"Hey, hey Mister, are you okay?"

No response. "Somebody call 9-1-1 and bring me an AED."

Living in rural Texas, better known as BFE, my husband and I are often first on scene at major vehicle accidents. We don't do this on purpose. Accidents just seem to jump up in front of us or beside us. One day, driving to work, minding our own business, we hear a whooshing noise like a jet engine, look to the left and see a small pickup truck flipping end over end down the road beside us at 80 m.p.h. We park next to the truck as it comes to a stop and I spend the next hour holding the driver's head together. Due to accidents like these, I decide to go back to school to become an Emergency Medical Technician.

Saturday's class makes me wonder why. Don't get me wrong. The instructors are top-notch: patient, intelligent, understandable. My classmates are a smart, eclectic group ranging in age from eighteen to quite a bit older than that. We come from many different backgrounds but we all have one thing in common. We want to save lives. So back to why...

Why do they always have to pick on me?

Our class is divided into squads. I'm on squad three. We think we're the number one squad - something about saving the best for last. The instructor hands out pieces of butcher paper about five feet long to each squad. Our assignment - to draw the human body.

"So this means," the instructor says, "that you need to trace around one of your squad members."

All eyes in my squad turn to me. "Hey, wait a minute." I throw up my hands and start backing slowly away from the group. Where is that blasted door?

"But you're the only one short enough to fit." They advance on me, markers in hand.

"But, but, I'm five foot one... and a half" Yes, the half is very important to me. They surround me, drag me back to the table. Yes, I said table. They couldn't put the paper on the floor. Oh, no. The paper covers the table. Surrendering, I crawl up on the table and lay down on the paper in the anatomically correct position, flat on my back, hands out to my side.

A flash of light blinds me. Now wait a minute! The instructor is taking photographs. Talk about heaping on the humiliation. Finally they finish and I climb down from the table. The instructor walks by and wants to know where my feet are. I told you that inch and a half were important - I didn't fit on the paper after all. So there.

We draw in the bones of the skeleton, the major portions of the circulation system, the lungs, bronchi, etc. Our drawing looks like the mashed remains of a train wreck. We flip the page over, retrace the outline, divide the abdominal cavity into four quadrants and add the organs.

I look at the multi-colored outline. Hmmm, my hips aren't as wide as I thought they were.

"Hey, Instructor, can I keep this drawing?"