Choking

After mass this morning, in a city we were visiting, Chester wanted to shake the priest's hand. The priest surprised him with a little green piece of hard candy. I thought, "How sweet" and unwrapped it for the kid as we walked down the steps. Two seconds later he was silently gagging. It was stuck in his throat.

I started googling "what to do with a choking toddler" and then quickly stopped just to comfort him and encourage him to breath and throw it up (he finally did). I mean, I know what to do for a choking baby, and I know more or less what to do for a choking adult, but realized as he was gagging and heaving that I don't really know when being a baby stops and being an adult starts. (I guess, it turns out, from 1-12 is some sort of hybrid between baby and adult choking with recommended treatment after coughing stops being slaps on the back and a sort of Heimlich.)

Anyway, it was the scariest two minutes of my life as he silently gagged and heaved and threw up mucus and finally threw up the candy. Some people standing nearby stood with us; one offered a bottle of water. An old man to whom Francisco had been previously lending his phone to call for a ride was oblivious to the choking child and returned Francisco's cell phone with some pleasantries.

The poor kid was crying and crying and very scared. But a couple of minutes after the candy came loose he was beginning to get back to himself--telling me authoritatively that I shouldn't have given him the candy. (Thanks kid; hindsight is 20-20.) And for the rest of the day we fielded questions about why breathing tubes are next to swallowing tubes. (I told him I didn't know--and suspect that God really screwed that one up. We clearly need two separate throats.)

Anyway, we were reminded today about the fragility of our bodies and of our vulnerability. And are really glad that our kid didn't die of a candy given to him by priest, because that would have just been wrong. And have mutually agreed to stay away from hard candies in the future.