It was like scraping my own face with a sharp rock over and over.
It's the part where we start touching eachother, and the boys get all blushy and the girls avoid the boys. It's typical. We do everything we can to *look* busy. Another girl and I did trauma assessments on eachother, and then I make the mistake of hanging with the annoying re-cert firefighter. He's harmless, but reaaaally lazy when it comes to assessments. He also made a huge deal out of assessing (joining his hands palms-together and sliding them down) my sternum. I didn't feel awkward before (it's much harder for me to talk to people than to be touched by them), but he was just hesitant and apologetic. It's my sternum! I'm not buxom by any stretch, so no worries about groping anything. I kept trying to make him feel comfortable. He barely touched my scalp, spine, ribs, stomach, or limbs, and then he announced he was going to do the part he was most afraid of. Oh my gosh, dude... Dude. Please don't make this weird.
So that happened.
And I'm never going to listen to another noob again. I was checking this guy's pulse, like I've done a million times before, and I just couldn't find it. He told me to find it "up here", a few inches up his arm. I KNEW that wasn't right. I thought maybe it was a different pulse, but certainly not the one we're supposed to be looking for. "Oh, really?" I say, trying it out. Still nothing. He mansplains: "See, you need to do it here because there's a bone and you put the vein against it and that's how you get a pulse." Not quite, but whatever. Then a guest teacher (flight paramedic) comes out of nowhere and places a single finger where I was searching before. He looks at me. In huge annoyance and disbelief, I manage a sheepish "It's there?" He winks and walks away. Sure enough, a nice, gushy pulse was waiting.
Then I take the guy's blood pressure. It's high. 150/90 or 150/100. I ask if that's typical, and he says "No, but I just drank a Rockstar and I'm nervous." His blushing corroborated. That'll do. But then, when two guest teachers walk by, he feels the need to mention it to them. Dude! He tells them his blood pressure is what it is. The flight paramedic from before just says: "That's not right." Are you serious?! "He is nervous and he just had a Rockstar!" I protest. "Still not right." He shakes his head. Just check it? Please? I'm not a liar.
I'm fading fast. I've already taken something for the headache. I start thinking of bargains to make with God to make it be over sooner. Everyone is taken, so I use the teacher. At least I can get some good advice. We get through the medical assessment with him chiming in every few steps. Lots of pointers. And honestly, I was soaking it all in. We get done, and I just feel worn. "Can I give you some advice though?" He asks. "Anything!" I beg, trying to let some eagerness spill through my glazed eyes. "You need to be a little more confident." My heart sinks to the bottom of the universe. He explains that scared patients need someone to make them comfortable, and you do that through confidence. "I was kicked out of my last program for not being able to work well with others." I confess.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You have great bedside manner! And it'll come with time, I'm sure." He looks around, patting his pockets. "Oh you know what? I need to go <blah blah blah>." He's out the door. Later, as we were finally heading home, he said: "Good job today, girl."
Was it?
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