Fortunately / Unfortunately

I redid my first aid certification recently. Actually over a month ago, but it's taken me this long to recover enough to talk about it.

In my experience (i.e., recertifying every three years for work), first aid class has gotten progressively more on board with modern notions like personal space - or, more likely, not getting sued for fostering any in-class molestation. This is cool by me; I'm from Saskatchewan, so a very generous amount of personal space is basically my birthright. Approximately 1.8 square kilometres will do most days. So with the exception of tying splints, in which case you still get control over any crotch-adjacent bandaging, first aid class is now more like first aid reiki - you sortof wave your hands around and pretend to do something useful for your patient's (similarly imaginary) ailments.

Unfortunately, this particular instructor was having none of that personal space business, and in fact insisted on walking us all slooowly through each individual, highly touchy step, as if to achieve maximum touchiness: "Now, gently press your partner's orbital bones to check for fractures." "Now, press along their jawline." "Now, open their mouth and look inside for blood or broken teeth."

Fortunately my partner happened to be a very obedient young fellow, so when I growled, "Do NOT touch my face," he sat promptly back on his heels with his hands clasped in front of him and did a straight-ahead stare at the wall until I gave the go-ahead to check my neck and shoulders for injury.

I mean, I don't want anyone touching my face at the best of times - it's plain creepy, plus what if there's a chin hair?

"Now, palpate your partner's abdomen." What the?! "DO NOT TOUCH MY ABDOMEN." *Straight-ahead stare.* "Okay, fine, you can check my legs now."

Okay, I really don't want anyone touching my abdomen. That fucking shar-pei disaster zone is no one's business but my own. It gets 5 square kilometres of personal space - I don't even want you seeing it through a telescope.

Unfortunately, the instructor had other tricks up her sleeve. Namely, constantly interrupting herself to tell stupid stories in the middle of our practice exercises. So you'd be standing there with your arms around your partner, with the absolute entirety of your personal-space-requiring being pressed against their back and your leg up their butt (that is, the-position-no-longer-known-as-the-Heimlich), and the instructor would interrupt the lesson to tell the class a little tale about something. And, like, should I keep hugging this stranger? Should I let go? How long is this fucking story? Worst of all, if I am unable to not-notice how firm this young fellow's abdomen is that I'm awkwardly hugging while this idiot goes on about this one time she saved someone from choking at a nursing home, it is surely inevitable that he will be unable to not-notice how not-firm mine is while she goes on about why it's no longer called the Heimlich Maneuver.

And finally, just when I thought I couldn't wish any harder for the ground to swallow me whole, came the point when she decided we should try out a modified j-thrust position "for pregnant women or very large individuals", which involves going under the armpits and doing compressions over the sternum. Or in my case, for poor Joshua (his name was Joshua) to have to stand there with his arms around me, trying his best to avoid making contact with my rather substantial bosoms while the instructor... told another story. We don't remember which story this was because we both literally died of embarrassment. Dead. I am writing this from beyond the grave.

I initially thought this post was going to follow the format of the storytelling game, Fortunately / Unfortunately, but now that I'm remembering it the whole thing was basically just a two-day death spiral of unfortunateness. My hope is that someone out there will glean even a tiny bit of sick glee from my sad tale, and maybe even the wisdom to always book first aid with someone you wouldn't mind heavily violating your personal space for two days. But I think the most fortunate ending of all would simply be if Joshua and I never see each other, ever again.