When Your Child Chokes

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If you’ve ever seen someone choke, you know how scary it is. Now imagine that someone is your child.

I sometimes struggle to tame the worries that invade my thoughts and I tend to hover over my daughter. (Think helicopter blades whirling furiously over head, bubble wrap dispenser on the ready.)

For parents of kids with disabilities, our concerns are often justified. We worry about them getting lost or falling or having a seizure or choking while they eat.

My daughter is active and bold and curious. I’m not about to deny her independence and the chance to explore, so I hold my breath and let her go. Up and down the street on her bright pink scooter; higher on the swings; diving into the deep end of the pool, her water wings a distant memory now.

As it is for any child, loosening their reins allows them to reach further. So despite my racing heart, I’m trying to give my daughter space to grow and try new things. It’s in that space of trial and error where the real growth happens. But it can also be a dangerous place.

My older child, Avery’s brother, laughs when I remind him to chew his food. To him, grapes are just juicy mouthfuls. But to me they are ominous orbs of imminent choking. I’m not completely unreasonable though—I stopped cutting his grapes in half ages ago (er, last year).

My food fears are not unfounded. I’ve seen my child choke.

One ordinary morning I made breakfast for the kids—my son had his usual nutty granola with yogurt and fruit, while my daughter had cereal without nuts (they’re too chokey) and a mashed banana. As they ate I ran upstairs to grab a hair elastic. I was gone only a minute (isn’t it always that the way?). I heard a kitchen chair suddenly push quickly away from the table, followed by silence, then staggering footsteps.

By the time I got to the top of the stairs, Avery was on the first landing, reaching out for me, her eyes wide and wild.

“Mom! Avery’s choking!” my son yelled.

Without wasting another second he grabbed her around the waist and started the Heimlich. With a few thrusts he dislodged a piece of banana caught in her throat. Avery cried and said, “That banana hurt me,” while holding her neck.

Though I had coarsely mashed the banana into a creamy mush, a small pointy end bit remained. It didn’t occur to me this would be a danger, but it turned out to be just that. Due to its size and slippery shape, it became lodged in her throat.

Friends of mine let their kids, most younger than Avery, eat in front of the TV alone or in another room. “They’re fine,” they say. I’m sure they are, but it seems the minute I try to treat Avery like any other kid, something happens to remind me she Is not like every other kid.

My job is to protect her, so if watching her closely at the breakfast table or following her around at the park is what’s needed, so be it. And to you, the lady who rolled your eyes at me as I stood under my child on the play structure… I saw the judgment all over your face. I also saw your expression switch from scorn to shock when my daughter suddenly fell and I caught her in my arms below.

I may hover, but I don’t mean to smother. I am a mother whose child’s disabilities make me more cautious. Disability parents walk alongside you and parent just like you do. But there are extra steps we need to take to make sure our kids are as safe as possible.

*Um, how excellent is my son? Seriously. He told me he learned the Heimlich from a TV show. There are no words to express how much we love and appreciate this amazing young man.

If your child was choking, would you know what to do?

Watch videos on how to perform the Heimlich.
Take a St. John’s Ambulance or comparable course to learn safety procedures and CPR.
Learn which foods are more likely to lead to choking and take precautions (eg steam or julienne raw veggies).
Employ Avery’s safe eating rules.