At lunchtime one day last year, I was going about my business trying to manage my severe afternoon exhaustion due to chronic illness while sitting upright in my bed eating a chicken burrito, hold the cheese, from Chipotle, when I suddenly started choking on a large bite of the dry tortilla/rice/chicken. Somehow, I was able to dash into the hallway and call for help, though barely audible. My wife screamed for my oldest son to call 911, but he couldn’t find her phone (we have no landline). Running up the stairs faster than you can say, “Extra guac, please,” she descended on me and delivered three hard slaps to my back, to no avail. Seconds from death, I was able to eke out, “Do the Heimlich maneuver.” “I don’t know how to do it!” she screamed back. Then, suddenly, I was twice lifted off the ground during a series of severe chest thrusts — more like massive bear hugs — in her desperate attempt to do the Heimlich maneuver. On the fifth one, I could finally breathe again. The next morning...