Resuscitating a Frog

The dry heat trespassed through the front door of our small, quaint, and empty Arizona home. Many bodies crowded together in a cramped living room to say their goodbyes and well wishes. Most of my family's belongings had been stacked meticulously into every available inch of a small rented moving truck. My mother’s beloved family heirloom, a very heavy and slightly out of tune piano, had in no way spared the backs of our kindly neighbor, nor my worn out father. My toddler sister, who had been filled with ripe indignation over her seeming lack of attention, finally gave up her incessant wailing and was now quietly playing with the only toy not stuffed in a cardboard box (a baby girl doll she had affectionately named Peter). My older brother clung to a small blue backpack filled with all the snacks and books an eight year old could want. The one who had filled the backpack had said a silent prayer it would keep him occupied for a lengthy amount of time. 

My parents were tired and weighed down by the fifteen hour drive that awaited them from Mesa, Arizona to Caldwell, Idaho. I wasn’t tired, but rather excited! We were going on an adventure. We were going to a magical place with mountains, grass, and snow! I wondered what the snow would feel like. Mom said we wouldn’t see it for at least three months after living there, but my bright imagination was hopeful for the early arrival of a winter wonderland filled with friendly polar bears in red scarves and penguins with their fuzzy babies nestled on their feet. I’ve since gotten used to disappointment. 

I was six years old at the time, a fact I was very proud to declare to whomever I encountered. I stood eyeing the grownups with some degree of impatience, cradling a small portable aquarium containing the only possession I cared about at the time. A few months ago I had gone to the pet store with the intent of purchasing a goldfish, but to my complete elation, returned home with an African Dwarf Frog. It was a unique little species of amphibian that was entirely aquatic and looked like you had taken a normal frog and squashed it flat. It was an awkward looking pet, worthy of a confused squint and amused smile from every visitor I excitedly showed it too.  

I had named him Tad, and he would not leave my sight the entirety of the trip. As I stood impatiently, he happily searched the bottom of the aquarium for scraps of food, completely oblivious to my love and how incredibly ridiculous he looked. As final goodbyes began to conclude, my mom turned her attention to me and my beloved pet. A predicament suddenly dawned on her. Arizona was offering us a blazing 110 degrees Fahrenheit that day. We had fried and subsequently burned eggs on the sidewalk many a time in such weather, but this is not what concerned her. What concerned her was the fact that the modest little clunker we were to make our journey in lacked air conditioning. This was an unfortunate characteristic we had grown accustomed to, but Tad had not. The image of a fried little frog and a hysterical six year old entered her mind, and it didn’t match match her original vision of what she was willing to put up with for the duration of the trip. 

She stepped away from the crowd for a moment and returned with plastic cooler and two small ice packs. She then explained an idea to her concerned little girl who inevitably agreed to put the small aquarium into the cooler with two ice packs placed carefully on each end. With that worry neutralized, the time had finally come for us to depart the humble abode we had called home for many a dry and hot day, and make our way northward. Dad and my brother climbed into the moving truck. Me, my mom, my sister, and my grandma who had selflessly elected to assist us on our excursion, all piled into the clunker. As always, we felt as though we were loading ourselves into a pre-set oven. Mom immediately rolled down the windows to hopefully alleviate some degree of discomfort, and grandma passed around ice cubes to rub on our necks and foreheads. Off we went on a brand new adventure, and what an adventure it would be. 

Other than the fact that we were feeling very hot, things started off smoothly. Mesa offers a unique beauty with its jagged red rock formations contrasted against a clear blue sky. Grandma was a wonderful storyteller, and was doing well at keeping my sister and I entertained. Though I was enjoying grandma’s stories and the beauty of the desert, I was not quick to forget about my little frog. The cooler was set right next to me, the lid off so I could regularly look down and observe my little aquatic friend. An hour or two passed and all was well, that is, until all was very much unwell. 

It had been about 5 minutes since my last check on Tad, so I looked down to see how he was faring. To my horror, I found him belly up at the bottom of a watery abyss. A single tear fell from my eye as grief began to fill my young soul. Then the single tear was followed by many more tears and unpleasant feelings began to be vocalized very erratically. My mom gave a brief look heavenward and asked a single question. Oh for the love, why? My grandma took the aquarium out of the cooler and felt the water with her finger. The water was frigid. The ice packs had done their job all too well, lowering the water temperature to a level that was clearly not well tolerated by Tad’s little body. 

My grandma, who wasn’t ready to call the time of death, grabbed a water bottle from a cup holder. It had started out cold, but by this point in the trip it had become quite warm. She slowly began to mix the warm water into the carrier. I peered hopefully through tear filled eyes as Tad swirled around lifelessly. We waited for quite a while. Nothing. Grandma, who had been a nurse in the ER for many years, had another idea. With a steady hand she fished out Tad’s limp body and laid him belly up on the palm of her hand. For a second she paused and stared, questioning whether this was in fact the reality of her life. Then she placed her finger over the place on Tad’s chest where one would have imagined the heart would be. Up and down her finger went, gently but firmly. They hadn’t taught her how to do chest compressions on a frog in nursing school, but she assumed the same compression rate as she would have for a human victim. 

For a while, efforts seemed unfruitful. Tears that had temporarily slowed at the beginning of my grandma’s life saving efforts assumed their original frequency. Mom began to prepare mentally for the difficult journey ahead. Grandma wondered if you could get salmonella poisoning from doing mouth to mouth on a frog, but acknowledging the fact that she wasn’t willing to go to such a length, dismissed the thought. 

Then suddenly, there was movement. A single webbed arm began to slap back and forth violently. He was alive! Grandma dropped him back into the water, now at a much more appropriate temperature from her earlier efforts of mixing in the warm water. He looked dazed and disgruntled, but he was alive, and I couldn’t have been happier. 

Tad was always a little dirpy after his ordeal, but despite his somewhat permanent mental setbacks, he lived another six years. Grandma was my hero from then on. At family reunions she never fails to tell the thrilling tale of when she resuscitated her granddaughter’s frog. Her imitation of his single arm slapping back and forth gets quite the laugh. We all get quite a kick out of it these days. Life tends to present itself in all types of colors and situations. Sometimes life is so ridiculous and unfortunate that we can only survive by finding the humor and learning to laugh at it.