Speeding, the corvette rounded the sharp corner, hit the curb and flipped.  Skidding nearly thirty feet, it came to rest, upside down, with the unconscious driver hanging from his seatbelt.  I witnessed the accident as it happened and was the first to stop at the wreck.  I’m a surgeon, and as I ran toward the steaming wrecked vehicle, I could hear the driver gasping and choking.  I crawled under the overturned vehicle and got to the lone driver.  The driver’s side window was shattered.  He was unconscious, lifelessly hanging from his seatbelt.  Apparently, he had vomited and aspirated some undigested food into his airway.  He was breathing labored as he gasped for air and began to turn a grayish blue.  He needed a patent airway; fast.  Using my Swiss army penknife, I incised his trachea longitudinally, with considerable difficulty, even as he hung upside down from his seat belt.  There was a rush of air and vomit spewed forth with his first explosive gasping breath as I twisted the blade, opening the trachea and he began to breathe on his own.  He began to struggle as his color improved.  Fortunately, he was unconscious while I worked and he felt nothing while I performed the emergency tracheostomy. 

            I tried to calm him down as he dazedly regained consciousness and began to thrash about.

            “You’ve had a bad accident, son.  You were choking to death.  You needed an urgent opening in your airway.  I did an emergency tracheostomy so you could breathe.  You can’t talk right now but it’s only temporary.  Just take it easy.  Hold on.  Help is on the way.  You are going to be Okay.”       

             In just moments, the ambulance and the EMTs arrived and took over the rescue.  When they saw I’d done an emergency tracheostomy they were astounded.

            “You saved his life mister, with your quick thinking and the emergency tracheostomy.”

            “Thanks for the kudos, guys, but I’m a surgeon.  I recognized the problem and did what needed to be done at the time.  That’s all.”  

            Nevertheless, the EMTs leaked the episode to the press, the next day and I was interviewed and got my mandatory fifteen minutes of fame on the local TV.  I even got my picture on the front page of the local newspaper with a short article detailing the accident and my participation in the rescue.  My doctor colleagues at the hospital had a fine time razzing me about my sudden notoriety.  At least they couldn’t accuse me of ambulance chasing.  I got to the accident before the ambulance did.

But that’s not the end of the story.

            Less than a month later, my partner and I were having dinner in the dining room of a local men’s club.  A fit of coughing interrupted the low hum of conversation.  One could hear the sound of choking and gasping for air as some one yelled for help from across the room.  Looking up, I observed a portly, middle-aged diner struggling at a corner table.  He was frantically grasping at his neck and seemed to be choking as his ruddy face gradually turned a grayish hue.

            Oh no.  Not another one.  Not again.  Can’t be two in a row, I thought to myself.

            I stood up, reaching in my pocket for my penknife.  My colleague at our table looked at me, quizzically.  “Where are you going and what do you think you’re doing?”

            I said, “Over there; at that corner table.  Look at that guy.  He’s in trouble.  Those two men have been talking animatedly for most of the evening and I’m sure they’ve both had at least a couple of drinks.  He’s been preoccupied by the conversation, the drinks and the food.  I’ll wager he’s tried to swallow an overly large piece of that steak and it’s caught in his throat and it is blocking his airway.  In the medical literature, it’s called “The Restaurant Cardiac Syndrome”. 

            I began to walk toward their table when the gasping man’s partner yelled again. 

            “Someone please help him.  Hurry.  We need some help here, now.”

            Before I could get to their table, a waiter tried the Heimlich maneuver once, then twice, but to no avail.  The man continued to gasp and turned a darker shade of blue as they sat him back in his chair.

            Struggling, the man was beginning to slump over, eyelids drooping.  He was fading.  His wavering gaze turned to me and then to the pocketknife in my right hand.  He must have recognized me from the picture in the newspaper.  Shaking his head, he struggled upright, though nearly breathless.  I loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top shirt collar button.

            “Take it easy Mister.  I’m just trying to help you,” I said.

             Desperately struggling, he wheezed, almost with his last breath,

            “No, no.  I’m having a heart attack.  Please don’t cut my throat.”

“Of course you are.  Will some one call 911, right now” I shouted as I turned and walked back to my table.