Trigger Warning – This blog discusses choking which may be triggering for some people who have had a bad experience around this topic.

Amsterdam is a city of bikes and bridges, a myriad of dykes and damns, a collection of barges and cheeses, a cacophony of ‘coffee shops’ (and we all know what really happens if you pop in!)

I visited there 7 years ago and declared it to be my favourite city ever. EVER! I couldn’t wait to get back. But this time, as I peddled frantically through the designated cycle lanes, while others whizzed by me ringing their little bells to alert me that they were passing on the left, I noticed a sense of stress in my body. It was too hectic. Not just the other cyclists, but the ones on electric scooters and electric bikes, who all seemed to be in the ‘know’ of when it was okay to run a red traffic light, anticipating the upcoming green bike light. As a pedestrian, I had a pain in my neck from looking every which way before I crossed the road. Bikes, cars, drones, everywhere. And it was raining.

Have I aged that much that I need more peace now? At 52, I just didn’t enjoy it as much as I did 7 years ago. Is this what happens? Or have I become spoiled by the tranquil streets of Prague, the majestic structures steeped in history and stories, the gothic towers, and the serenity of the castle across the river each time I drive home at sunset?

Aging is a glorious thing. I speak about the courage I’ve gained since turning 50. I love to write about my balls of steel, and how I’ve grown into an adult human being who throws caution to the wind. My blog (Death Wish) discusses our mortality and how important it is to DO the things we want to do, and not WISH we hadn’t been afraid or scared to seek out our passions, our truths, our callings. I even preached about not ‘choking’ when it comes to following our dreams. If you fall down off the balance beam, just jump back up again. At least that’s what Chumbawamba told me.

And yet, last Saturday night I lay in bed in our apartment in Amsterdam, my body was stunned and shaken, my mind racing with expletives towards myself and my self-indulging procrastination of late. Why, Orla, I hear you ask?

In short, a few hours earlier, I was choking. On a sweet. In the car. And I thought I was dying.

Don’t read on, if you’re squeamish about bodily fluids, or if the topic of choking triggers some discomfort in you.

Annabelle and I had just arrived back to Kira’s apartment and were sitting in the car waiting for her to come down from her new university dorm. In the middle console, was a bag of licorice ‘Drop’ sweets, a very typical Dutch treat, similar to our Cadburys home comforts, I suppose. The sweets were round in shape, a bit like a black holy communion if you ask me, slightly thicker than those consecrated wafers mind you, and definitely chewier than what I remember. Without any warning, I began choking. A piece of the black communion became wedged in my esophagus and blocked my airwaves. I couldn’t breathe and tried my best to cough. I couldn’t. Poor Annabelle got the fright of her life, and began slapping me on the back. Still nothing.

I COULD NOT BREATH.

Suddenly, my body went into a sharp convulsion and propelled everything I had eaten at a lovely family lunch an hour earlier, onto my lap, where my mobile phone lay. The apple pie, raspberries and cream, decorated my white trousers, phone, and car seat.

I STILL COULD NOT BREATH.

It felt like thirty seconds – it was probably only fifteen – but I did think I was about to die in that moment. Another convulsion from my body, more pink and white swirly vomit emitted very quietly and calmly, and then suddenly a half-moon shaped black holy communion shot out onto my hand.

I COULD BREATH.

I held it up and handed it to Annabelle while simultaneously laughing and crying. She had been helpless, holding out some paper towels to try to catch my spewing, but it had been so much, she couldn’t hold it any more so she threw it out her driver’s side window, where it landed on the ground. We both got out of the car and through tears and shock, I removed my trousers and blouse, standing there outside Kira’s dorm, in my knickers and bra. Several students walked by and did a double-take at the scene. Why was there a cuddly middle-aged woman standing in her underwear at 4 pm in the afternoon? Poor oul Kira. Mortification or what?

At that moment, she appeared with more paper towels and some spray bottle cleaning liquid to clean the car. Annabelle had called her to ask her if she had anything I could wear. Most of Kira’s things would only fit my left calf, but luckily, she did have some big track-suit pants and a sweater that I could throw on. She gazed down at the puke on the other side of the car, puzzled by how it got there, but then settled on asking why I hadn’t chewed my raspberries well enough… I love that kid. She embraced my barf-infused body and I cried again, as she comforted both her mother and I.

I am amazed at two things.

1. My body’s natural ability to force every ounce of food up and out of my body in its own attempt to save me.
2. The fact that my literal ‘choking’ has given me an opportunity for reflection on my metaphorical ‘choking’.

It’s true, I have been procrastinating on getting my memoir out into the world for some reason. Lying in bed on Saturday night after this experience, I had a lightbulb moment and I was filled with gratitude for still being alive. AND, in that lightbulb moment, I figured out the reason why I have been stalling.

I can’t tell you.

But you’ll find out once you read my memoir. Which I am quite certain will be out by the end of the year in 2024.

So again, I encourage you all not to sit on your plans, hoping for a better day, or a brighter time. Don’t wait for a black sweet to get stuck in your throat to realize that time is precious. GO CHASE YOUR DREAMS and they will come true, just the way you want them to. The Universe is on your side. Our side. Grab every piece of joy you can find, and make the world the place you want to be in. Don’t wait. Don’t.

That is all!