I’m not sure if you had heard the recent news story about the 11-year-old boy that went into cardiac arrest at the University of BC swimming pool early in June and was successfully revived by a couple lifeguards using an automated external defibrillator (AED). The lad, who had some cardiac history, was stabilized enough to get to the hospital and have a tiny defibrillator implanted in his chest and has shown no ill effects from his experience. This was one of the few times when you watch the news that you actually felt better after the story.
The story also hits close to home, not only because it is in B.C. but also because those guards could be anyone performing the job of lifeguard in the province, assuming they are following the training regimen of the Lifesaving Society of BC. It also has a bit of impact because just that morning at about 6:45 a.m., I heard the alarm for the AED box in our lobby go off, which indicated the door to one of our two cabinets had been opened. I personally wasn’t alarmed because I knew the guards were doing their regular training on the care and operation of the units these past couple weeks, which represents just a small portion of the training required for the position.
Not long after we opened, someone mentioned that the guards looked too professional and why can’t they smile? Unfortunately, no, we make them sign a document that forbids any facial expressions of enjoyment — wait, I’m kidding! In actuality, they are extremely focussed and constantly scanning the pool, doing head counts, anticipating who is going to do what, trying to keep the deck clear and communicating with their fellow guards via any number of a binder full of hand signals and motions.
Some of you may remember the signs on the fence at the old pool stating, “Please do not talk to the lifeguard” — that was there for a reason; perhaps while someone is standing in front of the guard, blocking their view and chatting about their latest recipe, that’s when the 11-year-old has a cardiac event and gets missed on a scan. Face it, although a different scope, you wouldn’t go into the operating room while Uncle Bob is having his triple bypass and start chatting with the doctor about fishing lures or the scalloped potatoes in the cafeteria — at least, not if you still like Uncle Bob.
Not all stories necessarily turn out as good as the UBC one, but lifeguards are trained and retrained, certified and recertified until the whole process hopefully becomes second nature — I’ve seen many times when an incident happens, that second nature kicks in and the procedure becomes a mechanical process of assessing and responding, which is a good thing. I remember years ago when we had a kids summer camp, and one of the vehicles the instructors were riding in to take the kids to Twin Bays lost control and rolled off the highway. Once the training kicked in for the lifeguard, it became a process; despite the fact that she was in the accident and that she was a teenager at the time.
So, recapping, as you watch lifeguards do their patterns and rotations of scanning, they are not unapproachable (although perhaps talk to the ones cleaning first if at all possible), take their jobs seriously for your sake and do, upon occasion, smile.
Neil Ostafichuk is the recreation supervisor at the Creston and District Community Complex.
