When your 3 year old can’t scream…

I mean really can’t scream. The panic, flashing, blinking, like a silent siren whizzing past your frozen self. For just a moment: your confusion freezes everything in snap shot precision. The second day of school holidays. A late lunch, following an afternoon jog. Your sitting on the couch holding your 4 month old son, watching the chaotic spectacle in front of your brand new life situation. Wondering how the hell you will get through it all… 3 under 5.

Your child-induced coma is broken by your sound-less 3 year old. She is never soundless… ever!!! The pulling and yanking on my jumper is my first line of reference, something might be wrong. Yelling to my sleep deprived, startled wife, “take the baby.” The parent danger signal already flashing wildly inside the pit of my stomach. Her yanking and pulling, has now turned to jumping side to side, and up and down.

Like a lead bullet to the head. Whack… The 20 cent piece she was twirling around her fingers and mouth a few minutes ago is lodged in her damn trachea. Action, immediate action… I knew I had to dislodge the fucking coin: ASAP — her life depended on my ability to perform the goddamn Heimlich maneuver.

My mind flashed back almost forty years earlier. First grade, a classroom of twenty 5–6 year olds, and my best friend stands abruptly from his little chair and little desk, (silently) waving and flopping his arms while pointing to his throat. Our teacher moved with swift precision and Heimliched the shit out of Mikey — popping a marble, a few feet in front, of my now, air sucking friend.

Tattooing images of flying marbles and the proper way to deliver the Heimlich maneuver forever embedded in my mind. To this day I can still see a windowless classroom, stitched together, with carpeted partitions, and clumsily hung, first words and awkward letters. Books magically stacked haphazardly high, covering 2 adjacent tables. And the lone teacher desk sitting triumphantly in front of the class, with a small but noticeable placard, reading, Ms. Layton.

Mikey survived the marble incident thanks to decisive action and a determined teacher. Ms. Layton succeeded on her first thrust, I would not be so lucky. A 3 year old versus a 6 year old in sheer size is quite significant. My squirmy 3 year old, silenced by a coin, and now I had to dislodge the son-of-a-bitch. To which, did not happen right away. After three or four stomach thrusts, nothing. I zeroed in on my one task: get this fucking coin out of her trachea, is all I kept telling myself.

“Should I call 111???” Screamed my wife. My immediate thought… Clear her throat, clear her throat. Finally — after fifteen short stomach thrusts, in an upward motion, the coin emerged. Not like Mikey’s heroic flying marble, more like a mini expulsion of something gagged on, along with some phlegm, the 20 cent coin hit the floor. I have never been happier in my life to see a 20 cent piece. My daughter reaching for air, was the best moment of all. My wife and I both looked at each other with a (dodged a fucking bullet look).

Dramatic, yes… Words alone, paint a scabby picture, of your child silently scrambling, confused and choking. We forget when a 3 year old is choking, there is no fanfare, or dramatic expressions of there diabolical situation. They cannot tell you they need “Help.” They don’t point to their throats with unfailing flare, they grab you, silently. If I was watching my favourite sporting event or favourite documentary, I might have been too late.

Parenting, with all its pitfalls and travails, awaiting a moment of distraction, or a moment of life, grabbing our attention, over what is the most important thing to us parents: our children. The evaporation of time, and the way in which it slips through our fingers, cautiously, effortlessly. Our children, and the time left in which we have to keep them safe and guide them toward adulthood. This time, we cannot manage, or keep up with, in the end, time wins. This same time, we wish away, or speed up, so we can have the things we think we need or want.

Today reminded me, of what I want or need, is already perfectly in front of me. My healthy children, hearing their screams, and fighting rants, and laughter, and bouts of shouting and crying. These are the things we have, and want, because we have them, for now. It is losing them, or their health, or their tears, when paradoxically, we realize we have enough, and needing anymore would only get in the way.