Bruce Cameron

Mar 20, 20140

Editor’s Note: The following column was originally published in 2009.

The Internet is a great place to go for information that is timely, important and completely wrong.

The other day, I was sent an e-mail advising me on how to perform CPR on myself while driving. The idea is that if you have a sudden heart attack while at the wheel, you can keep your heart pumping long enough to drive to a hospital and fill out your insurance forms.

I spoke to a cardiologist about this, who explained that CPR is generally performed on people who are either a) unconscious or b) dead. Both of these conditions probably would impede your ability to give yourself CPR, though it should be noted that there is plenty of evidence that being unconscious does not prevent people from driving.

So-called “cough CPR” is a technique where the victim (or, to use the proper medical term, “corpse”) coughs rhythmically and deeply while driving and sending text messages. The technique is sometimes used in hospitals when a patient suffers heart arrhythmia during a cardiac cauterization, but only under the direction of a physician and only when in the carpool lane.

What the “cough CPR” e-mail does most effectively is convince your cardiologist that you need to go in for some tests because he’s worried you’re not pumping enough blood to your brain.

Another e-mail sent to me gives step-by-step instructions on what to do if I encounter an anaconda, a snake that, according to the e-mail, is 35 feet in length and weighs 400 pounds. The e-mail subject line reads “URGENT!” — as if I’d see a snake that big and not take the situation seriously.

Do not run, the e-mail advises. The snake is faster than you (and, besides, my pants are wet).

Lie flat on the ground. (Say what? That’s like saying if you see a train coming you should throw yourself on the tracks. What else do you want me to do, cover myself in steak sauce?)

Do not panic. (It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? I’ve already had to give myself cough CPR.)

After the snake has examined you, it will begin to swallow your feet and ankles. (I told you I didn’t want to lie down! I should have run away when I still had feet!)

The snake will now begin to suck your legs into its body. Lie perfectly still. (This should be easy since I passed out when the CPR failed.)

When the snake reaches your knees, cut off its head. (This attack will take the snake completely by surprise, since it thought we had reached an agreement as to our respective roles in this undertaking.)

Don’t forget your knife. (Gee, don’t you think you should have mentioned this before you told me to lie down in front of a 400-pound snake? And why should I expect the snake will be as calm about this turn of events as I was by his attack? Suppose it is one of those anacondas who doesn’t read e-mail? Maybe it will wrap itself around me and squeeze instead of lying there not panicking. Then what?)

I wasn’t able to track down someone who was an expert on being attacked by anacondas, but I did ask my cardiologist what he thought I should do if I were driving and I was suddenly attacked by a 35-foot snake.

“If that happens,” he told me, “for God’s sake don’t drive over here.”

He was also less than thrilled with another e-mail I sent him for validation, this one describing a scientific study that proved being significantly overweight led to a lower incidence of disease, infections, even cancer.

“This is even dumber than do-it-yourself CPR,” he told me. “Why are you reading this stuff? Don’t you have some kind of job or something?”

Despite the cardiologist’s objections, I tend to believe this one, because a) I want to and b) the e-mail says the study was conducted under a research grant funded by all the major fast-food companies, and you know that when it comes to health, those people are in your corner.

Besides, there’s only one sure way to avoid an anaconda attack, and that is to weigh more than it does.

(Bruce Cameron has a Website at http://www.wbrucecameron.com.)