Tuesday, February 04, 2014


Here is a mildly embarrassing story from the weekend: Meg, my younger sister, had to give me the Heimlich on Saturday.

We were standing at the kitchen counter, Meg was telling Emma a story about one of her patients and I heated up some leftover steak and rice. I was quite engaged in the story, happily chomping on beef and paying no attention. It was my last bite. It went down wrong. I had two seconds where I was like "hmmm, this doesn't seem right. Am I choking? I must be choking."

What's weird is that I didn't panic.

There wasn't even a fraction of a second where I was at all freaked out or nervous or otherwise panicked. I gestured to Meg. I turned around. She gave me one thrust and I was in the clear. No big thing.

I wasn't scared. It wasn't scary. Maybe it's because Meg works in healthcare and is generally pretty capable with these sorts of things or because she's incredibly ripped and there was no way she wasn't going to shoot that piece of steak right out of me or because I am so certain that, as my sister, she would never let anything happen to me.

Because she wouldn't. I am sure.

Almost as sure as I am that she'll never, ever let me forget that she saved my life.


my life is brilliant said...

Holy crap! Glad it was a non-emergency and that Meg was there. Whew!

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