So, today I got a good scare. Henry had come home pretty hungry from school, and wanted me to heat up some food for him in the microwave. I heated up some left-overs for him, and then he started eating at the table. I went over to Sophia who was hanging out in her bouncy chair in the living room. When I turned around, facing the kitchen/dinning area, I just saw Henry over the kitchen sink, spitting, vomiting, drooling like crazy, but he wasn't really making any sounds like you do when you throw up. It looked horrible, and I was totally freaked out and ran over to him. He kept spitting/vomiting, and started these crazy loud burps that brought more spitting/vomiting etc. I was so worried and kept asking if he can breathe (which he could). Then of course, to make things worse, Sophia started screaming. I quickly threw on my baby bjorn carrier, and put her in there, to keep her semi-happy, and so that I could assist Henry in whatever was going on (he was still spitting and burping and all). He kept going for a while, while I patted him on the back, and kept asking whether I should call 911.
Eventually he stopped, and was able to tell me what happened. He said he had eaten too fast, and had gotten some food stuck, and because he had eaten so fast, also had gullped down a lot of air. Then he tried to get it all down with water, and got even more air, and water on top of it all, and somehow the whole "food stuck/air/water" mixture led to him starting to throw up/spit up and all. It lasted quite a while, and was really scary to watch, especially since I had no clue what was going on. One second my husband was happily eating away, the next he was dying over the kitchen sink.
I was ready to do anything - Heimlich manoveur, calling 911, CPR...I'm glad Henry is ok, and that he just didn't take the time to chew his food and eat slowly. But man, was I scared at first. I hated standing by feeling so helpless. I hate it with Sophia, and I realize, I don't like it any better with my husband. It's no fun standing by helplessly when those you love suffer.
So, the moral of this story: It's not a race! Chew your food, and take your time. Or else, spit up over the kitchen sink.
Monday, November 10, 2008
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4 comments:
Addendum: I did chew my food. I think my problem is that I didn't chew enough and I was so hungry I ate totally fast. So, I think the bolus of partially chewed food was a little too big to fit down my esophagus. I've had that happen before (I eat fast alot, I guess) and my rememdy has always been to lube it up with a little water. The big problem was that I tried to get water out of a straw, only to find there was no water in the mug. So, on top of my bolus sat large amounts of air, which I think got stuck because of the thick sauce in my food, combined with all that saliva, I wasn't feeling very good.
So, my body couldn't get it down, so the only other way was to get it out. It hurt. I hope I learned my lesson. Dad always told me it wasn't a race. But I remember he would always take an extra large portion. :)
I'm glad I'm alive to Franny. It was pretty scary and painful.
Name the quote: "He eats more like a duck."
You make me laugh
We're glad you're okay! So scary!
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