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Thank You, Dr. Heimlich

posted Wednesday May 12th, 2010

Of course it’s going to happen when you least expect it. I can never seem to remember that.

Annabelle was invited to a birthday party last night. Normally I’m not a fan of the school night birthday party, but this was one of her best friends, Bhavini — a BFF since kindergarten — and chances are good that this is the last time they’ll celebrate Bhavini’s birthday together. She and her mother will likely return to India this summer.

Bhavini is one of those kids who takes things literally, so she wanted to celebrate her birthday ON THE EXACT DAY. Her mom respects that, and so do I, so that’s how I found myself in such a rush last night, running from work to grab Annabelle at after care, racing her to her piano lesson then calling the sitter on the way to Bhavini’s to warn her I’d be late getting home to Sophie.

I’d figured I’d drop Annabelle at Bhavini’s apartment, go home and feed Sophie, maybe get her homework done (there’s never much) and Ray would be home by then so I could run back to get Annabelle when the party was over.

I didn’t realize I was expected to stay at the party. Damn it. I didn’t want to offend the hostess — Annabelle was one of just two friends invited, the rest of the guests were Bhavini’s mom’s friends, made slowly and carefully in the four years they’ve lived in this odd place, apart from their own friends and family in India. In four years, I’d never been invited in.

I quickly explained that Sophie was at home. Maybe I could go home, get her, and come back together?

Of course, Vandala said.

OK, phew. I sped home and spent precious minutes waking Sophie up — it’s odd to find her asleep at 6:45, but not completely unheard of. She was excited to go out for dinner, which seemed like the quickest way to get her fed and get over to Vandala’s.

One of the joys of living in a college town, even this rather sterile one, is that there’s great food nearby. We hit one of the, oh, two dozen Thai places in a half-mile radius, and giggled over satay for me and a big bowl of white rice for Sophie. She ate several bites of chicken. Success.

At the end of the meal, the waitress brought mints. Not the totally hard kind, these are sort of a butter mint. Last time we were at this restaurant, Sophie put one in her mouth and immediately spit it out, so I was surprised she even wanted me to open the package.

I could swear I saw her spit that mint out.

I quickly paid the check, checking the time. Late, of course. It was 7:45 and the party ended at 8. I’d said we’d be back at 7:30. Crap.

I buckled Sophie into her booster seat, still giggly and excited to go to the big girls’ party. We started the two block drive to the apartment complex.

Lately we have been listening to Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious way too loudly on the car stereo, but luckily there was no time for music, so I could hear it loud and clear, when Sophie started wretching. Clearly, she’d thrown up.

My first thought: OH SHIT! That’s why she was so tired earlier, she’s getting sick. My second thought: DAMN, I just got my car washed.

I pulled over — we were on a side street — and hopped out to assess the damage. My kids are both big barfers, so I was expecting a big mess and a crying, but totally ok kid.

I blinked hard, my worse-every-day-eyes struggling in the twilight. There was no vomit.

Sophie was choking. It was the mint.

Oh my god, OHMYFUCKINGGOD, how did I let that happen? I’m entrusted with this tiny person’s life, and look what I have done. Look at her. LOOK AT HER. Do something!

“Sophie are you choking?” I asked. She nodded. And then, the scariest question I think a mom can ask a kid.

“Can you breathe?”

No, she couldn’t breathe. Later, Annabelle would ask if Sophie’s eyes got really big. They did. Her face was bright red and her mouth was wide open and her hands were waving.

I reached for the buckle and grabbed her out of the seat. How long do you have when someone is choking? I have no idea. I stood in the street holding her and she dangled from my fingertips like she weighed nothing, even though I’ve been telling her lately that she’s almost too heavy to pick up.

I didn’t know what to do, so I did what you do when someone is choking. I did the Heimlich Maneuver.

Or my version of it, anyway. I faced her away from me, shoved the heels of my hands up under her diaphram and pushed upward, trying to picture the diagrams.

And I screamed. It’s a busy area, but of course this is metropolitan Phoenix, so somehow there was no one around. One guy was walking by, a skinny, sweet-faced kid on a cell phone.

“HELP ME! HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” I screamed. “MY DAUGHTER IS CHOKING!”

He just  stood there and looked at me. I looked at him, as I kept pushing. An SUV pulled up, and a guy a little older than the first guy got out.

“HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME SOMEBODY HELP ME! SOMEBODY, SOMEBODY, HELP ME!” That was all I could think of to say.

The SUV guy pulled out his phone and dialed 911. There was no time for 911, was there? Fuck, how long do you have when your kid is choking?

The worst part is that when someone is choking, they don’t make any noise.

I kept pushing, and screaming as though I didn’t see these guys right in front of me, and right as the 911 operated answered, the kid pointed and we all looked down, and there it was. The mint. It was dark now, and the mint glowed white.

I turned Sophie around to face me. “Are you ok? Can you breath now?”

She nodded. I grabbed her up in my arms, only now realizing that my car was still running.

“She’s ok,” I said. “I think she’s ok.”

The guy with the SUV pulled the phone from his ear to ask me, “Do you want them to send the paramedics?”

I shook my head. He thanked the 911 operator and hung up.

We stood there in the street, the two young men, Sophie and me.

“I’m Steve,” said the guy with the SUV.

“I’m Neil,” the kid said. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Neither did I!”

Sophie introduced herself, then I remembered to introduce myself, and we all stood there, a little awkward. I thanked them profusely, and they were on their way. I stood for a minute in the street, holding Sophie tight, not saying anything.

“I’m okay, Mommy,” she said in my ear.

We got back in the car and drove to Bhavini’s apartment. Climbing the stairs, we talked about how scary it was. Sophie turned to me and said, “I didn’t cry!”

It’s true. Even after the mint was out, she didn’t get upset.

“Me either, Soph,” I said. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I think we’re both in shock.”

She agreed.

Later, after she’d eaten some pizza and played “Life” with the big girls, we drove home and Sophie told Annabelle the story. We passed the Thai restaurant and Sophie pointed.

“That place is bad. I don’t want to go back there,” she said, pointing to its neighbor. “Next time we go to McDonald’s.”

“Ok, Sophie,” I said. “Next time we’ll go to McDonald’s.”

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Tags: Filed under: health by Amysilverman

9 Responses to “Thank You, Dr. Heimlich”

  1. oh my god. I’m so glad you both are okay. Holy hell, that sounds horrible.

  2. Amy, I’m crying. So incredibly scary. As you know, this is one of my worst nightmares since I learned firsthand this past winter that this kind of s*** actually happens in real life (I know, duh, right?).
    I’m so sorry you and Sophie had to experience this.
    So glad everyone is OK.
    love to you both.

  3. Oh Amy–how horrific and scary! So thankful Sophie is fine.

  4. so awful.
    i’d probably be driven to mcdonalds too.

  5. Fuck!

  6. So glad she was okay. Makes me hate those little piles of candy even more.

  7. Feeling helpless sucks. You were both very brave.

  8. whew, so relieved for you all!

  9. One way or another, you did it right. You’re a good mommy. Love to you all.

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