Not the greatest way to lose weight ~ September 21, 2000

David Heiller

I like to swallow a clove of garlic every morning. It’s supposed to be good for your heart. It’s supposed to help you lose weight.

I swallowed a clove last Thursday at 6 a.m. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I swallowed it. It hung in the back of my throat, then slipped down my gullet like a boat anchor.

Somewhere part way down—not all the way down—it stopped.

When it came time for breakfast, I couldn’t eat. I tried one bite of bread, and it also went part way down and stopped. I took a drink of water. It went part way down, and stopped.

No problem, I thought. The garlic will work its way south, and I’ll soon be able to eat and drink.

But that didn’t happen. Not at 10 a.m. Not at noon. Not at 2 p.m. That garlic clove was lodged in my throat.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t bother my voice or my breathing. But I couldn’t eat or drink, and this was not the way I like to lose weight.

At about 2:30 I called Gateway Clinic in Sandstone. I was hoping my doctor might have a quick fix, like Syrup of Ipecac or cod liver oil. Even a good old Heimlich Maneuver.

But his nurse told me what I was dreading. Go to the emergency room in Moose Lake. Come on, for a clove of garlic?

Yυp.

It wasn’t pretty. First the emergency room nurse tried the “easy” approach. She put a tube down my nose and into my throat, and made me drink water at the same time.

The goal was to flush it out. It had worked for someone who had lettuce stuck in her throat, the nurse said. But it didn’t work for me. When my gagging subsided and my nose quit running and I could breathe again, I took a drink of water, and felt the water back up like it does in a clogged drain.

“How big was that clove of garlic?” she asked.

It didn’t seem that big, but by this time Ι wasn’t sure about anything. The size of a tennis ball?

Plan Β wasn’t quite as “easy.” I needed a surgeon. Yes, for a clove of garlic. Dr. Peter Billings explained that he would put a “scope” down my throat. A scope in this case is a tube that has a light and a camera and a pair of pliers at the end. That’s what Dr. Billings told me. I didn’t look at it. I didn’t want to see what I would have to swallow.

The goal was to see what was happening in my throat, and remove the garlic, by force if necessary.

By this time my wife, Cindy, had joined me. She got to watch it all on a monitor. She said it was fascinating. She got a good view of my throat and, eventually, a beautiful clove of garlic lying in my stomach. It was really a nice one, she said. It could have won a blue ribbon at the Askov Fair.

I didn’t see it. Ι was in no mood to watch television.

When I finally stood up at 7 p.m. and took a drink of water, it went down like Niagara Falls. What a great feeling!

Thanks, all you doctors and nurses. Not only did you dislodge The Garlic Clove That Ate Manhattan, you managed to keep a straight face while doing it. That’s good bedside manner.

I’m embarrassed by my mistake. But I learned a painful lesson. I’m sharing it here with the hope that anyone else dumb enough to swallow a clove of garlic—or whatever—will size it up first and use better judgment than me.