Poor John. Almost killed by a won-ton.
"Welcome to Benihana."
We smiled at the hostess before she turned to lead us to the table where our friends were waiting. John took my hand as we glanced around the full restaurant, the popular choice for Valentine's Day, 2003.
John had scored the four of us reservations on their busiest night, his gift to me for the holiday. I hadn't gotten him anything. I would owe him for this.
Kristy and Matt were already seated, perusing the night's menu, ready for the show to begin. We exchanged hellos and settled in for the event, evident by the table's chef who was sharpening his knives right in front of us.
The first course, a soup, made its way out almost immediately. Spoons were collected and we all slurped up our first bite of the fifty dollar meal.
Yum. I spooned up another sip, delighted by the smooth broth.
"It's good, right?" Kristy asked.
I nodded. "Better than take out." Turning to John, I forwarded the survey, "What do you think?"
His spoon had already been set aside as he sat there, staring at his very full bowl. "Something's not right," he finally stated.
"What do you mean?" I kept bringing more of the soup to my own lips, "Is it cold?"
His eyes met mine, serious. "I can't breathe right."
I stopped eating, studying his posture and features. His breathing was labored, his face flushing with the increased effort. "John?"
He stood up, fumbling in his pocket for his trusty inhaler. "I'll be right back."
Assured the medicine he had been prescribed for ongoing asthma would do the trick, I watched him leave the table and then picked up my spoon again.
"Is he okay," Matt asked.
"I think so. Probably his asthma acting up."
We continued eating, eyes on the chef who had moved onto checking his inventory, one very large white onion front and center. We were going to get one of those volcanoes! Kristy and I began chatting about who was going to catch the shrimp in their mouths. "As long as he doesn't aim for John, " I mentioned, "he's allergic to shellfish. It would probably kill him."
"Tell him to duck," she responded.
I felt his presence behind me and before I could turn, his voice was in my ear, shaky. "Jen, I have to go to the hospital. I can't breathe."
I twirled in my chair. "What do you mean? What about the inhal-"
"It's not working."
"Did you eat something wrong?" He had a history of allergic reactions for anything from spices in his food to almost all fish to even skin irritation when handling certain flowers.
He glanced at his barely touched bowl of soup. "I took two bites and immediately, my throat began to close up."
"Can you drink some water?"
"It's getting worse."
He was right. I could hear the wheezing. His face was no longer rosy from the exertion, but paling from the lack of oxygen.
I grabbed my purse. "Let's go."
I searched for my credit card and shoved it at Kristy. "This is for our meal." We rushed the hostess stand.
"I think I need an ambulance," John said to the manager on duty.
"The hospital is right down the street," he responded, hesitant to call for help. I quickly realized he did not want medical attention at his establishment, that would raise questions, but even as John insisted they call, I knew the manager was right for a different reason. I could get him there faster than it would take for the ambulance to come collect him.
"I'll take you," I interrupted, grabbing my keys and his hand.
"Jen, it will take too long. I'm getting worse!"
"Can you please keep it down so the other guests aren't disturbed?" the manager pulsed his hands in front of us. I would have found it humorous, being shushed like that, if I wasn't so worried about my struggling husband.
I pulled John outside. "Wait here." I ran for our car and raced back to the entrance, honking at the valet attendants to clear the way so I could get closer to John, who was sitting on a bench and hunched over, looking ready to keel over. I yanked the gear into park and got out to help him to the passenger seat.
"We should have called an ambulance," he wheezed, "this is going to take too long."
"You're going to thank me for this," I answered, depositing him into the front seat before returning to the driver's side.
We peeled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "Holy Cross is only a block away." I merged into the left lane, heading for Federal Highway. We arrived first at the intersection, the red light the only obstacle between us and the emergency room. I could see the sign for it. Hell, John could have walked there if I hadn't been so concerned that he would drop from lack of air. We sat, the wait taking forever.
"I think I'm going to pass out."
His words stirred me into action. North and Southbound lanes were empty, the traffic having long cleared the area. I was going to run the red light. "Hold on," I warned, and pressed my hand to the horn as I gunned into a quick and illegal left turn.
Surprisingly, I didn't cut anyone off, nor was I caught by police, and we squealed to a stop outside the ER doors. John, still surprised that I would willingly break the law, blew out a long whistling breath. "Wow."
"Stay here," I said, and rushed out again to find an orderly inside the deserted waiting room. He brought out a wheelchair to transport the patient to medical salvation while I obediently and lawfully parked the car.
An hour later, we found out that John was allergic to MSG. The umami that I had found so delicious, had tried to kill my husband with only a few sips on Valentine's Day. He also apologized from his hospital bed for not believing that I could get him help more quickly then an ambulance, and yes, he did thank me.
So, I guess you could say I did give him a present for Valentine's Day. I saved his life.
We were never charged for our meal and two days later, I received a call from the manager of Benihana asking how John was and asking us not to sue since they had neglected to post any sign-age mentioning the liberal use of MSG in their food.
Funny, we never got our fortune cookie. It probably would have read, "What you save in your meal you will spend on your co-pay.."
(This post was written for Care.com who is hosting a contest in conjunction with New Line Cinema and Warner Bros. Pictures’ film “Valentine’s Day.”
Here is the full details as described to me:
One lucky Grand Prize winner will receive a trip for two to Los Angeles, including round-trip airfare, a two-night hotel stay at the luxury SLS Hotel (http://www.starwoodhotels.com/luxury/index.htmlin Beverly Hills) with dinner for two at SLS’s Bazaar restaurant and a private VIP tour of the Warner Bros. Studio lot, where “Valentine’s Day” was filmed. Twelve finalists will each receive two tickets to see the film. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, Care.com will also provide the winners with a free one-month premium membership to find that perfect babysitter.
HOW TO ENTER:
Enter at: www.facebook.com/caredotcom, and tell us your most romantic or funniest Valentine’s Day memory. All entries should be rated PG. The twelve finalists will be selected during the months of January and February 2010. One Grand Prize Winner will be selected from among the 12 finalists in February. Three Finalists will be selected by a panel of judges on or around each of the following dates: January 23, 2010, January 30, 2010, February 6, 2010, and February 13, 2010. One Grand Prize Winner will be selected from among the 12 Finalists on or around February 13, 2010. “
Full disclosure: I have not received any compensation, other than a "Thank you" of course, for writing this piece. I have been turning down offers lately for reviews and mentions, but since I am planning to see the movie myself, Um, John, you know you're taking me to this movie, right?, and liked the idea of writing an actual story as an entry, I thought this would be a great contest to pass on to you all. And seeing as we're knee deep in the Love/ Valentine's Day Spin Cycle, your Spin could possibly win you a chance to jet off to L.A.! Of course, that's "possibly" since I'm not a judge. But I'm rooting for you! Good luck to those who enter!)
(And yes, since this is a Valentine's Day story, it totally counts for Spin Cycle. I'm linked!)
