It was a normal start to the school day when the unimaginable and the unthinkable came calling. The end of my world was about to pay us a visit.
The boys were 10, 9, 7, then, readying themselves for school, that morning. I would be driving them as I usually did. Our oldest attended an area Arts Focus program, one that the other two would be attending, the following year. Making them breakfast was always an important beginning of their week day routine. Today's specialty was French toast with bacon, a treat and mid-week departure from the usual hot cereal menu. He had requested that I not fry the bacon too long. He did not want it too crispy. He liked it that way.
The boys sat down, eager to eat, then depart for school
early with me to be with their friends in the schoolyard. Breakfast was
served. With all meals, supervision was paramount. With children, you
just never know. That morning, however, 'knowing' made its ugly,
death-defying presence known, an unwelcome visitor to our meal time
routine. It happened so quickly. I watched as our youngest attempted
to cough up the offending food, the bacon he so enjoyed, trapped inside. ... Nothing
seemed to work. I asked him to do whatever he needed to expel it.
'Throw up!" Anything. "Do not concern yourself with any mess." "Cough it up!"
"Everything will be fine".
We all waited, our attention now on the full-blown life and death event unfolding before us. Nothing! His brothers stood up from the table, that until a few minutes ago, had been the sight of 3 little boys enjoying their breakfast. My youngest stood up, trying ever so mightily, to cough up the bacon bit that remained intact - where it was not meant to be. Still nothing! Everything his brothers were telling him to do was simply not happening. He was now beginning to turn a deep red colour, a sign that this event was not going well. The food had to be expelled soon. God had given me 3 minutes.
We lived in the country, then, not far from the small town where they attended the quaint public school, for grades up to 6, with no gymnasium. The 911 emergency service had not yet been implemented. “Oh my God,” I thought, as I looked at the clock and realized, in quiet desperation, that time was passing, very quickly. Superman was not coming. ... A disaster of untold proportions was looming. I steadied myself for the job I knew I had to do. ... Being calm was imperative. The waiting game was officially over! Even if 911 was in play, would the paramedics even get here, in time? The crying, the panic and hysteria of re-enactments, I have seen on television, never seemed to serve any useful purpose. Those theatrical performances wasted precious time and offered no real solution to the emergencies unfolding.
Life and death thinking was now up close and very personal. I had never envisioned, when my husband and I took that lifesaving course, 8 years ago, that we would be its beneficiaries. ... Our youngest was still standing, hoping this small gesture would help, somehow, in moving the offending food and expedite matters. ... Nothing again! A minute or so had lapsed, coupled with yet another intense colour change. The ' 3 minute window' of opportunity was dwindling fast. The brain would now begin its closing arguments. His palor was still deep red, albeit with a bluish tinge, now, an indicator that death was close at hand. ...It was time to act. ... Tears and panic had no place here. ... Enough time had been spent hoping for a satisfactory resolution. ... It was now my turn to 'step up to the plate' and do what needed to be done. ...
I grabbed him, as I walked to the entrance of the kitchen, lifting him ever so gingerly, from behind, while positioning my back against the doorway. ... Being a grade 3 student, he was almost as tall as I was. I did not want to fall and add a new tragic dimension to this medical crisis. Every second counted. With one hand wrapped around my clenched fist, I applied, very carefully, the 'specialized' pressure required to push out the offending 'food plug' residing deep inside our son's throat. Out it popped, like a spinning top, onto the floor into the next room. An overwhelming sigh of relief gave rise to uncontrollable, momentary, shaking and a few tears. Trembling so quietly, we embraced, realizing how close we had come to saying goodbye, forever! This terrifying moment was finished; the assault on our senses, done. It was soon time to go.
I called the school to inform them of what had happened. They needed to know he might be different today. His promise not to eat again was understandable. Food was the last thing on his mind. As mothers we second-guess ourselves, continually, about the 'staying' home or work debate. I was there for the most important 3 minutes of our family's life. Money earned, early, in the life of our children can, at some point, be spent later for 'corrective' measures. We do what feels right at the time. The wellbeing of our young children is what matters most, however.
When I think of the elementary school lunch period, I wonder who is supervising those silly busy little minds, preoccupied with everything except chewing their food well. The incessant talking and giggling bring chills as I worry about crunchy apple slices, carrot sticks and other chewy unmentionables, parts of a so-called healthy lunch.. The unimaginable with children can happen anytime, anywhere- even when you think you are doing everything right. And I was that morning, or so I thought!
We all waited, our attention now on the full-blown life and death event unfolding before us. Nothing! His brothers stood up from the table, that until a few minutes ago, had been the sight of 3 little boys enjoying their breakfast. My youngest stood up, trying ever so mightily, to cough up the bacon bit that remained intact - where it was not meant to be. Still nothing! Everything his brothers were telling him to do was simply not happening. He was now beginning to turn a deep red colour, a sign that this event was not going well. The food had to be expelled soon. God had given me 3 minutes.
We lived in the country, then, not far from the small town where they attended the quaint public school, for grades up to 6, with no gymnasium. The 911 emergency service had not yet been implemented. “Oh my God,” I thought, as I looked at the clock and realized, in quiet desperation, that time was passing, very quickly. Superman was not coming. ... A disaster of untold proportions was looming. I steadied myself for the job I knew I had to do. ... Being calm was imperative. The waiting game was officially over! Even if 911 was in play, would the paramedics even get here, in time? The crying, the panic and hysteria of re-enactments, I have seen on television, never seemed to serve any useful purpose. Those theatrical performances wasted precious time and offered no real solution to the emergencies unfolding.
Life and death thinking was now up close and very personal. I had never envisioned, when my husband and I took that lifesaving course, 8 years ago, that we would be its beneficiaries. ... Our youngest was still standing, hoping this small gesture would help, somehow, in moving the offending food and expedite matters. ... Nothing again! A minute or so had lapsed, coupled with yet another intense colour change. The ' 3 minute window' of opportunity was dwindling fast. The brain would now begin its closing arguments. His palor was still deep red, albeit with a bluish tinge, now, an indicator that death was close at hand. ...It was time to act. ... Tears and panic had no place here. ... Enough time had been spent hoping for a satisfactory resolution. ... It was now my turn to 'step up to the plate' and do what needed to be done. ...
I grabbed him, as I walked to the entrance of the kitchen, lifting him ever so gingerly, from behind, while positioning my back against the doorway. ... Being a grade 3 student, he was almost as tall as I was. I did not want to fall and add a new tragic dimension to this medical crisis. Every second counted. With one hand wrapped around my clenched fist, I applied, very carefully, the 'specialized' pressure required to push out the offending 'food plug' residing deep inside our son's throat. Out it popped, like a spinning top, onto the floor into the next room. An overwhelming sigh of relief gave rise to uncontrollable, momentary, shaking and a few tears. Trembling so quietly, we embraced, realizing how close we had come to saying goodbye, forever! This terrifying moment was finished; the assault on our senses, done. It was soon time to go.
I called the school to inform them of what had happened. They needed to know he might be different today. His promise not to eat again was understandable. Food was the last thing on his mind. As mothers we second-guess ourselves, continually, about the 'staying' home or work debate. I was there for the most important 3 minutes of our family's life. Money earned, early, in the life of our children can, at some point, be spent later for 'corrective' measures. We do what feels right at the time. The wellbeing of our young children is what matters most, however.
When I think of the elementary school lunch period, I wonder who is supervising those silly busy little minds, preoccupied with everything except chewing their food well. The incessant talking and giggling bring chills as I worry about crunchy apple slices, carrot sticks and other chewy unmentionables, parts of a so-called healthy lunch.. The unimaginable with children can happen anytime, anywhere- even when you think you are doing everything right. And I was that morning, or so I thought!
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