An honest, actual recovery with CPR is less than half of that 3% ‘success’ rate that gets bandied about. A true, ‘this person actually healed up and had a life afterwards’ recovery is less than half a percent.
It’s freak accidents that happen to young people. Like 45 or younger.
Most people getting CPR are medically fragile already-hence the fucking heart stoppage-and foisting a chestful of broken ribs on top of whatever chronic ailments they already have does nothing but extend their suffering.
It’s on you for not telling anyone your intentions. Your decision. Your responsibility to make sure it’s adhered to. So start with informing people. Don’t get shocked that no one understands what you want without you telling them first. Own yourself.
And how, precisely, am I supposed to tell random fucking jackoffs like in the story?
None of you fucks even know what a DNR is, means, what it looks like, and not a single one of you cunts could be expected to uphold it even if you were told.
You don’t get a special bracelet. This isn’t the ‘life alert’ infomercial. Tattoos mean absolutely nothing to medical professionals.
You literally have to have a DNR on file, active, in your county of residence, and they have to look it up. Which will not happen until you’re already admitted.
And if you get sent to a hospital in a different county? Because you’re visiting family or something? You’re fucked. You’re on a machine, keeping you alive. As long as your shitty relatives feel like it.
I have no desire to die incoherent in a hospital with no concept of what’s going on other than everything is uncomfortable. And with the united state’s version of healthcare, I will have to make sure I die somewhere else.
They aren’t random people. This was a neighbour. Tell your neighbours. They are right fucking there. Frankly you are the person you should be most mad at for being in your own way for this one. failing to not only get to know who Lives around you but also tell someone who’s not even a mile away from you you absolute Psychopath. That’s on you. You’re a fucking grown up. That’s entirely on you. Slip on your big person pants and get to work at owning your decisions by TELLING PEOPLE. Stop just sitting on what you feel is ‘valued information’ the moment you get it. They aren’t fucking psychics.
Man, fuck all the heroes in this thread.
I’d 100% fuck with some neighbor asshole who resuscitated me into a life with a whole rack of broken ribs on top of all the other problems
Then get a fucking tattoo on your forehead saying Do Not Resuscitate.
Otherwise I’m going to assume you want to live, like 99.9% of humanity when they need CPR.
An honest, actual recovery with CPR is less than half of that 3% ‘success’ rate that gets bandied about. A true, ‘this person actually healed up and had a life afterwards’ recovery is less than half a percent.
It’s freak accidents that happen to young people. Like 45 or younger.
Most people getting CPR are medically fragile already-hence the fucking heart stoppage-and foisting a chestful of broken ribs on top of whatever chronic ailments they already have does nothing but extend their suffering.
19.9% if started immediately
https://lemmy.ml/comment/13555268
As you put it in your other comment: “ignorant cunt”
Stay the fuck away from me, and anyone you see having a medical emergency
Oh no, broken ribs. Those famously can never be healed
How many comorbidities do you have
It’s on you for not telling anyone your intentions. Your decision. Your responsibility to make sure it’s adhered to. So start with informing people. Don’t get shocked that no one understands what you want without you telling them first. Own yourself.
And how, precisely, am I supposed to tell random fucking jackoffs like in the story?
None of you fucks even know what a DNR is, means, what it looks like, and not a single one of you cunts could be expected to uphold it even if you were told.
You don’t get a special bracelet. This isn’t the ‘life alert’ infomercial. Tattoos mean absolutely nothing to medical professionals.
You literally have to have a DNR on file, active, in your county of residence, and they have to look it up. Which will not happen until you’re already admitted.
And if you get sent to a hospital in a different county? Because you’re visiting family or something? You’re fucked. You’re on a machine, keeping you alive. As long as your shitty relatives feel like it.
I have no desire to die incoherent in a hospital with no concept of what’s going on other than everything is uncomfortable. And with the united state’s version of healthcare, I will have to make sure I die somewhere else.
When I die, it isn’t fucking about you
They aren’t random people. This was a neighbour. Tell your neighbours. They are right fucking there. Frankly you are the person you should be most mad at for being in your own way for this one. failing to not only get to know who Lives around you but also tell someone who’s not even a mile away from you you absolute Psychopath. That’s on you. You’re a fucking grown up. That’s entirely on you. Slip on your big person pants and get to work at owning your decisions by TELLING PEOPLE. Stop just sitting on what you feel is ‘valued information’ the moment you get it. They aren’t fucking psychics.