Count Your Blessings

We take so many things far, far too much for granted. Especially those close to us.

Yesterday we had a large gathering of family and friends share Christmas with us. We opened presents, had the traditional excessive dinner, and then sat around socializing. (Socializing, of course, is greatly facilitated by various forms and amounts of adult beverages.)

We have what real estate folks refer to as an open floor plan. That means the kitchen and living room are basically one large room, separated only by an island that is kitchen on one side (stove top, sink, etc.) and living room on the other (a chest-high bar top, lined with high-backed bar stools). I was on the kitchen side, helping clean up, while the guests mingled and chatted on the other side.

Suddenly my 94-year-old father began coughing. Not ordinary coughs, but great, heaving, retching hacks. They came in spasms that shook his entire frame. He couldn't talk, was having great difficulty breathing, and was starting to change color.

We live about 15 miles from the nearest town of any size. It would take at least 20 minutes or more for EMS to reach us. Fortunately, one of our friends who lives about five minutes away is an Emergency Room doctor, so we called him.

Unfortunately, he wasn't home.

Fortunately, his wife, who is an ER nurse, was.

We explained the situation to her and she said she'd be right over. In the meantime, the coughing got worse. Dad had an upper respiratory infection earlier in the week, and it seemed like he had tried to cough up a wad of mucous which became stuck in this throat. It reached the point where I was running through the Heimlich maneuver steps in my mind, while at the same time sticking the blade of a boning knife in the stove burner flame to sterilize it in case an emergency tracheotomy became necessary.

The problem was that Dad would have a spasm, be in extreme distress, but then recover slightly for a few seconds. Every time I got ready to give him the Heimlich squeeze he'd rally slightly. I've always been taught that if the victim is breathing even a little bit, don't do anything. But it was so damn frustrating, not to mention frightening, to stand there basically helpless, watching the man who gave you life in danger of losing his own.

Finally he gave one really huge hack and expelled a plug of blackened, dried-up mucus, along with about a cup of totally gross liquid. Immediately afterwards he leaned back and began to breathe a little easier.

About then our friend the ER nurse showed up. She checked him out, confirmed that the crisis was over, and gave us a few suggestions for care and treatment in the near term.

Today Dad's doing fine. He's a little tired from the ordeal (he is, after all, 94) but is resting comfortably and breathing normally, for which we are all grateful.

We're also grateful to have friends who will interrupt their own holiday celebration to help us in our time of need.

So the moral of this story is to not just count your blessings, but to also give those special people in your life a little extra hug or kiss, and let them know how much they mean to you.

You never know when they might be taken away...