There's ooze leaking out of your schnooze, drying up upon contact with air. Breathing through a bottle-necked air way. Hands impaired by premature nerves, rendering them useless. You begin to panic. You breath twice as hard, difficulty multiplied twice. You gasp for air, but there are frogs leaping out in a steady cadence through your mouth. You are innocent of the concept of expectoration. You choke as your own physiology does a Gringo Honasan. And there's absolutely nothing you can do. Zilch.
My Baby Jiro is barely 4 months old. Right now, he's weakened and cranky with asthma. Poor guy.