CPR
Well I am definitely back at camp and I’m sure it’s going to be a great summer!
Adapting to western life hasn’t been too bad. There’s times when it’s harder like yesterday getting re-certified for CPR. The dummies were laying out on the table right next to me and memories came flooding back. Like the memory of the first woman I felt medically involved in helping to heal. I remember just standing there holding her IV Dextrose bottle so it could drain in to her veins. All the while watching James, Dr Bond, and others fight for her life with CPR. I watched them stand on the stepping stool so they could do the 30 chest compressions to every 3 bag breaths. I remember praying because I couldn’t help do the CPR and I remember helping to prepare her body after she died.
I remember the fist time I personally had to help bag a patient, a small child and being so scared and not really knowing what to do. I remember Dr Bond telling me I could stop because there was nothing more we could do and we didn’t want to confuse the family any more.
I remember the many times I would run to get the broken down old bag so we could try and save a life. And each time I would get the bag I would look at it and wonder why we didn’t have a bag that worked, and how I could get a better bag to the hospital so we could maybe have a better success rate with CPR.
I remember doing CPR on the small infant that was born just seconds before. I remember feeling more confident that I was doing it right and I remember the feeling of knowing that I fought for the life of the baby and God gave breath to the child.
I remember often Liz keeping the bag next to a malaria ridden child on nights we would work a shift.
I remember Esther jumping up on the gurney to start compressions on a man we had just operated on the day before. And she was doing the 30 compressions as we tried to maneuver the gurney back to the OR so we could get to the medications faster.
Those dummies the instructors brought to teach us CPR on were more than just dummies to me. They are memories of lives that were saved in Tchad and lives that we gave our best to even if it didn’t save their lives.
Adapting to western life hasn’t been too bad. There’s times when it’s harder like yesterday getting re-certified for CPR. The dummies were laying out on the table right next to me and memories came flooding back. Like the memory of the first woman I felt medically involved in helping to heal. I remember just standing there holding her IV Dextrose bottle so it could drain in to her veins. All the while watching James, Dr Bond, and others fight for her life with CPR. I watched them stand on the stepping stool so they could do the 30 chest compressions to every 3 bag breaths. I remember praying because I couldn’t help do the CPR and I remember helping to prepare her body after she died.
I remember the fist time I personally had to help bag a patient, a small child and being so scared and not really knowing what to do. I remember Dr Bond telling me I could stop because there was nothing more we could do and we didn’t want to confuse the family any more.
I remember the many times I would run to get the broken down old bag so we could try and save a life. And each time I would get the bag I would look at it and wonder why we didn’t have a bag that worked, and how I could get a better bag to the hospital so we could maybe have a better success rate with CPR.
I remember doing CPR on the small infant that was born just seconds before. I remember feeling more confident that I was doing it right and I remember the feeling of knowing that I fought for the life of the baby and God gave breath to the child.
I remember often Liz keeping the bag next to a malaria ridden child on nights we would work a shift.
I remember Esther jumping up on the gurney to start compressions on a man we had just operated on the day before. And she was doing the 30 compressions as we tried to maneuver the gurney back to the OR so we could get to the medications faster.
Those dummies the instructors brought to teach us CPR on were more than just dummies to me. They are memories of lives that were saved in Tchad and lives that we gave our best to even if it didn’t save their lives.
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