Caveat Lector

My thoughts for the day run along a gross-out theme, so let the reader beware. If you're easily grossed out (as I am), you may not want to read this entry.

Today, I had a particularly good morning at work. After some recent career (or, rather, lack-of-career) -related anxiety, I was struck with an unusual feeling of satisfaction. I felt happy to be back in the non-profit sector, doing something for the community. Floating in a bubble of mirth, I made my way down to the Museum's "coffee bar" for a cuppa.

As I was stirring the coffee, I smiled to myself, thinking, "Yes, this is good. I'm lucky to be doing something I enjoy. Who cares that it's not an art museum? A children's museum is great! These little rug-rats are allright in my book."

Then, with no warning whatsoever, the little kid standing next to me pukes. One minute, he's just talking to his mom, hangin' out, and the next minute, he's getting sick on the floor. He's weirdly unaffected by it, too. Before, during and after the incident, he just stands there, staring off into space. In fact, his body doesn't really even move. Kind of like a puking mannequin.

Mirth bubble burst.

Now, as a staff member, I should have run up to the frantic mom and said something calming like, "Don't worry, we'll take care of it." But, instead, I was frozen in disgust. All I could do was just sit in a stupor, with an inner monologue along the lines of: "Holy St. Christopher, that is really awful. Please God, let somebody else deal with this. I am just an office lackey. I have no qualifications for dealing with vomiting children." Luckily, St. Christopher and/or God moved me to some response. I was able to snap myself out of the catatonia and assure the mom not to worry--then I promptly told a few staff members and fled the scene.

This scenario occurred on the heels of another incident that had some gross underpinnings.

Last night, I took a class to become recertified in CPR—something I've been meaning to do since Missy and I saw a guy collapse and "die" as he crossed the finish line of a 10k. (He was revived, thanks to some onlookers who performed CPR, thus my desire to learn it).

Anyway, the class consisted of me, Casey (another Museum employee) and the instructor. The instructor began the class by reviewing the risks and signs of a heart attack. Now, you probably know I am extremely squeamish about needles and blood. What I am discovering about myself, however, is that it's not just the sight of blood and needles that gives me a severe case of the heebie-jeebies—apparently, it's the mere discussion of these matters as well. Even simple words like "hemotology" and "phlebotomist" wig me out.

So, the instructor began telling us about "clogging of the arteries" and "hardening of the arteries" (I thought they were the same thing), and I felt myself getting lightheaded and sweaty. This guy is a firefighter, so he was peppering his presentaton with real-life accounts of what he's seen and done, which just sent me into a higher level of discomfort.

I was really nervous, too, because I thought, maybe if I show signs of queasiness, they will deny me my certification. Do they deem certain people "unfit to perform CPR," based not on their test but on their reaction to the material? Their inability to cope with hearing the word "blood"? Luckily, Casey suggested we break for water, so I was able to regain my composure, and no one was the wiser about my fragile nature.

Whew. Back to business. We regrouped after the break and picked up the dicussion with "When Not to Perform CPR." Now, maybe some of you know this already. I haven't taken a CPR class since I was in high school, so I haven't gone through the training in quite some time. But I was surprised by this discussion because I really don't remember learning these guidelines, which are:

1) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if he/she is decapitated
2) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her body is decomposing
3) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her heart or brain is outside of the body

I am not kidding.

In the words of my friend, Mary (spoken in a completely different context): "I'm laughing, and yet I'm horrified." More horrified, really. And again, a little queasy.

Luckily, I was able to mask my queasiness by looking at the instructor with a furrowed brow, and shaking my head knowingly. "Ah yes, I'll remember that advice," I tried to communicate with my facial expression.

I was sure something horribly inappropriate was going to fly out of my mouth, which would be pretty much par for the course for me. But fortunately, I managed to get through the session without coming off as a total cretin. And the good news is, my aversion to blood-talk didn't result in the denial of my certification. I am now certified in CPR.

I'm hoping tomorrow will be a little less revolting.