#17 More Accident and Emergency - Part One

On Sunday, a lump of chicken entered my throat and remained there for nearly 24 hours. This is that story.

For a good few years now, I've had trouble swallowing certain foods, mostly breads and meats. It doesn't always happen but often it will get stuck and I have two options that I have to negotiate as quickly as possible. One is taking a big swig of fluids hence pushing it down, or secondly, self vomiting and pushing it back up again. This situation happened on Sunday as I was tucking into a chicken sandwich. I decided on option 1 and drank some coca cola but rather than washing it down, the coke didn't budge it and instead I began to choke on the tasty black nectar. I ran to a toilet and threw up the drink but alas no chicken. It's at this point that I revert normally to option 2, getting my fingers down my food tube and kick starting a disgusting but necessary reaction. That reaction provided much mess but not that elusive lump of poultry.

The feeling I experience is hard to explain. Once I know I have food stuck in me. I AM able to breathe moderately easily and talk at times but over a short period of time, those luxuries expire and I'm forced to return to the toilet bowl and attempt another sick run. Whether the sick run brings up the food or not, the process gives me 5 or so mins of much needed comfort of sorts before the process is repeated. I spent over an hour in the disabled toilet in my workplace doing that process. In the meantime, my face begins to swell, my blood vessels burst leaving my head a blotted portrait of disgust (hence the blog picture). Also if I really give it a good go, my nose bleeds from the strain adding more awkwardness and distress. I text my colleague, tom to tell him my issue and not to expect me on the shops floor anytime soon. This was going the distance and I had no plan b.

I had started to time my cycle to try and see if there was a way I could get gone in between bouts of vomiting. I managed to get it to 10m so I got out, said my goodbyes and headed out the front door with my bag and my lump of chicken. I made it 5 mins but no more and I ran into the nearby Met Quarter toilets. There began another hour of throat torture. This was made even worse by the fact that unidentified men were unloading their bowels one cubicle away from me. They must have felt so grateful, able to use their toilets to their correct usage but little did they know, I was now, swapping my fingers to a standard pen, trying to tech my gag reflex easier. My vomitting strength was getting weaker and I was getting more uncomfortable. I then had to make a call, literally to my wife, to inform her of my plight. She has known about my food issue for some time and regularly mocks me for my inability to swallow my food, blaming my chewing skills for the problem. She was, however, sympathetic on this occasion and I told her my next mission...getting home.

I left the Met and attempted to get a taxi home. The driver must have found me wet rude and silent but little did they know that a) I was choking on white meat and b) I would have been silent regardless. I reached The Strand in Bootle, one of Europe's elite shopping mecca's when I couldn't last any longer. I paid my fare and ran in to find my next home. The men's and disableds was locked so I ran in the women's, found a attendant and played charades for 10 seconds to get her to open the bogs. I did my pukey business and resumed my journey with a second taxi home.

Once I got in my house, I relaxed but I was so weak with attempts it wasn't looking good. Plans were set in motion that I was to head for the local walk in, guided with my missus, driven by the helpful next door neighbour and our child minded by my mother in law on short notice.

And so began my trip 'into the system' and the second half of my nightmare....