June 5, 2006
This post brought to you courtesy of the Outer Banks Emergency Room
I have a new theory on the little girl who starred in the movie "The Exorcist." Little Reagan was not possessed by the devil. . . she ate some bad scallops.
Last night we ate dinner at a restaurant we’ve been eating at every time we come here on vacation. I had a seafood combo dinner consisting of broiled scallops and a crab cake. About 20 minutes after finishing my dinner, my stomach blew up like I was 5 months pregnant. The pressure, the bloating, the nausea was terrible. When we returned to the beach house I went to bed, knowing that I was going to be having some problems as the evening wore on. I had no idea.
I believe it was around 11 p.m. when the first unbearable abdominal pains sent me running doubled over to the bathroom. People, it wasn’t pretty. Still, I felt a little better and tried to go back to sleep. I was woken up about 45 minutes later by worse cramps and extreme nausea. This time, my body was nice enough to give me one end at a time to deal with; the next time I wasn’t so lucky.
The third time I was barely able to make the switch in time. The fourth time. . . it was either barf in the jacuzzi tub, on the floor, or throw everything out of the trash can and use that. I chose the latter. This time, my digestive tract rebelled with such force against the offending foods of earlier that evening, that I believe I may have levitated off the toilet. See where I’m going with this whole exorcist thing?
After the fourth episode, I could not stand up for fear that I was going to pass out and hit my head on the ceramic tile. I began calling for my husband who was doing a stand up job with Lil C, who did not want to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. I contemplated asking him to just put me out of my misery and snap my neck or something. Instead, I asked for my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs in the bedroom, unaware that her first born was being possessed by some bad seafood.
My Mom showed up in the bathroom, then left to get my dad. I took a few minutes to lie down on the cold ceramic tile before finding my flip-flops and purse. My parents drove me to the Emergency Room at around 2:30 a.m. They showed me to a room in the ER and I covered up with a blanket and tried to sleep. I was alternating between hot and cold at the beach house; but the ER was freezing.
And then it appeared I was hallucinating, because a Dr. McPhearson came into my room and leaned in close beside me and asked me how I was feeling. I’ve got two words for you: Mc Dreamy. Yes, I said it. I’m a Gray’s Anatomy fan and I had my own McDreamy last night. If there was one good thing about showing up in the ER with food poisoning and probably bits of puke in my hair, it was him.
He checked me out, verified my suspicions of a bad case of food poisoning, and ordered IV fluids and some anti-nausea drug called Zofran, which was amazing. He said it was a good thing I came to the hospital because I was extremely dehydrated and my heart rate was not good because of it. I told him that if I wasn’t married and didn’t have puke breathe (despite brushing my teeth 4000 times), I would totally kiss him.
After some rest and a bag of IV fluids I was discharged. The discharging nurse told me to come back to the gift shop during the day so I could buy one of their t-shirts that says, "I spent my Outer Banks vacation in the ER." I got home around 4 a.m. feeling a little better and went to bed. Today, I have spent the day resting and trying to ward off a killer headache and body aches. I feel like I did about 8 million crunches. Who needs pilates when you can have food poisoning? Nothing quite tones the body like violent heaving.
My husband and daughters have had a real bonding day, because I have been too weak to hold Lil C for any length of time. I am hoping I feel better tomorrow so I can enjoy the rest of this vacation and stop feeling like a train ran over me.
Tune in later this week for the post titled: 101 reasons I will NEVER eat scallops again. I’ll give you a hint. All 101 reasons have to do with varying degrees of severe bodily functions. I seriously don’t wish food poisoning on anyone. O.k., maybe Osama Bin Laden, but that’s it.
June 3, 2006
End of Week One Vacation Recap & Injury Report
Tonight is our last night in the hotel. Tomorrow we move to the beach house for a week. I’ve spent the night packing up all of our stuff. (I think I’ve added another vacation manager job requirement.) By the way, thanks to all applicants; but unfortunately I highly doubt I’d be able to pay what a good vacation manager would deserve, so until I win the PowerBall, I’ll have to suffer on my own.
Since this marks the end to the first week, I think it’s only appropriate to give a brief run down of the weeks main events (and injuries).
Me: Concussion from beginning of trip head injury is healing nicely. (I don’t really have a concussion, but the headache was wicked for a good day and a half). Now I am recovering from a bruised hip and knee. Both injuries came from different instances. The bruised hip came from carrying way too many things, including Lil C which resulted in me trying to use my right hip to catch a heavy door from closing. Metal door knobs do not feel good on hip bones. Not at all. I should know this considering the fact that my body has been designed so that my hip bones are always at the exact height of counters, door knobs, etc. since the ripe old age of about 13. So, what’s one more bruising encounter right? I’ll live.
The knee injury is more interesting. I haven’t driven a go-cart for years. I haven’t made a habit of driving them since the last time that I rode them with the male members of my immediate and extended family. We, as families go, are pretty competitive; as in, out for blood even if it’s a just an innocent game of Scrabble. My Dad thinks nothing of running people off the track or giving them a little tap at just the right angle so as to send people into a tailspin. Of course he always apologizes after the fact, but it’s not pretty. My Dad must always win; I must always win; my husband must always win because he is now related to me and it’s contagious, this competitive nature of ours. We can’t all win, but we’re all willing to get bloody trying.
So, Big I was determined to get me to ride a go-cart with her the other night. They had both single and double carts. How could I say no? My parents stood by with Lil C and my husband, daughter and I went for a ride. My dad whispered some tidbits of winning advice before I stood in line. "Don’t let your foot off the gas," he whispered. He started to tell me something else, but I cut him off. "Dad, I’m your daughter, remember? It’s in the blood." He smiled a knowing smile. I went off to make him proud.
The whistle blew and Big I and I tore out of the starting lane. We made it about a half lap around the track when I must have just tapped the side of the raceway. Another car was on my tail, tapped the back of the car, and then t-boned us. We were stuck, and because I didn’t have my left leg all the way down in the go-cart (I have ridiculously long legs.) my knee slammed into the steering wheel when we got t-boned. The race car supervisor guy had to come over and move our go-cart out so we could get going again. I knew he was probaby thinking it so I said it for him, "Damn women drivers." He stopped rolling his eyes for a moment and cracked up laughing. Twenty laps later, Big I and I had won, beating nine other cars. Who cares that all the other cars got one lap up on us while we were being removed from our t-bone position on the race track? If I’m not racing, it’s a warm-up boys. The race starts when I’m ready. (We competitive people are also good at making up our own rules.) All that really matters is that Big I was thrilled; and I made my Dad proud, what with my skilled passing techniques and the fact that I not once let up on the gas.
After climbing out of the go-cart, I noticed my knee: two little cuts and an area that would surely hurt the next day. Today is that next day and I was right. Ouch. My one cut has a nice black and blue mark under it; but it was worth it.
Mr. B: Sprained ankle that is swollen to cartoon character proportions, which he obtained when jumping into 4′ deep pool water is the shape of a cannonball. Yes, he is 33 years old; yes, he is 6’3"; yes, I said cannonball. Despite him being a valedictorian, he does occasionally have a dense moment or two. This was certainly one of them. He’s hoping he can hobble around well enough to play tennis during this second beach week. It’s nothing short of an all out tournment competition when it comes to my family, vacation, and tennis so he better just suck it up.
Big I: Despite nothing less than at least 30 SPF, Big I has a lovely case of what we think is sun poisoning on her cheek. I have rashy children. They are always coming up with some weird skin issue that sends me googling all kinds of strange things, before calling the pediatrician convinced they have measles or mumps or something worse. No matter how much sunscreen I used as a kid, I used to get sun poisoning, or "sun bumps" as I affectionately called them. It appears that Big I will have yet another reason to sue us some day for not having genetic counseling before deciding to bring her into this world. The poor kid has red bumps on her one cheek; red bumps that hydro-cortisone, benadryl (liquid and cream), and cool compresses won’t take away completely. She doesn’t have a spot of sunburn and hasn’t all week despite a beautiful beach week and tons of hours outside. This child’s body is just determined to make me stress about something at all times.
Lil C: This child has not a single injury, sun bump, or problem to report. She has been the perfect little beach bum. She’s on a better schedule here than she is on at home. At soon as she hears the ocean waves each day, she falls asleep. She wakes up ready to walk with our help in the sand and waves. She has been a perfect little angel at each meal, sitting in her high chair, people watching and trying to make friends. We are learning that she is quite the little social butterfly. She has been enjoying swimming in the pool, floating around in her baby float, and doesn’t even complain that much when we put sunscreen on her, as long as we give her what we call "contraband," as in anything that she’s not supposed to have such as TV remote controls or a toy that would make Big I just scream because Lil C is "not ‘apposed to have it." Lil C has been such a dream child here that I am totally plugging in that ocean sounds thing I have at home, the minute we walk in the door. At least one of us is happy and 100% healthy.
My Dad: I may have neglected to mention that my parents are on vacation with us this week and next. They have been a HUGE help to us since they are completely up for building sandcastles for 12 hours straight; and they don’t have a problem with the fact that it takes us four hours to be ready to go out to dinner.
My Dad decided to pay the fitness room a visit a few days ago and hasn’t been the same since. Blame it on that competitive gene I suppose, but the man ran on the treadmill on a serious incline and pounded away until he had hurt his back so badly that he can’t tolerate standing for very long stretches. It’s also made it kind of hard for him to give airplane rides to the girls, which has been disappointing to all of us, but mostly to a 40-something lb. Big I. He is also hoping he’ll be able to play tennis this week. I’m slightly annoyed with the fact that he’s injured because now, even if I do beat him in tennis this week, there will be a built in excuse as to why. So frustrating.
Back aside, the most startling injury comes from what we can only believe is biting fly venom. Today, the winds were blowing from the west, which meant that the biting flies were coming off of the sand dunes and onto the beach. If you’ve ever had an encouter with one of these flies, you know they hurt and badly. We quickly packed up and headed off to the pool today to avoid the little buggers. My Mom followed us. My Dad decided to tough it out. A few hours later, after he had not joined us at the pool, my Mom went looking for him. She found him on the beach, wearing his flip flops on his hands, swatting wildly at the flies as fellow beach-goers watched in awe. The cooler which contained their drinks. . . nothing short of a bloody battle ground, one that ended in a fly massacre with the score being Man: 30. Fly: 1. It only took one bite to send my Dad into a fly killing frenzy. My Mom said he probably provided good entertainment on the beach today: the crazy man killing flies with a vengence.
My Mom: Like Lil C, my Mom has remained injury free, besides the occasional sore back from holding an 18.5 lb. grand-daughter on a fairly regular basis. Come to think of it, maybe she has orchestrated this all, in an attempt to be the best tennis player of us all. . .
Probably not though.
I will sign off on this final night of what I’ll call "the relaxing part of the vacation." Our beach house week, which starts tomorrow, tends to be full of hours of slamming tennis in 90 degree heat, ocean kayaking beside the dolphins, beach volleyball where the object is as much to take an opponents head off as it is to win, power walks on the beach, and vicious card games. The injury recap at the end of next week with surely be littered with black and blues.
Thanks to all of you for your comments (and your patience in waiting for them to appear.) When I return from vacation, I promise to turn back into the addicted blog reader that I am and catch up on all my regular reads and a few news ones whose writers have been stopping by here.
June 3, 2006
End of Week One Vacation Recap & Injury Report
Tonight is our last night in the hotel. Tomorrow we move to the beach house for a week. I’ve spent the night packing up all of our stuff. (I think I’ve added another vacation manager job requirement.) By the way, thanks to all applicants; but unfortunately I highly doubt I’d be able to pay what a good vacation manager would deserve, so until I win the PowerBall, I’ll have to suffer on my own.
Since this marks the end to the first week, I think it’s only appropriate to give a brief run down of the weeks main events (and injuries).
Me: Concussion from beginning of trip head injury is healing nicely. (I don’t really have a concussion, but the headache was wicked for a good day and a half). Now I am recovering from a bruised hip and knee. Both injuries came from different instances. The bruised hip came from carrying way too many things, including Lil C which resulted in me trying to use my right hip to catch a heavy door from closing. Metal door knobs do not feel good on hip bones. Not at all. I should know this considering the fact that my body has been designed so that my hip bones are always at the exact height of counters, door knobs, etc. since the ripe old age of about 13. So, what’s one more bruising encounter right? I’ll live.
The knee injury is more interesting. I haven’t driven a go-cart for years. I haven’t made a habit of driving them since the last time that I rode them with the male members of my immediate and extended family. We, as families go, are pretty competitive; as in, out for blood even if it’s a just an innocent game of Scrabble. My Dad thinks nothing of running people off the track or giving them a little tap at just the right angle so as to send people into a tailspin. Of course he always apologizes after the fact, but it’s not pretty. My Dad must always win; I must always win; my husband must always win because he is now related to me and it’s contagious, this competitive nature of ours. We can’t all win, but we’re all willing to get bloody trying.
So, Big I was determined to get me to ride a go-cart with her the other night. They had both single and double carts. How could I say no? My parents stood by with Lil C and my husband, daughter and I went for a ride. My dad whispered some tidbits of winning advice before I stood in line. "Don’t let your foot off the gas," he whispered. He started to tell me something else, but I cut him off. "Dad, I’m your daughter, remember? It’s in the blood." He smiled a knowing smile. I went off to make him proud.
The whistle blew and Big I and I tore out of the starting lane. We made it about a half lap around the track when I must have just tapped the side of the raceway. Another car was on my tail, tapped the back of the car, and then t-boned us. We were stuck, and because I didn’t have my left leg all the way down in the go-cart (I have ridiculously long legs.) my knee slammed into the steering wheel when we got t-boned. The race car supervisor guy had to come over and move our go-cart out so we could get going again. I knew he was probaby thinking it so I said it for him, "Damn women drivers." He stopped rolling his eyes for a moment and cracked up laughing. Twenty laps later, Big I and I had won, beating nine other cars. Who cares that all the other cars got one lap up on us while we were being removed from our t-bone position on the race track? If I’m not racing, it’s a warm-up boys. The race starts when I’m ready. (We competitive people are also good at making up our own rules.) All that really matters is that Big I was thrilled; and I made my Dad proud, what with my skilled passing techniques and the fact that I not once let up on the gas.
After climbing out of the go-cart, I noticed my knee: two little cuts and an area that would surely hurt the next day. Today is that next day and I was right. Ouch. My one cut has a nice black and blue mark under it; but it was worth it.
Mr. B: Sprained ankle that is swollen to cartoon character proportions, which he obtained when jumping into 4′ deep pool water is the shape of a cannonball. Yes, he is 33 years old; yes, he is 6’3"; yes, I said cannonball. Despite him being a valedictorian, he does occasionally have a dense moment or two. This was certainly one of them. He’s hoping he can hobble around well enough to play tennis during this second beach week. It’s nothing short of an all out tournment competition when it comes to my family, vacation, and tennis so he better just suck it up.
Big I: Despite nothing less than at least 30 SPF, Big I has a lovely case of what we think is sun poisoning on her cheek. I have rashy children. They are always coming up with some weird skin issue that sends me googling all kinds of strange things, before calling the pediatrician convinced they have measles or mumps or something worse. No matter how much sunscreen I used as a kid, I used to get sun poisoning, or "sun bumps" as I affectionately called them. It appears that Big I will have yet another reason to sue us some day for not having genetic counseling before deciding to bring her into this world. The poor kid has red bumps on her one cheek; red bumps that hydro-cortisone, benadryl (liquid and cream), and cool compresses won’t take away completely. She doesn’t have a spot of sunburn and hasn’t all week despite a beautiful beach week and tons of hours outside. This child’s body is just determined to make me stress about something at all times.
Lil C: This child has not a single injury, sun bump, or problem to report. She has been the perfect little beach bum. She’s on a better schedule here than she is on at home. At soon as she hears the ocean waves each day, she falls asleep. She wakes up ready to walk with our help in the sand and waves. She has been a perfect little angel at each meal, sitting in her high chair, people watching and trying to make friends. We are learning that she is quite the little social butterfly. She has been enjoying swimming in the pool, floating around in her baby float, and doesn’t even complain that much when we put sunscreen on her, as long as we give her what we call "contraband," as in anything that she’s not supposed to have such as TV remote controls or a toy that would make Big I just scream because Lil C is "not ‘apposed to have it." Lil C has been such a dream child here that I am totally plugging in that ocean sounds thing I have at home, the minute we walk in the door. At least one of us is happy and 100% healthy.
My Dad: I may have neglected to mention that my parents are on vacation with us this week and next. They have been a HUGE help to us since they are completely up for building sandcastles for 12 hours straight; and they don’t have a problem with the fact that it takes us four hours to be ready to go out to dinner.
My Dad decided to pay the fitness room a visit a few days ago and hasn’t been the same since. Blame it on that competitive gene I suppose, but the man ran on the treadmill on a serious incline and pounded away until he had hurt his back so badly that he can’t tolerate standing for very long stretches. It’s also made it kind of hard for him to give airplane rides to the girls, which has been disappointing to all of us, but mostly to a 40-something lb. Big I. He is also hoping he’ll be able to play tennis this week. I’m slightly annoyed with the fact that he’s injured because now, even if I do beat him in tennis this week, there will be a built in excuse as to why. So frustrating.
Back aside, the most startling injury comes from what we can only believe is biting fly venom. Today, the winds were blowing from the west, which meant that the biting flies were coming off of the sand dunes and onto the beach. If you’ve ever had an encouter with one of these flies, you know they hurt and badly. We quickly packed up and headed off to the pool today to avoid the little buggers. My Mom followed us. My Dad decided to tough it out. A few hours later, after he had not joined us at the pool, my Mom went looking for him. She found him on the beach, wearing his flip flops on his hands, swatting wildly at the flies as fellow beach-goers watched in awe. The cooler which contained their drinks. . . nothing short of a bloody battle ground, one that ended in a fly massacre with the score being Man: 30. Fly: 1. It only took one bite to send my Dad into a fly killing frenzy. My Mom said he probably provided good entertainment on the beach today: the crazy man killing flies with a vengence.
My Mom: Like Lil C, my Mom has remained injury free, besides the occasional sore back from holding an 18.5 lb. grand-daughter on a fairly regular basis. Come to think of it, maybe she has orchestrated this all, in an attempt to be the best tennis player of us all. . .
Probably not though.
I will sign off on this final night of what I’ll call "the relaxing part of the vacation." Our beach house week, which starts tomorrow, tends to be full of hours of slamming tennis in 90 degree heat, ocean kayaking beside the dolphins, beach volleyball where the object is as much to take an opponents head off as it is to win, power walks on the beach, and vicious card games. The injury recap at the end of next week with surely be littered with black and blues.
Thanks to all of you for your comments (and your patience in waiting for them to appear.) When I return from vacation, I promise to turn back into the addicted blog reader that I am and catch up on all my regular reads and a few news ones whose writers have been stopping by here.
May 30, 2006
Wanted: Vacation Manager
Position title: Vacation Manager
Job requirements:
- Daily slathering of two slippery children with SPF 50 sunscreen at two hour intervals throughout the day (extra if children are in water). Daily bonus paid if neither child develops any sunburn.
- Managing the contents of beach bag and diaper bag, as in constantly knowing what is in both bags, where all items are located within bags, and what needs to be replenished.
- Frequent trips to obtain forgotten camera, "nice fresh fresh juice", towels, sunglasses forgotten in the car from the night before, etc. etc. etc.
- Getting in very cold pool water to catch jumping child. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Oh, and repeat.
- Preparing baby food menu for each day. Includes obtaining food and finding a way to serve it at a tolerable temperature.
- Building sandcastles which includes chasing away crabs from inhabiting freshly built sandcastles.
- Bathing and dressing slippery, sunscreen covered children each night.
- Running child to the bathroom from the point most far away from bathroom while chanting, "Hold it. Hold it. Hold it."
- Butt wiping.
- Retrieval of all meals not eaten in a restaurant.
- Carrying all beach materials (umbrella, beach blanket, towels, cover-ups, beach bag, sand toys, cooler, book, beach chair, jogging stroller, tent, etc.) to and from the beach each day.
- Confronting neighboring hotel room occupants who happen to listen to the preview channel for 4 hours straight at the highest volume possible.
Qualifications:
- Endless patience.
- True love for children.
- No allergies to sunscreen ingredients.
- Strength of a pack mule to carry multiple heavy things at a time.
Anyone? Anyone? Not that I’m complaining because I’m having a great time; but it sure would be nice. . .
May 29, 2006
Karate Mama’s & Papa’s
The great Mommy Blogger Love Fest is going on all over the place. It started here. I was flattered to be listed here. I wasn’t sure if I was going to participate or not, because I was in a bad mood so many are participating that I just didn’t know if I could write an original post. I’m a little late getting in on this game to begin with. But, then I thought about all these cool karate mama’s out there who have been stopping by this site, and I thought "Now there’s an idea!"
My first Karate Mama is Junebee. She was my faithful and loyal commenter over at my syndicated blog site that my hometown newspaper publishes. My visitor stats over there are really great, but I rarely get a comment (let alone a nice one). So, Junebee hooked me up with praise on a regular basis, before she decided to come over to this site where I post more. She is a black belt in hapkido, and studies Tae Kwon Do as well.
Wayward Goddess always stops by and comments (and makes me feel like my work outs are completely inadequate!) She’s got a cool new site with a graphic on it that just makes you want to get up and dance. She is outranked by her son, or should I say sensei son. I doubt that will be for long though.
Lost Cheerio found my site recently. She is a green belt in Tang Soo Do. She’s witty and seems like she’d be a lot of fun to get to know. Her American Idol commentary alone is worth a visit.
Crouching Mother, Hidden Diva is a purple belt in shaolin kenpo and has an upcoming test for a blue belt. It should be interesting to see how it goes for her.
And honestly, I know it’s supposed to be all about the ladies, but I would be seriously remiss if I didn’t mention the karate papa’s. . .
"Frogman" of "Taming the Horse Stance" takes karate with his son and works diligently on the things in karate that he likes the least. He goes to tournaments and competes along side his son, which is just way cool.
John of "Martial Views" is the Yoda of karate. . . at least that’s what I tell him. He is a 2nd dan black belt in Isshinryu Karate. If you want to learn a whole lot about martial arts in a short amount of time, his site is the place to go. His posts are brain food for anyone interested in the martial arts; and he’s got three sons too.
Curtis has three kids and is at the beginning of his karate journey. He is very dedicated and is lucky enough to be training with some of his very best friends (instead of with elementary school kids like I do.)
If you are a mama or a papa and take karate, let me know. I’d love to check out your site and I’m sure others would as well.
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