A wicked day that ran the gamut of emotions. Every appointment with clients went wonderfully, and I was blessed with 90 minutes of free time to get some work done with a much-needed cup of coffee at the NVRC--happy! Unfortunately, mid-morning one of the gym members was unnecessarily rude to another member. I addressed it professionally and politely. He ignored me, turned his back, so I walked around and said, "Sir, what's wrong?" He looked at me, and shushed me...then kept doing his exercise. He has a reputation for being rude to other members, to me, to my clients, and for some odd reason, lacks the capability to share weight machines when he is lifting. I walked back to my client, and then requested one of the managers from the front desk to come to the back. I informed her as to what happened, and asked her to address it with the Director of the gym. I felt horrible for everyone who had to witness the tantrum that man threw, and for the other member who he addressed rudely. I also had to calm down because I was upset and angry. I was at work, so I had to handle the situation differently than I would have if it had happened...say on the sidewalk. On a sidewalk I would gladly have told him to stop behaving like an asshole. Unfortunately, I was at work. Ah well...
After that wonderful incident, life continued beautifully with clients, and following work Dana met up with me to run errands before we went to pick our son up at daycare. We arrived, and on our way to his room, two teachers burst out of one of the rooms screaming for help. My initial thought was, "Is someone attacking them?" (I was probably still running on a bit of anger from the earlier incident and was ready to...well...act accordingly.) That split second question was answered when I saw the baby in one of their arms. "Shit. It's a kid." I sprinted, caught the fact that she wasn't breathing and was unresponsive, and began back blows just in case she had food stuck in her airway. Three good back blows, and I heard, and felt, a physical reaction. I don't know if she ever had something stuck in her airway, or if it just caused her to start breathing (you have to smack hard on back blows, so I apologize now if she has a bruise on her back from me). I flipped her back over, looked, listened, and felt to see if there was movement. She started with agonal gasps, but her eyes were responsive. I held her, bounced her, and just waited to see if normal breathing would return. It felt like a bit of time, but I knew it was only a few seconds. She just needed a jump start...a good slap on the back. I was thankful that I didn't need to start chest compressions.
I took her outside because I needed to continue to hear her breathing (other babies were crying), and because I wanted to check to see if her pupils would react to light. They did. That was another relief. Her mother arrived shortly thereafter, and the paramedics and fire fighters weren't too far behind. I handed her off, gave info on what happened, and then walked into our son's classroom where he was with my wife. (One of his classmates was going bonkers over the lights on the ambulance and fire engine. Very cute.) So, there was some excitement, fear, and weirdly sadness that I got to experience after I thought my day was over. Dana says that she was proud of me, and that she doesn't worry if anything goes wrong with our son while I'm around because I'll handle it well. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. (Question: Does anyone remember reading the Warm Fuzzy, Cold Prickly book when they were young? I wonder if my parents still own that book...it would be a great book to sneakily give to that rude gym member.)
Arriving home finally, after eating dinner with my family, catching our son emptying the recycling bag and trying to drink from an empty beer can, I realized something. Hateful, angry, greedy pricks do not matter, nor do they deserve our energy. The children--they deserve our love, presence, and energy. They matter. Cheers to you kids! Especially you Son.
Now I'm going to bed, because I had one hell of an emotional day.