The Time We Took An Infant CPR Class – Thursday March 1st

“Ok class” the woman said, “can you tell me what this is?”  She help up a household item so we could all see it.

“Toothpaste!” we shouted enthusiastically.

“Wrong” she said smugly.  ”It’s poison, and the cap is a choking hazard.”  And thus began our infant CPR class, which should have been called “How Everything in Your Home Can be Weaponized By Your Baby” or “How There’s No Way Your Baby Will Survive Unless You Raise it in a Cage”.  The class cost $70 per person, and I guess they thought just teaching us infant CPR wasn’t going to satisfy a room full of new parents.  Actually, we were the only new parents, every one else was a million months pregnant.  If I had taken this class while I was still pregnant, I would have decided that I’d have to give Hazel to my mother to raise because there is no way I could keep her alive.  According to the implications of the nurse who taught the class, even wolves had a better chance of keeping Hazel alive because they didn’t keep disposable razors or cleaning supplies in their dens.

Each warning was followed by anecdotal evidence.  ”You think your child-proof caps are childproof?  Here’s a story of someone I personally know who’s child took all their medication….”  ”You must cover your outlets because your baby will stick his fingers in the outlet and be electrocuted. And if you buy the wrong kind of outlet covers, they will pry them off and choke on them, like my friend’s baby…”

This went on for 45 minutes.  By the end I was searching my purse for a paper bag I could breath into.  I wasn’t just horrified by the instructor’s constant misuse of the word “literally”, I was terrified at the prospect of inadvertently maiming or killing my child because I use the wrong knob covers to the garage door and Hazel sneaks out there once she’s big enough to crawl and gets in my car and puts it in reverse and smashes through the garage door and doesn’t have her seatbelt on…

And then the CPR video began.  While I am very cynical about the crappy acting in instructional videos (I once contemplated quitting a new job because I was so offended by the lack of effort they put into the sexual harassment video).  The first scene introduced a young couple and their infant daughter “Emma”.  Mother explained that “Emma” had been off that day and as she goes on the explain her symptoms she glances over and notices that “Emma” isn’t breathing!  She begins her well-practiced Infant CPR (spoiler alert: She saves “Emma’s” life).

It was the first time in my life that I rolled my eyes and fought back tears at the same time.  As the video progressed, and two more couples narrowly saved their plastic babies using Infant CPR I had to hide the tears of fear and panic from my fellow classmates.  Tom G took my hand when the spunky interracial couple found their plastic baby choking in his high chair at what looked like an Outback Steakhouse. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that the video ended with the first couple having a awkward conversation about how glad they are that they “took that Infant CPR class at the local hospital”.  Kind of beating a dead plastic baby since we were all already sitting in the class, paid in full.  But I guess the director of the film just wanted to hammer the message home: Your baby is about to perish at any minute unless you’ve armed yourself with the proper classes, videos and brochures.

The last thirty minutes were spent practicing CPR on our own plastic babies.  I couldn’t bare to call the dummy “Hazel” during the part where we practiced shouting the infant’s name before starting chest compressions (Baby’s Name! Baby’s Name! Are you Ok!?!).  Without heavy medication I don’t think it’s safe for me to imagine doing chest compressions on my daughter.  Although when I got home I cut my nails painfully short, since the instructor made a point to say that if you have long nails you just dig them into the child’s skin, because what’s the difference if you cut her if she stops breathing.

We finally left, feeling more prepared and more panicked at the same time.  We raced home to Hazel, and I tried not to picture pushing her sternum down an inch and a half in order to pump blood throughout her body.  I told my brain to file that information away in the part of my brain that saves essential but unpleasant information, like how to make myself throw up and what poison ivy looks like. I tried to ignore the niggling thought that if I found my baby limp, not breathing and unresponsive I might not have the composure to start CPR.

In the meantime I’m relieved that I don’t have a stash of Mardi Gras beads, because according to Infant CPR class Hazel would break them apart and stuff them in her mouth the second I turn my back on her.

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Comments

  1. Me says:

    I love your breakdown of the experience. It’s good to know that she is in good hands, and fingers.
    xoxo

  2. Leslie Ann says:

    Love the picture!!! Gimme some more laughs and examples of the “instructor’s constant misuse of the word ‘literally’” HUGS!!!!

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