Panic

Eons ago, in another life, I was driving up winding, unlit Highway 1 along the Big Sur coast at midnight on a Christmas Eve, headed north  from Los Angeles to spend the holiday with my sister, whose then-husband was a ranger in a coastal park.

I hadn't seen another car in several hours, which was actually rather nice as I could take my time and not have to navigate around slower cars.  Finally another car passed me heading south.  When I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw that car turn around; it was now behind me, following me, although it hadn't had a chance to catch up to me yet.

All I could think was that the driver(s) had seen a young woman alone and wanted to - well, I hardly dared visualize what might be on their minds/his mind.  It didn't seem possible that the U-turn was a coincidence.

Until recently, I had never been as scared as I was right then.  I stepped on the gas, taking the dangerous curves as a dangerous speed.  There was no place to turn off the road, nowhere to hide.  I was so full of adrenaline that I had no say in what I was doing; I felt as though I were running for my life.  The good news is that eventually I lost sight of their headlights; perhaps they knew I was on to them and they gave up.  Maybe they crashed.  I'll never know what would have happened if they had caught up to me, and I will always be thankful that I didn't find out.

That was the first time I remember feeling pure panic.  The second time happened quite recently.  Sweet Hubby and I were on the couch eating salad, settling in to watch a movie.  I realized SH was coughing very strangely and that he was clearly in distress.  "Do you need me Heimlich you?" I said, or maybe shouted.  He turned his back to me so I stood him up, wrapped my arms around him from behind, and punched. 

I know the basics of the Heimlich, of course, as we probably all do.  But knowing the theory is as different from actually performing it as reading sheet music is from singing.  Oh my god oh my god what if I try to save him and I can't and he dies in front of me and it's my fault?  What if I'm doing it wrong?  What if this doesn't work?

The second punch got the slippery bit of lettuce off of SH's windpipe and he was all right.  I, however, was a gloppy mess.  I don't think of myself as a hysterical person, but I was as close to hysteria as I've ever been, even including that terrible midnight drive.  It took quite a while for me to stop sobbing.  Even now, a couple of days later, I get a sensation of hot water running from my stomach down my legs when I revisit the memory of that terrible moment.  What if the Heimlich hadn't worked?  I will always be thankful that I didn't find out.