CPR Saves Lives

Today was my annual CPR class, combined with First Aid, which doesn't have to be done but every 3 years. I don't know why Guthrie (the agency I bill through) insists on yearly CPR, but they do. They make it easy and cheap, so I shouldn't complain. I also got my fingerprints done last week, that's also mandatory for this type of work.
Being a Respite provider is a pretty easy job to qualify for - you simply need to be breathing, and not a felon! Then you can work. You do need a car for much of it, but not if you go work at a center. There are great places for this population to hang out at all day - some of the places are like jobs for them, where they make dog biscuits to sell out in the community. Or another work program has them separating out paper for recycling - some of it sensitive material they don't want to just throw into the bin. Beth does that, and gets paid only pennies an hour, but that is commensurate with her turtle-like pace. She can never be hurried, she just plugs along at her own speed. But she's sitting with her friends, and they eat lunch together and laugh and talk the whole time. So it is better than her sitting all day watching TV. It's good she has a purpose to her days and a reason to be up and out somewhere.

There is other training the state mandates, something called Article 9. In it we learn the laws regarding how to treat these disable people. Like, I am not allowed to force anyone to do anything, and I can't coerce them into doing something they don't want to do. There are strict rules about their meds - I can't even put Neosporin on a scrape. I am not allowed to give them any OTC med unless their family has specifically asked me to. I can't lock them in a room, nor drag them out, unless there is a real safety issue. I'm not really remembering much of it, I guess I DO need the class again!
CPR has gotten more streamlined than in years past. Before, we had to remember specific rates of breaths / chest compressions, and it varied from infant to child to adult. Now it's much more simple and basically you do 2 rescue breaths, then 30 chest compressions, then 2 more breaths... keep repeating until 1) a true health professional arrives on the scene; 2) You are exhausted and just can't go on. 3)the person is reviving, at which point you put them into the Recovery position; I've never had a circumstance where I've even witnessed CPR nor the need for it, not on a human, anyway.

I did, however, once do CPR on our cat. Yes, Ashes, our Siamese cat.
25 years ago we had a nice cat named Ashley, loved by the girls and tolerated by Reeder, who's never really been much of a cat person. The cat was quirky, I think most Siamese are, but certainly an interesting guy who talked to us all the time as if he honestly believed you could understand his mewing.

So one night he got into a bad fight with another cat, and ended up with a big gash over his eye, which required stitches. I think he even had that humiliating cone thingy, he had to wear that for several days while the cut healed. Then it was back to the vet for the removal of the stitches.

Now, when they were first working on his injured eye, they of course gave him an anesthetic whilst they sewed up his cut. But when removing said stitches, well, it is quick and fairly easy for even the most ornery pet, so the vet doesn't administer any pain-killers for that. The plan is that Nurse Debbie holds the wriggly angry cat still, and the doc quickly takes out the stitches over the eye. But Ashley was having none of it and suddenly became possessed by some feral ancestor, who turned and BIT nurse Debbie on her hand. Hard. And he wouldn't let go, not for anything. They pulled, and tried to pry his mouth open, but Ashes was clamped down good and tight, he was MAD, I tell ya! And Debbie was screaming in pain, and Brenda and I just watched dumbly.
So the doc did what he felt he had to do, he choked the cat till he passed out! Seriously, he really did! And Ashley went limp and they could get her hand free. Doc took nurse Debbie back to the sink to see what the damage was, and Brenda and I were left staring at the 'dead' cat laying on the cold, chrome table. Very still. Not breathing.
And I'm not really grieving him, I'm thinking of all the dopey things this weird cat has done - like he kept peeing in the planters we had around the house, as if they were all just very convenient kitty litter stations! And he LOVED chewing on sweaters and had recently chewed several holes in this really cool sweater I'd just bought - I hadn't even cleaned it yet, it was brand new!! He once dragged frozen fish off the kitchen counter (thawing while we were out somewhere,) and it took us TWO days to finally find him and his fish stash up in a bedroom closet. UPSTAIRS! He'd dragged that heavy package of fish all the way up to the second floor!!

So these are my thoughts as I'm staring at the still cat. But then I hear Brenda next to me, crying. Sobbing, even. Her kitty is basically dead in front of her eyes; I HAD to do something.

So I performed kitty CPR. I leaned over and shook his chest a little, then cupping my hands around his mouth and nose, I blew into it gently. Nothing changed, so I did it again, and this time his little chest rose. Just then the Vet comes back and I explain what I've done, and he gives me this look like it was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard of (and I was thinking it was the most NATURAL instinct to try it.) So he shakes Ashes and can see he is again breathing and quite alive. Passed out and not moving, but he's NOT dead. So doc tells me to just take him home and we'll see how he does, that he will probably sleep this off and hopefully be okay the next day.

As we drove home with our limp kitty cradled in Brenda's lap, I flat-out tell her that if he isn't normal, if we now have a brain-damaged cat... well, we aren't keeping him. And she was so happy and grateful, she didn't really catch the blunt cruelty of what I'd just blurted out.

So Ashes slept it off, never budged the whole night. And the next day he was back to normal, albeit a bit quiet, not his usual chatty self. But he recovered and seemed to have no ill effects from his near-death experience.

I suppose he had used up some of his 9 lives that day, perhaps even 8 of them. Because a few months later he accidentally died in an unfortunate mishap with our automatic garage door. On Brenda's birthday, even. And sadly, we weren't there to save him this time. RIP, Ashley.