Sirc
01-25-2006, 04:11 AM
Approximately every 6-8 months my brain decides that it's going to take a quick break from controlling my most basic motor functions. Specifically swallowing. It gives no warning, and it seems to take great pleasure in waiting until I have a mouthful of beverage before it flips off the swallow switch. It just happened again dammit.
Big mouthful of pop ;) , leaning my head back to empty the last of the liquid in the can, and then suddenly, at a rather critical moment, half of it decides to turn off of the main road and take a sight-seeing trip into my lungs. And I'm not talking about the drop or two that makes you cough a few times. I'm talking about a major flow. A fricken full-fledged Greyhound bus tour.
The moment it happens, even before your lungs have a chance to react to the fizzy invasion, you KNOW how you are going to be spending the next 15 minutes. Oh joy. And sure enough, all hell breaks loose. Your lungs immediately go to defcon zulu and launch a full fledged assault on the intruding liquid:
1. You cough once, maybe twice, until you have no more air in your lungs. Any liquid left in your mouth comes back out of your mouth. Any liquid left in your throat is violently expelled out of your nose. That's always a pleasant experience with a carbonated beverage.
2. Of course the initial coughing isn't enough to completely clear the liquid, but too bad, your lungs have rolled the blast doors into place and have hermetically sealed the entrance against further hostile intrusion.
3. You still have an insane urge to cough (and breathe), but now you have to contend with the considerably strong defenses that your lungs have put in place. The first and second attempts to draw a breath are futile - your lung's defenses hold. Fortunately, you have a secret weapon - panic. Panic is generally not considered a desirable reaction to an emergency situation, but in this case it is a blessing. Panic causes adrenaline to be released into your bloodstream. Adrenaline makes you stronger.
4. And so the battle begins. You fall out of time and space, and each second seems like an eternity. Your entire being is focused on such a seemly simple thing – taking a breath. The first assault on your lung’s defenses may or may not succeed. The second attempt to draw a breath almost always succeeds though. Sort of. Your diaphragm contracts with the strength of ten thousand diaphragms and causes a vacuum to form within your lungs comparable to that of deep space. Ouch. This is not a pleasant experience for your lungs, and they send a warning shot of pain to your brain in an attempt to fend off the attack. It’s pointless though – your brain has already realized that is has done the equivalent of a redneck “hey, hold my beer and watch this” maneuver with the swallowing stunt. And so the blast doors buckle a bit, and the seal is slightly breached, and a small amount of air enters your lungs, accompanied by a loud sound very similar to that of a pig squealing in fear.
5. At this point the person closest to you asks if you are okay. Splendid. No you are expected to have social interaction with another person while you are fighting for your life. So you nod your head yes just at the very moment that your lungs realize that they have a little bit of air to use to expel the remaining liquid. Very little air. Not even enough for a full cough, but God bless them, they try. They try too hard. They try so hard that they try to continue forcing air out when there is no air to force out. This has the wonderful effect of causing your gag reflexes to come into play. More joy. Now, not only are you suffocating, you’re gagging.
6. The person closest to you asks again if you are okay. You consider striking him/her. With your adrenaline at this level you could probably one shot them and put them out for fifteen or twenty minutes. But you simply nod your head yes again and curse them and their children and their children’s children.
7. The adrenaline increases and your diaphragm makes another mighty attempt to force your lungs to draw in air. More pain. This time you are much more successful and are able to take a deeper, but just as fleeting breath. Immediately your lungs cause the air to be expelled in an attempt to rid themselves of the invading liquid. Your face is bright red now, and the ever-so-helpful gag reaction kicks in once again even more strongly. You sense there is a good chance that you may end up puking at this point. Such wonderful, yet misguided reactions your body calls into play in situations like this. It’s sort of like pooping your pants when you’re really scared. What in the name of all that is holy is the point of that? Is it some leftover reaction from when we were all living in caves and being attacked by some nasty predator with eight-inch fangs? Did pooping ourselves make us a less desirable meal?
8. The bastid next to you asks you again if you’re sure your okay. At this point, while insufficient, you are at least taking gasping breaths between coughing and gagging bouts, and you feel a bit less hostile, so you both nod your head yes and give the thumbs up. But it ain’t over yet.
9. Your lung’s defenses have been breached, and while you are able to take breaths, your lungs still refuse to use the air to actually supply oxygen to your body, but rather continue to try to expel the liquid, even though whatever liquid is left in your lungs at this point couldn’t possibly be any threat. So you gasp in air, cough, and gag, rinse and repeat for yet another eternity.
10. Finally, finally, you are able to take breaths and hold them long enough to actually begin to transfer oxygen into your bloodstream. By shear will you force the coughing to stop. You’re in the home stretch now, and relief begins to flood your body and mind. It is over.
11. There you sit, your eyes blood red, tears still running down your face, and snot running out of your nose. Then the person next to you once again asks if you are okay, and you turn to him/her and smile, and attempt to speak. Mistake. You are nowhere near ready to speak yet. The attempt causes another bout of coughing, gagging, and heaving, and you once again consider striking this person who has tormented you throughout the eternity you have just spent in hell.
* sigh *
Well, on the upside, I’m good for another 6-8 months. Gotta warn ya though. Don’t be the person sitting closest to me the next time this happens.
Big mouthful of pop ;) , leaning my head back to empty the last of the liquid in the can, and then suddenly, at a rather critical moment, half of it decides to turn off of the main road and take a sight-seeing trip into my lungs. And I'm not talking about the drop or two that makes you cough a few times. I'm talking about a major flow. A fricken full-fledged Greyhound bus tour.
The moment it happens, even before your lungs have a chance to react to the fizzy invasion, you KNOW how you are going to be spending the next 15 minutes. Oh joy. And sure enough, all hell breaks loose. Your lungs immediately go to defcon zulu and launch a full fledged assault on the intruding liquid:
1. You cough once, maybe twice, until you have no more air in your lungs. Any liquid left in your mouth comes back out of your mouth. Any liquid left in your throat is violently expelled out of your nose. That's always a pleasant experience with a carbonated beverage.
2. Of course the initial coughing isn't enough to completely clear the liquid, but too bad, your lungs have rolled the blast doors into place and have hermetically sealed the entrance against further hostile intrusion.
3. You still have an insane urge to cough (and breathe), but now you have to contend with the considerably strong defenses that your lungs have put in place. The first and second attempts to draw a breath are futile - your lung's defenses hold. Fortunately, you have a secret weapon - panic. Panic is generally not considered a desirable reaction to an emergency situation, but in this case it is a blessing. Panic causes adrenaline to be released into your bloodstream. Adrenaline makes you stronger.
4. And so the battle begins. You fall out of time and space, and each second seems like an eternity. Your entire being is focused on such a seemly simple thing – taking a breath. The first assault on your lung’s defenses may or may not succeed. The second attempt to draw a breath almost always succeeds though. Sort of. Your diaphragm contracts with the strength of ten thousand diaphragms and causes a vacuum to form within your lungs comparable to that of deep space. Ouch. This is not a pleasant experience for your lungs, and they send a warning shot of pain to your brain in an attempt to fend off the attack. It’s pointless though – your brain has already realized that is has done the equivalent of a redneck “hey, hold my beer and watch this” maneuver with the swallowing stunt. And so the blast doors buckle a bit, and the seal is slightly breached, and a small amount of air enters your lungs, accompanied by a loud sound very similar to that of a pig squealing in fear.
5. At this point the person closest to you asks if you are okay. Splendid. No you are expected to have social interaction with another person while you are fighting for your life. So you nod your head yes just at the very moment that your lungs realize that they have a little bit of air to use to expel the remaining liquid. Very little air. Not even enough for a full cough, but God bless them, they try. They try too hard. They try so hard that they try to continue forcing air out when there is no air to force out. This has the wonderful effect of causing your gag reflexes to come into play. More joy. Now, not only are you suffocating, you’re gagging.
6. The person closest to you asks again if you are okay. You consider striking him/her. With your adrenaline at this level you could probably one shot them and put them out for fifteen or twenty minutes. But you simply nod your head yes again and curse them and their children and their children’s children.
7. The adrenaline increases and your diaphragm makes another mighty attempt to force your lungs to draw in air. More pain. This time you are much more successful and are able to take a deeper, but just as fleeting breath. Immediately your lungs cause the air to be expelled in an attempt to rid themselves of the invading liquid. Your face is bright red now, and the ever-so-helpful gag reaction kicks in once again even more strongly. You sense there is a good chance that you may end up puking at this point. Such wonderful, yet misguided reactions your body calls into play in situations like this. It’s sort of like pooping your pants when you’re really scared. What in the name of all that is holy is the point of that? Is it some leftover reaction from when we were all living in caves and being attacked by some nasty predator with eight-inch fangs? Did pooping ourselves make us a less desirable meal?
8. The bastid next to you asks you again if you’re sure your okay. At this point, while insufficient, you are at least taking gasping breaths between coughing and gagging bouts, and you feel a bit less hostile, so you both nod your head yes and give the thumbs up. But it ain’t over yet.
9. Your lung’s defenses have been breached, and while you are able to take breaths, your lungs still refuse to use the air to actually supply oxygen to your body, but rather continue to try to expel the liquid, even though whatever liquid is left in your lungs at this point couldn’t possibly be any threat. So you gasp in air, cough, and gag, rinse and repeat for yet another eternity.
10. Finally, finally, you are able to take breaths and hold them long enough to actually begin to transfer oxygen into your bloodstream. By shear will you force the coughing to stop. You’re in the home stretch now, and relief begins to flood your body and mind. It is over.
11. There you sit, your eyes blood red, tears still running down your face, and snot running out of your nose. Then the person next to you once again asks if you are okay, and you turn to him/her and smile, and attempt to speak. Mistake. You are nowhere near ready to speak yet. The attempt causes another bout of coughing, gagging, and heaving, and you once again consider striking this person who has tormented you throughout the eternity you have just spent in hell.
* sigh *
Well, on the upside, I’m good for another 6-8 months. Gotta warn ya though. Don’t be the person sitting closest to me the next time this happens.