Friday, June 11, 2010
My Husband, My Hero.
While we were still in the kitchen preparing our plates, we look up and my dad is staggering into the kitchen, his face turning a deep purple, holding his throat in the chocking position, muttering words that were barely understandable.
As he got closer, barely unable to walk, let alone speak, I realized he was muttering the word Heimlich.
My dad was choking on a piece of steak.
The first blow barley dislodging the stubborn piece of meat.
The third expelling the piece of meat.
The color immediately returned to my dad's face and he braced himself against the counter top as he caught his breath, inhaled and oxygen filled his lungs. I'm not sure if it was the hormones, the event that just took place or the reality of the situation, but I started to shake and couldn't stop crying.
My husband had just saved my father's life.
After my father caught his breath, and emotionally thanked George for saving his life, he joked about the situation, joking that for saving his life, he would give George his first born, me. Then he went into the other room, sat down and finished his piece of steak.
And my husband, who treated his extraordinary feat like another day at the hospital, a scheduled surgery, sat down and joined him.