A couple of Januarys ago, my wife and I sat down in our living room to begin a lovely roast beef dinner.
For years, roast beef had been a Sunday staple in our home, along with Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes and a rotating assortment of vegetables. Around the dining room table we gathered, for years with parents, then kids, then kids and their companions. But eventually it was just the two of us.
We hadn’t been seated for more than a minute that winter night, when my wife got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. I heard nothing. I called out. Still nothing. I got up from my chair and walked to the kitchen where I found my wife leaning over the sink in obvious despair.
It was soon clear she was choking and couldn’t breathe.
I was not exactly the picture of calm in the moments that followed. I gave her a couple of whacks on the back, without totally committing to the idea. I gave a frail attempt at the Heimlich manoeuvre. Her face began to lose colour. Her eyes were beginning to roll back. I saw her begin to slump and I quickly moved in behind her.
She was losing consciousness. I was a minute or less away from losing my wife.
I grabbed my two hands together, forming them into a somewhat of a ball, and began the Heimlich anew. This time, I did it with force and conviction, knowing I was now in a life-or-death situation. I yelled out that we were going to get whatever it was she was choking on. I’m not sure I believed it myself. But I kept torquing the underside of her sternum, frightened beyond description that my wife was seconds away from dying in my arms.
And then suddenly, she began to stand up. It was almost like life itself began re-entering her body. “I can breathe,” she said haltingly.
She was in shock. I was in shock. She eventually could accept a hug amid the flood of tears pouring down her cheeks and mine. We eventually found the piece of roast beef that had been blocking her airway in the sink. It would be a long time before we could touch a piece of it again.
I broke a few of my wife’s ribs in the process of saving her life. It was a trade-off we’d easily make again. But the point of this column isn’t about making me out to be some kind of hero. I’m not. The point is to get people’s attention: knowing what to do in a person’s moment of need, when their life is literally at stake, is an incredibly valuable skill to have.
To that end, my wife and I spent a recent Saturday taking an all-day Red Cross First Aid course. It covered everything from choking to CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) to heat strokes. We might never need to call upon the skills we acquired that day, but then you never know, do you? We’re in our late 60s now. So are most of our friends. Stuff happens. Actually, stuff happens a lot.
I understand it’s not a fun thing to contemplate. But nor is the idea of standing around in full panic mode when someone we love collapses and is without a pulse. Screaming is not going to help. You can phone 911, but in the time it takes for paramedics to arrive, the person in need might be dead.
St. John Ambulance insists that tens of thousands of people die each year unnecessarily. Even the most rudimentary first aid skills might be enough to keep someone alive long enough for professional help to arrive. Most people who experience cardiac arrest outside of a hospital don’t survive, many because there isn’t anyone around who has the skills to provide CPR.
We not only learned how to competently apply CPR, but also how to use an AED (automated external defibrillator). None of this guarantees that the person you are trying to help will survive, but it gives them better odds than doing nothing.
Many of us care for grandchildren today. Would you know what to do if a child began choking? That’s another skill we picked up at our course.
In an emergency situation, having someone who is calm and in charge can help reduce the stress and anxiety of the person in need. And giving appropriate first aid can help reduce a person’s recovery time from a particular injury, sometimes making the difference between a temporary or long-term disability.
Consider all this a public service announcement. Administering first aid, however imperfect, can save a person’s life. Just ask my wife.