Oh man, that was just awful. I was starting to panic, I was starting to think that I was really going to die. Why does there have to be such a horrific panic response to a lack of oxygen? I mean, I can understand the purpose of pain, to warn you away from danger. In most cases, removing oneself from a source of pain is fairly simple. Stop doing the thing that hurts. However, this "I can't breathe, oh please God, I don't wanna die in agonizing mortal terror!" bullshit is going overboard. I mean, how often do we run across a lack of oxygen in our daily lives? Do we really need such an agonizing warning? Wouldn't common sense and a level of pain equivalent to, let's say... a stubbed toe, be sufficient? Is it really necessary to be forced to discover a reality shattering epiphany regarding our mortality?
Why am I griping and carrying on like this? Well, what happened was this. Tonight, just a few minutes ago, on my way home from the Shmelvin-Elvin, I was just a-walking along, minding my own business, chewing on a malted milk ball (you know, Whoppers) and watching a movie on my tablet, when I almost freaking died. I must have inhaled just a tiny bit of whopper saliva, because suddenly my throat was closed and I couldn't pull any air into my lungs at all. I would take a little tiny breath, and I would get a little bit of air, but whenever I tried to pull in a good breath, my throat would close and all I could do was make this terrifying wheezing sound. This went on for about three minutes. Long enough for me to scan my surroundings, scope out the nearby houses, gauge their distances, calculate whether or not I had enough oxygen in my lungs to make it to the front door of the closest one, realize I wouldn't have any breath left at all to shout, and maybe not even enough to knock or kick, and that I would likely die right there, tonight, on some strangers doorstep, wheezing and gasping, and experiencing the worst death possible, short of being burned alive.
It took me about a minute to realize that short breaths were the key. Oh man, damn, those sixty seconds sucked. Just the memory of it is almost enough to bring back the actual feeling of suffocating. What a great memory! I'm sure that I will reflect upon it with nostalgia in the years to come... that is, if I don't suffocate to death before I get the chance. So... short breaths. After another minute or so I was able to get about half of a good breath, and my panic started to subside. And after another couple of minutes, I was fairly sure that I was going to live.
I'm pretty scared now. It was a lot like those times whenever I've woken up in the middle of the night feeling like I was suffocating, except that this time it went on for about four times longer. So, this sucks. My own saliva can kill me anytime it wants to. Just any old time at all. Asleep or awake, it doesn't matter. I really don't like this new 'random possibility of death' thing that's going on in my life lately.
