Despite operating in cahoots with Farmer H most evenings, and tormenting me with FEET, kitchen messes, waxed carpet, sliced coffee table, coaster toenails, and shower drain hair... I think The Pony would not like to see me dead.
First of all, a few weeks ago, he came down to my lair to ask how to cook something, and I had fallen asleep. Sitting up, in front of New Delly! Not like my mom, who used to slump sideways and rest her weary head on her upper arm as it stretched out along her desk. More like my dad, who used to sit in his unreclined recliner, chin tucked into his neck, snoozing away in front of the fireplace and TV.
Anyhoo... The Pony finally woke me.
"Are you all right? I've been saying your name for five minutes! Numerous times! I was getting worried."
"Yeah. I just nodded off! Why didn't you come shake me?"
"Uh. No."
So The Pony might not want me dead, but not so strongly that he would try to revive me. Or see to the proper disposal of my corpse.
Last night, The Pony almost seemed as if he cared about HELPING me!
I had finished supper, and was treating myself to a handful of Tropical Trail Mix. The generic kind, from Save A Lot. The bag says it contains Banana Chips, Dried Papaya, Raisins, Dried Pineapple, Dried Cranberries, Golden Raisins, Cashews, and Almonds. IT DOES! My serving includes a bit of each. I limit it to two Papaya pieces, and two Pineapple pieces. I eat the other bits, saving these pieces for last. They're like candy!
Let the record show that I nibble these dried fruits. Like a rat, perhaps. Slicing off thin pieces with my incisors. That's just how I like to eat them. They're very sweet. They last a while.
I was holding the Papaya piece in my left hand, fiddling with New Delly's mouse as I innernetted. Nibble, nibble. Chew. Swallow. Nibble, nibble. Chew. AhHARKHARK!!! HehhhhhhhhhHARKHARKHARK!!!
I INHALED A CRUMB OF CHEWED DRIED PAPAYA!
Right down into my lung! Like when you were a kid, drinking your KoolAid too fast, and your dad would say, "Got a bone in it? Did it go down the wrong pipe?"
Yes. It went down the wrong pipe! The trachea instead of the esophagus! I coughed and coughed, trying to bring up that papaya piece. You know how it is. You can FEEL it down there, needing to come up. Not big enough to restrict my airway. I wasn't CHOKING. Just trying to get that unbreathable papaya piece out of my lung. The thought of a trip to the local hospital (VIRUS BE DARNED) to have an ER doc pull it out with forceps actually crossed my mind.
I coughed and coughed. Harshly. Trying to get that sliver out. I took shallow breaths, to not set off my cough reflex any more than it was already doing. I took small sips from my straw in the ice water bubba cup. That should liquefy my secretions, and make them more plentiful, and easier to cough up, hopefully sweeping out the papaya piece. Yes. I was coughing up phlegm, not dry-hacking...
"MOM? Are you OKAY?"
"Uh uh yeah uh. HARKHARK. Uh. I just swallowed HARKHARKHARK a piece of uh uh my fruit."
"Oh. I was WORRIED. I could hear you all the way in my room."
Let the record show that The Pony's room is at the opposite end of the house. Upstairs. Diagonal from my office. He closes his door, has his TV on, and wears his earbuds listening to music, while playing games on his laptop.
In contrast, during my episode, I heard Farmer H walking above me in the master bathroom. Then go to his recliner, which is above me, about an arm's length away, on the other side of the bathroom wall. He did not inquire as to my well-being.
While The Pony did not come all the way into my lair, I think he was at least halfway down the basement steps, hollering at me. When I told him my airway was not blocked, he retreated to his room.
By 1:30 a.m., at this writing, I seem to have coughed up the papaya sliver and swallowed it. Not feeling it specifically, but in all the mucus that came up with coughing. My lungs are a little sensitive to a coughing fit with sinus drainage, but I no longer feel like something needs to be expelled.
In the manner of Physician, Heal Thyself...
Mrs. HM is a poster person for Blogger, Heimlich Yourself.
4 comments:
Awww, The Pony DOES have a caring gene.
I have the same trouble with so many things, including drinks. Down the wrong pipe again and again. I'm beginning to wonder if my esophagus has narrowed somehow. Then I go for days without any trouble and forget about it.
I do the same upright, chin tucked in, sleeping in front of the tv.
River,
I think The Pony uses his rudimentary caring gene selectively!
Sometimes my esophagus doesn't want to swallow! Like with that very dry popcorn that Farmer H got box of at the auction. Or a mini Tootsie Roll will get halfway down. But this instance, I was taking that breath before a cough, and still had some of the papaya sliver ready to go down the hatch.
HeWho would have been pounding on my back relentlessly, probably sending the sliver deeper and asking if I was okay repeatedly! I have esophageal spasms occasionally. I will be unable to swallow and it is painful. I find that if I sit quietly and allow my muscles to relax, it will eventually go down. The first time it happened, it scared me and HeWho had me in a body lock trying to force it up. One breast caught up in his arms squished quite painfully into my ribs, yelling in my ear. His remedy was worse than the ailment. While I appreciate the caring, I explained to him that he should not care for me so vigorously. Nowadays, he will just watch and I will wave him away unless I need assistance. My Dad had the same thing and had to have his esophagus stretched annually. This is done while under anesthesia. They have done mine during a scope to look at my ulcers. It will eventually shrink back and have to be addressed again. Always something to look forward to!
Kathy,
Yikes! HeWho's cure is worse than the malady! I've never heard of esophagus-stretching. Now I wish I didn't know. One more thing to add to my hypochondria list!
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