“Oh God, he’s dead!” The tears stream uncontrollably. The same sad words— “he’s dead”— reiterate through convulsive sobs of sorrow. The rescuer thrusts violently against his chest, the movement of her lips a verbal metronome against which the compressions are delivered. “One-and-two-and-three-and…” “You’re doing it wrong! He’s turning blue!” “Take care of this guy!” she shouts. “You, calm him down. Keep him away and watch him for shock.” Her count reaches thirty and she seals the victims nose for two more breaths. The chest rises, falls, and repeats. She traces his ribcage with her hand, places two fingers on his sternum, and strikes the heel of her palm in place. The count resumes as she channels 130 pounds of force » read more «