It happened almost fourteen years ago when my sister, Audrey was four and I was six.  It was a humid Friday night and we were getting ready for our Mental Arithmetic class.  Since we were just kids, we were done getting ready quite fast and sat around waiting for our parents and aunty.  Out of boredom, we snuck into my aunty’s room to find something interesting to play.

My aunty was in the bathroom so she did not know what we were up to.  It did not take us long to discover Koko Jelly chocolates on the table.  Being chocolate lovers, the minute we saw them, we quickly popped them into our mouths and ran downstairs, giggling.

A few minutes later, the adults were done and we were ready to leave.  We headed to the car, brimming with excitement for Mental Arithmetic class.  Just before I entered the car, my father noticed that I was sucking on something so he asked what I had in my mouth.  Without thinking of the consequences, I opened my mouth to show it to him.

That was when the real terror began.  The chocolate slid down my throat in a slow, slithery motion and lodged at the top of my trachea.  Before I even had time to cough it up, the windpipe had closed tightly around it. 

Clutching my throat, I could feel hands thumping down hard on my back.  I staggered backwards and another pair of arms grabbed me by the waist and started performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on me.  A few fingers were shoved down my throat to induce vomiting.  My arms and legs flailed around wildly as I struggled to force a mouthful of air down my throat.  But try as I might, I couldn’t.

Panic and fear gripped me.  A million thoughts started flooding my mind and I felt a dull throbbing in my head.  Tears rolled down my cheeks incessantly as the thought of dying and leaving my family settled in.  I could feel my arms and legs getting weaker by the second.  Stars and moons started appearing in my line of vision as my vision began to cloud. 
“Don’t close your eyes!” 
“Keep your eyes open!”
Somebody kept yelling them repeatedly; I was trying hard not to but I just felt too weak to resist it.  I wanted to give in and close my eyes but something in me stopped me from doing so.  It was as though there was an invisible force fighting back the urge to close my eyes and keep them open.  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk; I could just watch helplessly as people tried to help me.

Two minutes passed but it felt like two eternities.  It was a race against time.  My father laid me down on the floor and gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to get me to breathe again.  In the distance, I could hear my mother having a heated conversation with the emergency line operator who did not seem to have any sense of direction.  Fists were still thumping down on my back and fingers were still shoved down my throat, finding their way to remove the obstruction.

Tears rolled down my cheeks again and chocolate saliva dribbled out of my mouth.  Just as I felt all the fight and fear leave me, the chocolate budged a little and then it suddenly melted and in a slithery motion, it slid down my trachea.  Oxygen rushed in almost immediately.  I closed my eyes and gasped in as many lungfuls of air as I could.  Breathing had never made me feel so alive before.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I saw my family huddled around me.  I lay on the floor with my family taking turns to hug me.  My aunty had tears in her eyes as she thought that she would never see me again.

It was a truly terrifying ordeal.  After that, my father brought me to the clinic for a medical check-up.  When the doctor heard what had happened, he was aghast.  At the same time, he told us that I was really lucky to have survived.  I had spent three minutes without oxygen.  Any longer and I would have died or even if I had lived, I would be brain dead. 

Even if I could have survived, my brain would be so severely and permanently damaged that doing my daily activities would prove to be a challenge.  I would never be able to gain back all my fine motor skills as well as my cognitive skills.  In short, my life would never be the same again.  Not only that, my family’s life would be gravely affected as well.

Tears streamed down my face when I heard that.  The fact that I could survive without any complications was undoubtedly a miracle.  It took me several months before I could eat solid food without any fear.  I couldn’t stop thanking God for watching over me and giving me a second chance at life.

Today, fourteen years later, I still look back on the day and think how fortunate I was to be able to survive those agonising three minutes.  My family still recalls how purple my face had looked when I was choking and unable to breathe.  It was a terrifying experience but I wouldn’t have survived it without God.  

With that kind of experience, it is impossible to still remain the same.  Outwardly, I may still remain my usual, quirky self but through this harrowing experience, I have learned to appreciate life and my family more.  Had the chocolate not melted that night, I probably would not have made it past those few, excruciating minutes.