Stayin’ Alive

Ah, ah, ah, ah, Stayin’ Alive. Stayin’ Alive.

This seems to be my choice mantra of late.

It’s been nearly ten years since I took a CPR class. If someone were dying in front of me, I probably couldn’t keep it together enough to keep them alive. I would probably remember nothing and instead offer them coffee and a shoulder to cry on…which seems appropriate.

A few weeks ago, my sweet little dachshund baby had a seizure at 1am in the morning. A terrifying rush to the emergency vet ensued, during which I did not sob wildly OR break at least 18 traffic laws (I did put on my flashers, to my credit).

wimpy little weiner. Also, that's not my hand because that would be weird and hairy.
wimpy little weiner. Also, that’s not my hand. That would be weird and hairy.

All I could do in the moment was attempt to locate pants while futilely ignoring the fact that my adorable little life force had lost all bladder control and looked like a wretched canine version of Linda Blair.

But I do remember one thing from that class…

…Did you know that when giving CPR, the compression rate (i.e. the number of times per minute that you pulse on the victim’s chest) almost directly matches the tempo of Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees?

I knew I liked this song for a reason.

Music saves lives, people. Don’t you forget it.


P.S. Liam the Dacshund is A-OK and all is well. But I did almost poop my pants out of fright (and Liam definitely pooped his pants).


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