it was our turn to be tested, TD and I crouched around our resuscitation doll, Resusci-Annie. Except the doll is male. But not the point. Our instructor walked around the room observing. When he approached me, he said "Great job, perfect." I looked up at him. "My guy's chest isn't moving when I do the rescue breaths - I don't think I'm actually getting any air in?" He smiled at me and winked. "Yeah, it's hard to get it right," he said, and walked away.
The rest of the class was pretty much the same drill: we'd screw stuff up, Baywatch would offer absent-minded praise. TD performed the adult Heimlich backwards on her doll, and another woman in the class gave infant rescue breaths that easily would have collapsed a baby's tiny lungs.
Last came the protocol for performing the Heimlich on an infant. When it came time for the skills test, I went just before TD, and when I finished I handed the fake baby over to her. She flipped it upside-down and started to wack its back like it was an NFL quarterback who'd just scored a winning touchdown. And kept on wacking. Eight, nine, ten... "I think your baby's brain dead," I commented, half amused and half appalled. "But, on the plus side, the food particle is probably dislodged."
TD frowned. "Isn't it 30 times?"
"No, it's just a few times. So that your baby's once again able to breathe, but isn't, you know, tenderized like a pork chop."
She frowned. "Huh."
Baywatch strolled over. "Good work," he told TD.
She looked over at me pointedly. "See?"
"Oh come on," I was mildly horrified. "He'd praise manslaughter if it would mean he could get home earlier."
As if to prove my point, Baywatch adjourned the class. Who hired that guy in the first place?
Your last worst hope
Spitters never win?
This can't be real.
Study: Fellatio may significantly decrease the risk of breast cancer in women
(AP) -- Women who perform the act of fellatio and swallow semen on a regular basis, one to two times a week, may reduce their risk of breast cancer by up to 40 percent, a North Carolina State University study found. Doctors had never suspected a link between the act of fellatio and breast cancer, but new research being performed at North Carolina State University is starting to suggest that there could be an important link between the two.
In a study of over 15,000 women suspected of having performed regular fellatio and swallowed the ejaculatory fluid, over the past ten years, the researchers found that those actually having performed the act regularly, one to two times a week, had a lower occurance of breast cancer than those who had not. There was no increased risk, however, for those who did not regularly perform.
"I think it removes the last shade of doubt that fellatio is actually a healthy act," said Dr. A.J. Kramer of Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, who was not involved in the research. "I am surprised by these findings, but am also excited that the researchers may have discovered a relatively easy way to lower the occurance of breast cancer in women."
The University researchers stressed that, though breast cancer is relatively uncommon, any steps taken to reduce the risk would be a wise decision. "Only with regular occurance will your chances be reduced, so I encourage all women out there to make fellatio an important part of their daily routine," said Dr. Helena Shifteer, one of the researchers at the University. "Since the emergence of the research, I try to fellate at least once every other night to reduce my chances."
From the mouths of babes
R's response this morning when I was lamenting my high maintenance-ness:
"I don't think you're high maintenance. I just think you know what you want. That's not high maintenance. That's confidence."
Better spin. I'll take it.
The name game
The drug scene is all about names - there are a million names, spanning pharmaceutical to street lingo, for any drug that's remotely desirable. So I'm not questioning that there are lots of ridiculous names for illicit substances out there. But when it comes to treatment options, you'd hope they could do a little better. Something respectable, and yet still catchy. I've been reading about drugs used to treat cocaine addicts, and I came across Nocaine. That's just hokey. It's a play on words. Who wants a drug therapy that's a play on words? If I need drug therapy, I want it to have a clinically-derived intimidating name, preferably one that's hard to remember and impossible to spell. But that's just me.
Before you're even out the gate
It's about that time for me - running season. My running season is pretty short. Typically May through August. I don't run when it's cold. It's on principle.
Today was my first scheduled run. But it's pretty cloudy outside, and it's gotten incrementally darker with every passing minute. Not looking so good. I'm betting the run probably won't happen. Sad - foiled so soon. Weather. It's either a huge hinderance or the perfect excuse.
You never had it so good
J made a great discovery last week: Vitamuffins. They're really good. And super healthy! They have fiber, protein, vitamins and minerals and they're chocolate. Granted, they do taste a little bit like they're good for you. But they beat Grapenuts hands down. We placed our order last night and now we're just waiting for delivery. J took a risk and ordered the Vitabrownies. I think that was a bad call. You can fake breakfast, but you can't fake dessert. Faux chocolate when you weren't expecting chocolate (like in a muffin) is fabulous. Faux chocolate when you were expecting chocolate (like in a brownie) has damaging psychological and emotional consequences.
