First Aid Saves Lives

This is a C2 post

For full details please see my disclosure policy

What would you do if you found your child unconscious? If they tipped boiling water over themselves? If they started choking on a grape? If they had a severe allergic reaction and their throat started to close and they couldn’t breathe? If you found them floating in the pool?

Would you panic or go in to lioness mode?

Well I’m going to tell you, Lioness mode means squat if you don’t actually know basic first aid.

About a year ago, Tricky choked on some food. I don’t even remember what it was now, but we were all sitting having dinner and he went quiet, and we all know quiet and toddlers don’t mix. It usually means they’re up to something, but in this case it meant his windpipe was blocked.

I looked over and he was trying to heave up what was in his throat but he couldn’t. His eyes were wide in panic and there was saliva dribbling out his silent mouth. I grabbed him up to flip him over and smack him on the back and whatever it was, thankfully, popped out straight away. He coughed his little lungs up and cried buckets (whether from the shock or from having his mother yank his arm and thump his back, I’m not sure). In that moment, just like the first cry of a new born babe, it was the most brilliant sound I’d ever heard. The whole thing, from start to finish, would have been 5 seconds at the most.

My mind raced with quite a few expletives and what ifs but mostly it sung a happy tune of thanks for doing a first aid course. Then I berated myself because I still hadn't done the refresher I swore I'd do when Tricky was born.

I was lucky enough to be invited to a child resuscitation course at St John Ambulance the other day and finally got my refresher, albeit four years after I started thinking about doing it. Turning up to find out that my classmates were actual celebrities, Amy Zempilas, Jessica Bratitch and Elissa Griesser, meant I almost needed CPR myself. But I had thankfully taken along the buffer. And by buffer I mean Bobbin.

Not content to just be the cutest baby in the room (erm, she was the only baby in the room) Bobbin decided to really make a name for herself and proceeded to do a poo explosion all over my leg when we were only a few minutes in to the course. Oh did I mention that we were BEING FILMED FOR TELEVISION?! I excused myself and tried to clean us both up as much as I could and seriously considered just legging it and not going back because, well, poo stains don’t look good on camera. And as much as they say “breastfed babies don’t smell”, IT’S A LIE!

But I continued on with my poopants and the others should be applauded for being gracious, helpful and above all, not gagging. When it is your own kid it is tolerable, but someone else’s? Kudos, ladies, kudos.

I’m glad I did stay because the long awaited refresher was awesome. Our instructor, Brooke, was amazing and so passionate about teaching people these basic, life saving skills. It was great to learn that the number of compressions to breaths is now easier to remember, that you can’t hurt someone with the defibrillators available at shopping centres and that a shocked person doesn’t jump a metre off the bed like they do in the movies.

Here we are practicing compressions on child mannequins. For the record, we didn't purposely dress all matchy matchy.

L - R: Amy Zempilas, Jessica Bratitch, poopypants and Elissa Griesser

You can check out the segment below. Let's all be thankful it is not smellovision.


I also learned:

• The likelihood of a person making a full recovery improves if they receive first aid in the initial moments after the accident
• The average time it takes to get an ambulance to the scene is 10 minutes
• Irreversible brain damage can occur if the person goes more than 4 minutes without oxygen
• St John Ambulance have been running first aid courses in WA since 1892!

Brooke demonstrating how to use a defibrillator on a baby

We go to so much effort to keep our kids safe; vaccinations, power point guards, securing furniture to the walls, locking away poisons, having pool gates and teaching them how to cross the road safely. But accidents do happen and you can’t control how other people set up their houses. It makes sense that you’d learn the skills to act if something horrible should occur.

It was quite confronting to practice CPR on the child mannequins and even more so on the baby mannequin. Resusibaby and Bobbin were exactly the same size and doing the compressions and puffing air in to it's little lungs actually made me quite emotional. But now I know exactly how much air fills a babies lungs, not because I've read it, or heard it, but because I've practiced it.

Behind the scenes

St John Ambulance know that you don’t have a lot of time to spare so they have the Child Resuscitation Awareness course which is only 2 hours long and costs $49 per person. As the name suggests, it focuses on babies and children and covers things like choking, drowning, asthma and anaphylaxis.

Certificates for everyone

As it happens, I’ve got a $50 voucher to give away which you can use towards any course or even a first aid kit if you wish. You just have to tell me one reason you should become a Super Mum and learn (or have a refresher) for first aid.

When did I become the least qualified person to treat my kid?

It's been a while since the Cranky Pants have been worn around here. Actually that's not true, I wear them around the house constantly, it's just I don't share it all that often.

But the other night something so infuriating happened that I've been walking around with the proverbial steam coming out of my ears since. Unable to let it go. What, me? Hold a grudge? Never!

If you've been playing along at home you'd know that The Trickster is asthmatic. He doesn't get it very often, but when he does, it's quite bad. Last year he had one ambulance ride and three hospitalizations in four weeks which was a lovely baptism of fire in to what it's like to be an asthma parent.

A fortnight ago we had another ambulance ride because he went downhill insanely fast. I'm talking making it to two hours between Ventolins and then all of a sudden needing another dose after only ten minutes. That's when they send out the quick response ambulance car because it can get there four minutes faster. It's also where you absolutely should be wearing brown underwear.

On Sunday morning Tricky started showing the first signs of a cold followed really quickly by asthma. Here we go again. We're getting quite used to it all so we followed our 'Action Plan' to the letter. By early afternoon he was already struggling and requiring six puffs of Ventolin every three hours so to try and prevent a late night trip to the emergency room we called the GP locum service.

The GP got there after 7pm and examined Tricks (who had just had more Ventolin 15 minutes prior). Despite being told his history of ambulance rides, despite the raging temperature, despite the face streaming with snot and despite the fact that he was now on two hourly Ventolins he was declared "not sick enough" for Prednisone.

(If you've never had anything to do with asthma, Prednisone is a steroid and Tricky responds really well to it. He'll go from needing to be on oxygen and in hospital to discharge within 24 hours of his first dose.)

Gee thanks Dr Fuckwit. All I was asking for was a script for a readily available drug. I wasn't asking for morphine, I wasn't even asking for you to supply the drugs, merely scribble on a piece of paper with your atrocious writing so that I could then go and get some, give it to my kid and avoid the stress of another night wondering if it was time to call the ambulance yet. You know, it's YOUR JOB as a locum to get us to avoid the hospital... so WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!

I might not have a fancy framed degree hanging on the wall, but I know my own kid and I know his asthma. Hell, I've had it for 30 years so I've got a bit of experience with it, too. I know how he responds and I know what makes him better. But what would I know? I'm only the mother *grumble grumble*.

I am so tired of being treated like a moron just because I don't have a medical degree. You?

Ahhh, nuts!! {plus giveaway}

Alternatively titled: I was RIGHT, bitches!!

Every time I write about Tricky's anaphylaxis to cashews I feel like the biggest bloody drama queen and I'm practically incapable of using my go-to coping method to deal with it: making a joke out of it. Because it's not funny. Not at all. Whilst it might have seemed overly dramatized to those of you with no experience with anaphylaxis, everything I wrote here about it was and remains true for allergy parents. The fear, the uncertainty, the endless anxiety. The constant vigilance leaves you weary and feeling like the biggest helicopter parent in the world the minute food is around.

If life occurred in the safe little bubble of your own home then you could avoid allergens quite easily, but we all need to go out. To the shops, day care, school, friends' houses, events, on holiday. The moment you leave your house (or someone visits) the chopper blades start spinning.

Tricky's allergy testing was inconclusive - he presented twice to emergency with 'atypical anaphylaxis' then had a negative skin prick test and positive RAST test. I had four emergency doctors and three immunologists tell me that if he had even minute traces of cashews that it would be life threatening.

The results didn't add up for me. I had a mama gut feeling that my little man was in fact not allergic but perhaps just sensitive to cashews (or something else entirely, like sulphur), and that both episodes had been severe, no warning asthma attacks just like the one he had a week later that required an ambulance. One immunologist agreed with me and said we could go straight to an oral challenge and not wait until he was five.

I figured knowing either way has to be better than this limbo. Two and half years of anxiety when it might all have been a mistake? No thanks. I wasn't at all nervous in the lead up to it, in fact I was quite giddy with excitement so sure was I that everything would be fine. But then when I woke up yesterday morning to the sad news that a 16 year old boy had died at a Sydney school after a cooking class used nuts in a cookie recipe, and it filled me with dread. Was I really about to take my kid to the hospital to possibly induce the same anaphylaxis based on a hunch? I was ready to hand myself in to authorities as the worst mother ever.

We headed to Princess Margaret Hospital and "checked in". It's just like checking in at a hotel except that you get tagged with bright red arm bands and there is sadly no swim up bar. Base line obs were taken and all seemed well so we moved on to a new skin prick test. As I watched, an angry red welt appeared on his arm and I thought it was all over. What the fuck!? Dude, your one previously negative test came back positive before we even started the challenge?! I don't even know how it is possible but the result put him firmly in to the allergic basket. Shit.

After a consult with the registrar and the fellow (jolly good fellow?) it was decided that we'd persevere to the next stage - rubbing a cashew on his gums and see what happened with epi pen at the ready. I didn't breathe for the next fifteen minutes but Tricky did. With ease. So we continued.

Each time he was given more and more cashew nut and observed. He absolutely loved them and would ask "more p'ease" without fail... then the alarm went off to signal his blood pressure was dropping. He was otherwise fine - smiling, playing with the iPad, telling me about all the cars in his game - and he quickly picked back up again. Again the word atypical was thrown around. I kinda like my kid to be typical.

Yet another consult with the big wigs and they gave another dose but watched him much more closely. After his second last dose two welts developed on his chin and he started to cough. If I'd been wearing the heart monitor, it would have been beeping like mad right about then. The doctors came, much more quickly this time, but his lungs sounded good and all his vital signs were fine. Atypical. Sigh.

His final dose was given and he drifted off to sleep safe in my arms for the mandatory two hour wait. While he slept they continued to monitor him. I could tell you now about how when he woke up he started coughing and scratching and everyone freaked out, but really, it's more of the same atypical stuff and this post is already way too long.

The final all clear won't be given until later today because you can have a delayed anaphylaxis reaction, but right now it is looking absolutely bloody brilliant. He has a mild allergy to cashews but it's something he is likely to outgrow with continued exposure. I have a RSI from constant jazz hands and feel like bursting in to tears I'm so happy.

Chicken cashew nut is now back on the menu and I can now actually buy foods without checking the packet to see if they are manufactured on the same lines as tree nuts. Hooray! Last week Kellogg's and Be Natural asked if I'd like to do a giveaway and were very understanding when I replied "Maybe. I'll let you know on Tuesday". To help me celebrate this momentous occasion they have come to the party and given me some awesome prizes to give away that contain NUTS and TRACES OF NUTS! HUZZAH! To top it off they're sending Tricky some too.

To enter click here to go to the Facebook App. If you're not on Facebook, and really, I can't blame you, you can enter below by commenting (just let me know it's an entry).

I've walked the shoes of an anaphylaxis parent for six months. A blink of an eye compared to what other 'ana' parents do. As awful as it was, I'm grateful for the perspective it has given me and particularly thankful for the support of this community and the outreach of certain bloggers (Bianca from Big Words, Grace from With Some Grace), and readers who helped me navigate this path and feel less alone.

For the foreseeable future I'll be dancing in the streets and screaming to anyone who will listen that my kid doesn't have anaphylaxis and that I still can't believe my hunch was right. 

Now, who wants some nuts?
This is not a sponsored post

And then he got high

This weekend Tricky ended up back in hospital for his third asthma admission in three months, which brings us to a grand total of five hospital admissions in the same time frame.

The Trickster gets a bit high from Ventolin. This is him in the emergency room, at 9:00pm, cacking himself laughing:

It meant that when he was being admitted to the ward from the emergency room he waved and shouted "BYE-BYE!" to every. single. person. He didn't care whether they were a doctor, a nurse or an incredibly sick patient.

I trailed behind looking sheepish. Yes, that hyperactive child is mine, and yes, he's being admitted even though he doesn't look sick AT ALL.

One night of oxygen and two hourly Ventolin was enough and we came home the next day.

He's now getting six puffs of Ventolin every four hours and THIS is what happened at midnight a few minutes after a dose:


Over tired, sick, but HYPER!

Apparently the magic number for preventative measures is three, so he'll be starting that tomorrow. Hopefully it means no more hospital visits.

Do you get hyperactive on Ventolin? How long did you have to wait for preventative treatment for asthma?

The numbers game

In the last two and a half weeks I feel like all I've done is worry and count, count and worry.

Count the number of puffs, doses, hours, admissions and the number of times I've been close to losing the plot (I'd need to count higher than ten for that, so it's off the list).

Worry about whether I'm up to being this parent which is so far removed from my bordering on neglect "he'll be right" attitude.

One - the number of times we've needed an ambulance for Tricky

Two - the number of asthma attacks he's had

Three - the number of hospital admissions he's had

Four - the number of hours between ventolin when you're allowed home from hospital

Five - the number of times I've called the specialist only to get the answering machine

Six - the number of puffs of ventolin required every 20 minutes for three hours to stabilize him

Seven - the number of times he screams when woken up for medicine over night

Eight -the number of chips, dropped off to the hospital by a good friend, I can stuff in to my mouth when Tricky is finally asleep

Nine - the number of times per day I felt sorry for myself

Ten - the number of times per day I shook it off and thought how truly lucky we are

All in two and a half weeks. Ugh.

Tricky giving the thumbs up for feeling better!

The genetic trifecta

The Trickster and I don't look anything alike. When my blonde haired, blue eyed boy was born it appeared he must have actually been a clone of Map Guy and received no genetic material from me at all... this past week we've discovered that he shares more in common with me than we thought. Which means it's been a pretty shit week. 

It started on Tuesday (well the week didn't start on Tuesday, the shit did) in the form of Tricky having an anaphylaxis reaction to cashew nuts and needing a trip to the emergency room for adrenaline and a night in the observation ward.

It finished with a trip back to that same emergency room and a weekend stay on the ward, when Tricky couldn't breathe on Friday night.

Breaking my heart

He was a little bit sniffley through the day but it wasn't until night time when he really started to become unwell - he was clingy, pale, couldn't sleep, threw up some rather toxic looking green bile and struggled with his breathing. He was working so hard to breathe, with his little tummy sucking right in, that he couldn't do anything else and sat motionless in my arms as we entered the emergency room.

On arrival we again went straight through although this time he was triaged as a level two (emergency - could become life threatening), not a level one (life threatening) like it was on Tuesday... and in my unparalleled ability to clutch at straws I'm chalking that up as a win. I took my child to hospital before he died, yay me!

He needed nebulizers every twenty minutes for the first two hours, and since it takes fifteen minutes to have it, it meant he was off the drugs for only five minutes before needing more, and in those five minutes he was on oxygen or his saturation would plummet to the mid 70s. Scary, scary stuff.

I'm not sure if it was because of the toxic green vomit, which could have been a sign of an infection, or just because there was space, but we got our own isolation room which meant a private bathroom, enough room for a fold-a-bed, and a door to close and block out the cries of the rest of the poor sick kids on our ward.

New jimjams are a perquisite for hospital stays

He was the perfect patient. He let them poke and prod, he left the mask on his face and the pulseoximeter on his toe. Well, he did... until it was almost 9pm when he'd finally gone to sleep and his oxygen levels kept crashing. Putting the mask on him woke not only him but the entire bloody ward.

The nurses resorted to nasal prongs and bandaging his hands to stop him pulling them off. Thanks to crappy medical dramas, I always associate nasal prongs with people who are dying, so it's safe to say I went pretty emo around then.

I was sure nothing could perk me up until an awesome friend organized a delivery of snacks for us. It's amazing just how much a kind gesture can buoy your spirits, especially when that gesture involves chips and Coke. But even full sugar soft drink can't keep you happy when your little boy is laying in hospital.

I settled in to my bed, which almost collapsed every time I breathed, and tried to get a little bit of sleep because I knew it was going to be a long night... and I wasn't wrong.

Overnight, he needed medication every two hours, and every two hours he would scream and violently thrash around... so every two hours I would hold him down as he protested and sing to him through my tears as my heart shattered in to a thousand pieces.

Then, like magic, as soon as the sun rose and he had a breastfeed he was back to being a model patient. I suppose I can't blame him - I don't like to be woken up either.

Feeling much happier

Normally the powers that be don't give a diagnosis of asthma for a first attack... because there is no way of knowing if it will happen again. When he was discharged on Sunday, the doctors took one look at his Tuesday admission, his eczema and the fact that I was hospitalized a dozen times or so with asthma as a kid and chalked him up as asthmatic immediately.

Snuggles at home

So it turns out he did get some genes from me. The allergy, eczema and asthma genes - a rather shitty genetic trifecta.

What did your kids inherit from you that you wish they hadn't?