Murder Mozzarella
We were heading home from one of Jason’s doctor appointments.
He’d been fasting, so we stopped at Sonic to get him some lunch. I was terribly hungry too, and he suggested I get mozzarella sticks.
I love mozzarella sticks.
That’s such an ordinary beginning to a story about almost dying.
Jason was eating and talking while I drove. I took the first bite of a mozzarella stick and chewed it, but the stringy, melted cheese became stuck in my throat.
At first, it was a partial obstruction.
Then I took a breath and felt the sticky cheese move over my windpipe.
I couldn’t speak.
I Knew the Difference
People sometimes say they were choking when something went down wrong and caused them to cough.
This wasn’t that.
I’m a respiratory therapist. I know the difference between coughing on food and having your airway blocked. I knew what was happening, and I knew time mattered.
I couldn’t tell Jason what was wrong, so I pulled over on the side of the road.
I got dentures earlier this year, and I’m still learning how to eat with them. I pulled out the top denture because I knew I needed room to reach the cheese.
Jason figured out what was happening quickly and went into panic mode.
He’s blind and still has some residual effects from his stroke last year. I didn’t know how much he would be able to do to help me. He also couldn’t see what was happening, and I couldn’t speak well enough to explain it.
That was when my training took over.
One More Attempt
Despite having trouble breathing, I knew I had to remain calm.
Part of the cheese was still in the back of my throat. I reached for it and tried to pull it out.
The first attempt got nothing.
On the second, I removed some of it, but not enough.
All of this happened within seconds. It may have been close to a minute, but time doesn’t behave normally when you know your airway is blocked.
After the second attempt, I made a decision without saying it aloud.
If I couldn’t get the cheese on the third attempt, I would dial 911 and hand the phone to Jason while I was still able to do it.
Somewhere in those seconds, I also had one overwhelming thought.
“Well shit, this is what’s going to take me out.”
It wasn’t profound.
I didn’t see my life flashing before my eyes. There wasn’t dramatic music or a beautiful realization about how I should’ve lived differently.
I was sitting on the side of the road after a doctor appointment, choking on my first mozzarella stick.
And I thought, of all the things that could’ve happened, this is going to be it.
On the third attempt, I was able to grab the cheese and pull it out.
I could breathe.
I could finally speak and tell Jason I was okay.
Then, and only then, I fell apart.
The Fear Came Afterward
While the cheese was blocking my airway, I stayed focused on what I needed to do.
Once it was out, all the fear and anxiety came rushing in with those first gasps of air.
Jason and I sat on the side of the road for several minutes while I gathered myself. Eventually, I drove us home.
The immediate emergency was over.
My mind wasn’t finished with it.
The incident has become a funny story to tell, especially the thought that went through my head while it was happening. I can appreciate the absurdity of nearly being taken out by a mozzarella stick.
But before it became funny, it sent me into something of an existential crisis.
For several days, I felt almost depressed. I didn’t interact much. I didn’t want to do the things that normally bring me joy.
I spent a lot of time lying in my recliner or in bed, doomscrolling on my phone. I didn’t feel like reading or working on a junk journal. I didn’t eat much either.
I wasn’t myself.
No matter how funny the story sounded when I told it, I could’ve died.
I’ve Seen This Story End Differently
My work made it impossible for me to brush off what had happened.
I’ve seen and cared for people whose airways became blocked by ordinary food. It wasn’t mozzarella cheese, but it was something just as normal.
Their stories didn’t end as happily as mine.
I know how quickly oxygen disappears. I know what happens when an airway can’t be cleared in time. I’ve watched the light go out in another human being.
That knowledge probably helped save me because I recognized the danger and didn’t waste time convincing myself that I was fine.
It also made the days afterward harder.
I knew exactly how close I had come.
What Would Happen Without Me?
The thought I couldn’t shake was what would happen to everyone I care for if I were gone.
What would Jason do?
Who would take care of him?
The way Jason and I care for each other has changed, but our life is still built around that exchange.
What would this do to our children?
Would my grandson remember me?
Part of me wondered whether that was arrogant. My family is capable, and their lives wouldn’t simply stop without me.
But I don’t think the fear came from believing that nobody could survive without me.
It came from knowing how closely our lives are connected and how many people I’m responsible for caring for. It came from loving them and suddenly imagining their lives continuing without me in them.
I’ve already been learning that allowing our grown children to help isn’t the same as burdening them. Still, imagining them having to take over because I was gone was something else entirely.
I wasn’t thinking about unfinished accomplishments or places I hadn’t visited.
I was thinking about my husband, my children, and my grandson.
I was thinking about the ordinary things I do every day and who would do them if I weren’t here.
Learning to Eat Again
I haven’t eaten in the car since it happened.
I’ve also sworn off mozzarella sticks, which is unfortunate because I really do love them.
I barely ate for several days afterward. Now I chew longer and pay much closer attention to every bite.
I don’t know how much my dentures contributed to what happened. I only know that learning to live with dentures has included learning how to eat again, and that process is still ongoing.
I’ve written about the appointment that led to my dentures and the grief I carried out of that dentist’s chair.
Eating used to be something I did without thinking. Now I’m more aware of how I chew, what I’m eating, and whether I’m trying to eat while doing something else.
I hope the fear eases with time.
I’m not making any promises about the mozzarella sticks.
It Was Funny Because I Survived
When I told my family what happened, they asked whether I finished the mozzarella sticks.
“No, I didn’t finish the murder mozzarella.”
That’s what they’ve been called ever since.
I can tell the story and laugh now. I can laugh because my final thought wasn’t beautiful or inspiring. It was irritation that a mozzarella stick might be the thing that took me out.
I can laugh because I managed to clear my airway.
I can laugh because I’m still here.
But I don’t laugh at how close it was.
I’ve seen how suddenly an ordinary meal can become an emergency. I knew it professionally before that afternoon.
Now I know it personally.
For the moment, I don’t eat while driving. I chew everything longer than I probably need to, and the murder mozzarella and I are no longer speaking.
Every once in a while, I remember those first gasps of air and how quickly relief became fear.
The emergency ended when I pulled the cheese from my throat.
It took me a little longer to believe I was safe.
With Love from Mabank,
Brandy
Have you ever stayed calm through an emergency, only to fall apart once it was over?
Let me know about it in the comments!
Choking Safety Information
This is my personal experience, not first aid instruction. Choking emergencies can unfold differently. Current information about recognizing choking and responding safely is available from the American Red Cross.
