
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, when I told my online friend Carlito what had happened, he responded by saying he’d seen an uptick in people choking on dry burritos. I wouldn’t be surprised if Carlito is still studying this new trend.
Oh, and thank you to my wife for saving my life.
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