The story goes that Dr. Henry Heimlich was on an airplane flight. He was a well-known chest surgeon and a clever guy. During a meal, Heimlich’s seatmate began to struggle. You can tell this was long ago, because the passengers on this flight were served real food in portions big enough to choke on.
Anyhow, the man began to struggle, pointing to his throat. He made no sound. Heimlich realized that his seatmate had a totally obstructed airway, doubtless clogged with food. The classic treatment then was to whack the sufferer on the back, which Heimlich did. The man was turning blue. With a flash of inspiration, Heimlich punched the man in the upper abdomen. Out flew a piece of chicken. The man took a huge breath, then sat down heavily.
This problem was well known in medical circles and had picked up its own euphemism, the café coronary. I subsequently learned that this type of airway obstruction is most common in people with full upper dentures. The denture plate covers the palate, so the sense of food presence is lost.
Later that century, I was sitting at home in Florida. My mother, aged 76, had come to visit and we were chatting in the kitchen over brunch. I was a working anesthesiologist at the time and my mother was energetically giving me advice on how to run my practice. We too were eating chicken.
The conversation stopped suddenly. My mother got a strange look on her face, stood up and walked to the sink. She was gagging, leaning over the sink, absolutely soundlessly.
“What’s wrong Mom?”
No response, she just shook her head, eyes beginning to bulge.
I stood behind my mother, clasped my hands together, and pulled hard up and back. A white chunk of food shot out of her mouth, hit the window, and fell into the disposal.
Undaunted, my mother took a breath, wiped her mouth, sat back down, and said “now where was I?”
