When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

the heel of my palm perfectly in the center of his sternum. Push hard. Push fast. Two inches deep. Allow for full chest recoil. The endless hours of basic life support recertification hijacked my body.

“One, two, three, four…”

I commenced chest compressions on my own flesh and blood. I had performed this exact choreography on a hundred faceless strangers.continue reading …