This morning I had the unexpected opportunity to test out what I had learnt during our baby first aid classes, many, many moons ago. I was changing Leo’s nappy whilst he was playing with what I incorrectly assumed was just a screwdriver end. He had found a screw somewhere (I didn’t know what it was at the time)
He made an horrendous noise and then stopped breathing and was clearly panicking. I whipped him up and turned him over and hit him hard enough between the shoulder blades to bring up his heart. I had no idea what was in there, so I just kept hitting him (that sounds unnecessarily mean) with the heel of my hand until he started to cry. Crying is good, crying means breath and life! I then cuddled him so hard he was probably hindered in his breathing once again.
That was a massive wake up call. During the process I had a glimpse of losing my angel and I have to keep pushing that out of my mind for fear of implosion with horror and guilt. I had become complacent in ensuring I know what he has hold of, especially when he is on his back. It is not something I ever need to witness again.
Would I have done the same without first aid training? I’d imagine so, I may not have tipped him up at the same time but I reckon I may well have done. I have no idea what I would have done if it hadn’t come up, probably legged it around to my neighbours house as she is a paediatrician and her husband is a nurse. Thankfully, I didn’t need to find out.