Why Chicken Bones?

When I was in high school, my grandfather got a chicken bone stuck in his throat while eating dinner. My grandparents lived near my family on a farm in southern Illinois. When the chicken bone did not come out by means of the normal coughing and slappping on the back that are the usual home remedies for such difficulties, my mother was called on to drive my grandfather, and my grandmother as well, into town to the doctor's office. The doctor was also unsuccessful in removing the bone, and my grandfather was then taken to a hospital about twenty miles away for surgery.
This whole episode was quite an event at the time, for the family and all our neighbors, too, who listened to the events unfold on the party telephone line.
Recently, my youngest brother, who would have been about six or seven at the time, wondered via email about what really happened that day. Between my memories, those of our mother, and a cousin who has kept a diary since the 1960s, we were able to reconstruct the event more or less accurately.
The whole discussion made me think about how something small and insignificant, like a chicken bone, can lead to an entanglement of events, and the creation, or recreation, of a story.