Skiving Secondary for the good of Primary

Unlike what the title suggests, I wasn't actually skiving school. Instead, I was skipping a few classes for the good of the little children who were running their cross country races in the grounds of bonnie Elgin Academy.
It was great, ditching Geography half way through the lesson, to dash off and get changed into my RC uniform I had hastily stuffed in a pal's locker earlier on that morning. As I did so, the caption came to mind of "School Girl by day, First Aider by...well, day." But it really did feel like a second side to me.
On the way up to the playing fields I also bumped into the school janitor, who took one look at the hi-vi and got a bit of a shock. At least I was making an impression.
Anyway, up hill at the playing fields, I saw the RC Treatment Centre - very fancy, and new, which meant we wouldn't have a clue as to where all the equipment was, or at least I didn't cos I'd never worked in it before. Fun stuff.
But I was hopeful the day would just be quiet - nothing serious, just a jaunt up and down the race track; four extra spectators to add to the crowd, but in uniform. How dangerous could a few cross country races be? How likely was it that loads of little primary school kiddies would come to us injuried and crying?

The answer to both of these questions is 'very'.

After the famous last words of "I'm sure we won't be very busy today" were spoken, we got a casualty, followed by another, then another, and so on. In fact, they all came at about the same time. It was a mix of sprained ankles, a stitch, a nasty cut to the knee and one rather worrying one of coughing up blood. Then there came the serious shout to a girl who had collapsed mid race with difficulties in breathing (DIB). The two slightly more experienced first aiders attended that one, leaving me and my fellow colleague to deal with the first of the sprained ankles. But then, after answering a quick phone call, she turned to me and said, "I'm sorry, I've got to go, they need back-up."
And away she went.

Ok, I thought, let's see - two sprained ankles, a stitch/feeling sick, and a lassie with a cut knee. Four casualties, one first aider. Right.

From then onwards the next half hour or so suddenly became quite busy, with worried teachers or class room assisstants to answer to, and (thankfully) very well behaved and patient casualties.
The bloody knee was cleaned out and bandaged (one down, three to go), the two sprained ankles supported and ice packs applied (another two down, kind of) and the girl with the stitch given a sick bowl and told to relax. I was in control, on top of it. And I loved it.
The 'stitch girl' was then plagued with questions from me in order to get to the bottom of her general unwellness.
"Have you ran in a race yet?"
"Yeah."
"When was the last time you had anything to eat?"
"At breakfast."
"When did you last have something to drink?"
"I haven't had anything to drink yet."
"What, not at all?"
"No."
Bingo. The most likely cause to this girl's sickness was dehydration. I told the teacher to pump her with fluids - preferably water - and made sure she rested, and if there were no improvements to come back. And of course they could take the sick bowl. They never came back, and I take this as a good sign that my diagnosis was right - the girl just needed some liquid in her.
Meanwhile, the ice packs were beginning to thaw, and I was still left alone. I'll openly admit bandaging is not my strong point, and I was unsure about what to do next with the sore ankles, although I knew it would involve bandaging of some kind.
Phone a friend - no reply; clearly they were still dealing with the DIB casualty.
I'd have to go with gut feeling - a little bit longer with the ice packs, then apply a conforming bandage. And just as I was about to apply the bandage, my mate returned to help me out with the bandaging.
With all four casualties finally out the way, I was informed about the DIB lass. An ambulance had been called, although she was thankfully conscious.
As the far off cry of an ambulance siren echoed from the end of the road, we set about tidying up the treatment centre. At least I now know where everything is in there, for the next time I'm stuck in it at a duty.
Our fellow first aiders returned, and we congratulated each other on a job well done. After a well earned cuppa tea, I was driven to the front door of the school (that wasn't due to laziness, it was due to the fact I hadn't had a ride in the treatment centre before) and said my goodbyes, before heading off to change back into the dull-in-comparison school uniform.
Of course I was asked a few questions about why an ambulance had pulled up, and what had happened with the eight casualties we had faced in total that day, and I tried not to make a big deal out of it.
My mates were totally unphased by the experience I had just gained, despite my hyped-up description to them of what had happened. I'm surprised they didn't roll their eyes and mutter "typical Sarah." So I basked in my own happiness for the rest of the day.
It was a great experience though, and a confidence boost for myself. I really had skipped school for a good cause that day.

Some people may think that I'm excited over nothing - that folk have faced worse and dealt with way more gore and tears at an event. This is true, but I'm just chuffed that I actually had the chance to gain some experience, and get a total confidence boost. I'm still learning, and I'm still working on my skills, so every little thing that happens which I have to deal with is just great to me. Besides, I thought that dealing with and treating four casualties at once was quite good, and I enjoyed the experience. It's just one step closer to doing bigger events and helping more casualties. We've all got to start somewhere.