MedFlight #60578: Infant Airway Obstruction

When a seed lodged in your airway

I swallowed the world, our survival synonymous.

Back blow, swipe, scream. Shhh, shhh, shhh.

You, my small baby-life,

choking, aspirating, gasping to breathe.

In the ER, your lungs clung to mine,

rising, falling. Hiss, wheeze, pant.

I held you, sat still as stone while

your wired, naked chest heaved,

eyes savage as a story with a different end.

“Foreign object. Bronchus. Eleven-month-old.”

A red, digital clock ticked tenths of seconds,

time louder than the doctor. The plastic tube

slipped from your nose. “It’s a fine line,”

the nurse said. “Whether to intervene or let it go.”

But there was only ever one bottom line.

You needed air more than you needed me,

so a pilot prepared to fly you through it.

Strapped to stretcher, ventilation ready,

I kissed your too-small-to-die chest

and took a picture of you,

just in case.

Beyond the double doors,

helicopter wings sliced through

a winter sky full of stars. As you rose

toward the moon, I stood in blackness.

*REFLECTION ESSAY TO FOLLOW IN COMING WEEKS*