A frightening choking episode reminded me to live fully

Many companions accompany us on life’s journey, but perhaps the most constant of these is uncertainty. None of us knows what curveballs may come our way from one day to the next. Most people can relegate thoughts of curveballs to a dim recess in their minds, but those of us with myasthenia gravis (MG) play with fire when we forget potential dangers that others can safely ignore.

According to the Mayo Clinic, those of us with MG “may choke easily, making it difficult to eat, drink or take pills.” I’ve known this fact since my diagnosis in 2020. During my first myasthenic crisis, I experienced the fear and frustration of having difficulty swallowing. For the next two years, in trying not to think about that frightening time, I quit worrying about choking.

Bad move.

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My brush with death

I woke one morning feeling like a million dollars. I fixed breakfast, turned on the news, and sat down to start my day. While eating some granola, I began to choke. At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal. I thought a couple of good coughs would bring everything back to normal. But I began to struggle, each breath becoming more difficult than the previous one. I knew I was going down.

In that instant, I felt the raw terror of mortality. I didn’t have the strength to dial 911 or knock on a neighbor’s door. Fear, immediate and consuming, has a way of reducing the world to a single desperate prayer: Let me live.

When breath is blocked, all illusions of control vanish. My body had betrayed me. It wasn’t upholding its end of the bargain. All the pages of information regarding MG and choking hadn’t prepared me for this.

In that moment, I remembered the psalmist’s words: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me” (King James Version). My prayer wasn’t polished; it was a gasping plea. Fear pressed close, and faith came not as triumph, but as endurance.

Philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once wrote, “Life must be understood backwards. But … it must be lived forwards.” In the choking moment, I could not “understand” anything. I could only cling to the thread of faith that my life was not finished.

Faith in crisis does not always arrive as certainty. Sometimes, it arrives as a whisper. The faith to go on, to fight for the next breath, is kept alive by a small flame, like the “still small voice” heard by the biblical prophet Elijah.

I looked outside the window and saw the sky and clouds. I heard the voice of a loved one in my head. I thought of the trip I wanted to take to Ireland. I remembered John 14:27 from my theology classes: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (KJV).

All of this occurred in an instant. It all blurred together.

I summoned up all the energy I had left and pounded my chest with as much force as I could muster. It worked. My breathing became easier. I sat on the floor, soaked with perspiration. My hands shook. I’d made it through.

A reminder to live more intentionally

Surviving a near-death event leaves us with more than relief; there’s also the tremor of “what if.” I felt gratitude, but also fragility. My body had reminded me of its limits.

Psychologists note that such brushes with death often sharpen our sense of life’s brevity and can even trigger post-traumatic stress. For those already living with chronic illness, the aftermath feels like an echo chamber, amplifying awareness that every day is precarious.

As I was choking, faith gave me the strength to put all my effort into that last attempt at breathing. In those moments, faith transformed from a lifeline into a compass that showed me the direction forward and reminded me of the urgency of each day. Life with MG can be cut short at any moment. Why not get on with living fully? Take that trip. Heal that relationship.

There’s a common saying often attributed to the Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius: “It is not death that a man should fear; he should fear never beginning to live.” Since that choking episode, I’ve tried to live more intentionally. Before each meal, I remind myself of possible danger.

I’m under no illusion that I’ll be perfect at all of this, but hopefully the memory of those few moments of struggle will serve as a reminder. I’ll keep in mind the comedian Benny Hill’s advice: “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today; if you do, it may lead to sorrow. Because if you do it today and you like it, you can do it again tomorrow.”

Note: Myasthenia Gravis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Myasthenia Gravis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to myasthenia gravis.