On Friday, we had first aid training. We play acted the management of hysterical casualties.

My first aid buddy staggered into the room, moaning. “I’ve been hurt!”
“What happened, Andy? I can give you first aid!”
“I don’t know, there was an explosion! Oh, the pain, the pain!”

He had a red ribbon around his arm to represent bleeding. Even though it was play acting, I still had trouble thinking under pressure.

“Um. Um. Press this pad to your wound. Hold your arm up.” Then I noticed everyone around me was dealing with wounds to the leg. “Do you hurt anywhere else? Have you been hurt anywhere else?”

Moan, moan. “I don’t know! It hurts everywhere!”

I was confused and a bit panicky, even. I patted his jeans at the ankles. I didn’t know what to do. They had taught us to run our hands over clothes to see if there was severe bleeding. Our gloves would come up bloody.

Andy wasn’t really bleeding so I didn’t want to run my hands up and down his pants! But I didn’t know what to do. There was no ribbon around his ankle.

So I reached further up his pants. I patted his calf and shin. In the back of my mind, buried underneath the haze of groans and voices around me, I knew that what I was doing would normally be extremely hazardous in a normal work situation. But what could I do?

“Check the other leg!” he yelped, laughing as I almost reached his knee.

Sure enough, there was a red ribbon around his other ankle. I was so embarrassed. Oh dear, oh dear. Oh dear.

Hehe.