This week I have been mostly attending a first aid course.
When I initially signed up for it, it appeared to be somewhat of an albatross around my neck.
Three days of minor medical training during a week that is already one fifth shorter due to the bank holiday.
Plus there’s the fact that by becoming a trained first aider, will people suddenly expect me to have an inside-out knowledge of ailments both major and minor?
Are my days of having a nice quiet cuppa in one of Kettering’s half-a-dozen identically named coffee shops a thing of the past, being replaced by a queue of invalids who can see my new qualification from a mile off wanting me to diagnose a possible sniffle or ingrowing hair?
It’s fair to say that my step was not exactly “springy” as I opened the door to the classroom on Tuesday morning.
By the end of the day, however, my opinion was somewhat different and I would now lobby for everyone, no matter what your job, regardless of whether you are single, dating or married with 20 kids to have some basic training too.
The amount of things that I learned that had never crossed my mind were remarkable, and I’m not just talking about the recovery position or what to do if someone comes into work who has asthma.
What would you do if a member of your family had some kind of fit or started choking?
I always had an idea about how these situations should be dealt with but the course taught me that my perceived solutions could well have made the situation worse.
After a day it was no longer about being the designated person in the office with the green sash on, it was about knowing how I could protect my family to the best of my ability.
If these lessons were thrown in with science and PE at school they’d be fun – and could possibly help save a life too.