Last night was supposed to be quiet. Andrew was off at the National Aquatics Centre for his diving lesson, and I decided to treat myself to a Chinese dinner. A little indulgence, a little peace. What could go wrong?

Turns out, everything.

One rogue piece of chicken lodged itself somewhere between my throat and stomach, triggering an asthma attack that felt like my body hitting the panic button. Add to that the salt overload from the meal, and suddenly my system was staging a full-blown revolt. Retching, gasping, and the kind of discomfort that makes you question every life choice—including ordering takeaway.

The ambulance was called. The Order of Malta emergency responders arrived swiftly, calm and composed while I was anything but. In a heartwarming show of local solidarity, the nearby supermarket even sent someone to sit with me until the National Ambulance Service arrived. The lad who came was lovely, but thankfully not needed—help had already arrived.

Off to the hospital I went, where the night unfolded in a blur of retching, failed sips of tea and water, and a stomach that refused to cooperate. Eventually—mercifully—that stubborn piece of chicken made its exit. But even then, I couldn’t keep anything down.

Until, of all things, a mug of cold fizzy 7Up came to the rescue. Like a miracle in a can, it settled my stomach and gave me the first real relief of the night.