Deadly Measures

“I’m dead,” Christopher said gleefully, lying face up on the play yard, arms outstretched with open palms, legs forming an inverted “V,” eyes wide open and blinking every half second or so, grinning from ear to ear. “Rescue me, teacher!” he demanded with a flavor of entitlement. The kids play dead like nobody’s business. I play along like the sucker I am.

I pretend to call the paramedics. Then, I pretend to be one. Truth is, I had just taken a full day’s class in First Aid and CPR. This should go quite smoothly. “Stay calm, Christopher. I’ll save you.” Let’s see. Check pulse. I mean, first, check for obstructed airway. Oh no, that’s for a choking victim. Okay, give air. Wait, tilt head back. Now do five breaths per second. Or is it one breath every five seconds? No, that’s for adults. Um, one to three for kids sounds about right. I'll go with that. Now, elevate wound. Good thinking, but there is no wound. Hmm, I’m supposed to do some kind of compressions. Right? I forget. Is he still breathing? I suppose I should check. Can’t tell.

Exasperated, I say with the most sincerely sad tone I can muster, “I’m really going to miss you,” Christopher.