Here in Astoria, we have lots of delectable options for meals thanks to the largely immigrant community. The most prolific is Greek cuisine, but we never really go out for Greek food for some reason. Last Friday was a mellow night and we had been thinking about trying this one place that was highly rated both in the blogosphere, in the NYC Zagat guide, and by the local population (apparently, considering the place has a line out the door every time we walk by): Taverna Kyclades. We invited our Greek expert Paul over so that he could tell us stories of yore from when he lived in Cyprus and choose a meze of his choice. Anyway, a table full of food later, we were all stuffed and I licked my lips in anticipation of leftovers-a-plenty for the weekend.
Fast-forward to Sunday after yoga, after eating leftover pizza, after watching a dour Liverpool game that ended 0-0, I was starving. I busted out the leftover sole stuffed with crab, gave it a ride in my microwave, and dug in. Halfway through the main course, I felt a small bone in my mouth, which was surprising since it was the first one I had but, it's not unusual for the food processing machines to miss a bone, right? That little bone got lost somewhere in my mouth, though, and my muscular tongue launched a search-and-destroy mission for the little bastard. Eventually, I gave up and just swallowed. I kinda felt it get stuck in my throat, but I figured it would get washed down with the calamari, which it didn't.
A few hours later, I'm sitting on the couch watching a movie and I notice that when I move my head certain ways, the bone was actually hurting my throat, making me wince. I dug around my mouth with my finger and could feel it way, way, way back in my mouth. So far that it was making me gag just trying to find it with my finger and a mouth full of fist. There was pretty much nothing I could do about it though, so I ate some bread and peanut butter, hoping to wash it down for good. No love.
The next morning, after a poor night of sleeping. I tried toast with peanut butter, but I could still feel it back in there. By lunch time, it was feeling better and I decided that if it was still alive and kicking back there, dual-broccoli with fire and some rice would finish it off for sure. It wasn't hurting at all by the end of the work day, so I was golden. Then I got home and shoved my fist in my mouth again and could feel it back there still! It hadn't moved at all.
On the second full day, I woke up and it was starting to feel like a sore throat. Not good. I called my doctor, who instructed the receptionist to tell me "CALL 9-1-1 RIGHT NOW! TELL THEM TO SEND AN AMBULANCE, GET TO THE HOSPITAL ASAP BECAUSE IT COULD GET DISLODGED AND CHOKE YOU TO DEATH! CALL 9-1-1! HURRY, THERE MIGHT BE TRAFFIC ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL (which is like a 10 minute walk from my house)!!!" I'm not even kidding. She was frantic. She didn't care that I told her it's been in there for two full days already. Just to get her off the food and quit telling me to hurry up and call for an ambulance, I told her I would and hung up. Meh, I thought, maybe after work I'll go to the hospital and get it taken care of.
I realized yesterday that I had never actually been to the ER before, except for when Erika ended up in the skanky Astoria Mt. Sinai. My co-worker describes all Queens health institutions as third-world, but I wouldn't go that far after my experiences in Peruvian public hospitals and health clinics. Anyway, yesterday was my first trip to the ER, but after suffering with a "sore" throat all day, I decided to head to the city and check myself in to Lennox Hill (which I prefer to spell Linux Hill). How embarrassing. There were probably people with knife wounds to their head in the ER, and there I am with a stupid fish bone stuck in my throat.
The ER was interesting. There was almost no one in there and only one lady looked like she was suffering. It was clean, ESPN on the TV, and most people were using it as a waiting room. Things moved efficiently and by the end of an hour there, one of the Physicians Assistants had identified the foreign object deep in my throat and used some pliers to pull the bastard out. It was stuck into my flesh with only a little tip exposed, which is why it wouldn't wash down I guess. I know my tongue is muscular after doing working out all day doing pushups against my buck teeth, but I didn't think it was strong enough to chuck that bone like a javelin into my throat!
The moral of the story: don't eat fish bones. Duh.
J. Riley, that little incident added an extra $100 to the cost of my Greek dinner. Next time, I'll stick to the meze.
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