Jules had a post that brought vividly to the forefront of my brain a memory. I was going to get into it on her comments, but decided I'd just skip straight to my own blog and tell the tale…
When I was about 3 I was living with my paternal grandparents subsequent to and after my mother's dying. They were terrific people and had raised four children of their own – the youngest still in high school as I was living there. I'm pretty sure back then they didn't have all the warnings about children choking on small toy pieces, bites of hot dogs, or, in my case, a lifesaver candy. Let's just say, thank goodness lifesaver candies have holes… it probably saved my life.
I remember walking in the house from outside when suddenly I couldn't breathe and yes, the candy was stuck perfectly in my little throat. I remember Grandma keeping her cool as she tried to get it out, then getting my Grandpa and between the two of them trying to get it out. I remember barely being able to breath through my throat, but in thinking back on it, I should have been able to breath through my nose, right? Hmmm… I just remember them discussing calmly whether to try and put something down my throat to skewer it out or to let nature melt it out. I remember thumps on the back, lots of crying, and flashlights down my throat… "it is getting smaller!"… One way or another, I remember it finally came out, much to great relief.
That brings me to the present. I have this weird thing I do, unintentionally, that I swear will someday be the death of me. I choke on my own spit. A lot. What's with that? I "swallow wrong", or "inhale" it, or something… but however I do it, I end up choking my fool head off turning 15 shades of red to purple and think I will never breathe again. It isn't like I'm choking on actual food, so there really isn't anything to do to "bring it up" or make me stop. I just gotta run the course.
We won't even get into the whole "once you choke, you gotta sneeze" thing. Okay, now aren't you glad you came by today?