It's a Celebration!

 

Happy 1st Birthday to AOL Journals from CW2sMom in California! 

 

The HMO Blues............

Good Mornin’…..

Today’s stress breakfast consists of two Mother’s Taffy cookies (after all, I’m dieting), washed down by a couple of Diet Pepsi’s on the rocks. Ab’s not particularly fond of those Taffy cookies, which thankfully leaves more for me, considering the sugar junkie that she is. I have no idea where she developed the sugar fixation. :: tongue in cheek::

HMOs…..you’ve got to love ‘em.

Rescue Woman is about to add RN to her official title. Rescue Woman-RN…..I kinda like it. Yep, yesterday I took the abbreviated course in IV Therapy. The HMO special, 30 minute, How to Hook Up and Operate an IV for Dummies class. Hey….don’t those nursing students get like….oh, maybe a week or so training on that subject? Maybe….practice on one another? Didn’t they have to at least take a little test, before you sent them out to work on a real patient?

And…let me get this straight….YOU people are sending ME home with all this stuff to hook up to a very sick Papa (someone I love) after 30 minutes training? All righty then!

How about if I just write all these directions down since I am going to be doing this for 7 nights in a row? Good idea.

Somehow, when they told me Thursday that Papa would need "hyperal" therapy via an IV, that could be done at home, and that they’d "train" me, I just thought that meant that my participation in this whole medical process would be limited to changing the bag that hung on the pole. Very simply…hooking this little twisty connector to that one on his arm. Piece of cake. I can do that. I can do anything, pretty much. I am woman. Hear me roar!

Wrong!

You’d think that as much time as I have spent dealing with Papa’s illness at home and in the hospital over the past few years, I would have realized I was in for a bit more than I’d anticipated!

Holy HMO bedpans….you want me….moi….to hook up all that stuff? I start to shake while looking at the boxes of "lever locks" and plastic tubing, syringes, alcohol wipes and blunt needles and then my head is spinning from hearing my trainer speak official medical terminology like "roller clamps", "Hep locks" and "flushing lines with Heparin." Then comes info about the electronic IV pump PRI rate, occlusions, priming the port and "squeezing chambers" although, not necessarily in that order.

By this time, I think I am now quickly becoming a patient. HELP!

So I mention to the RN who’s providing me the training that I equate this whole process to me providing her 30 minutes of Corrections 101 and then ask her to go handle a serious custody issue in our maximum security area. Yeah, right!

The reason I chose this profession is because I am severely mechanically challenged and for the most part, I just have to use my brains in this job. I’m thinkin’ there’s an awful lot of mechanics in this nursing when you’re talking….….need to flush, prime, feed tubing and clamp, then figure PRI rates over a 12 hour period. Besides, you’ve got to be smarter than the machine. I have only recently figured out how to use my antique digital camera. Kinda.

Okay, so I think I’ve got it now. Got my layman’s notes here. Give me that stuff and let me go home. I place the two heavy boxes of meds, and all the above mentioned paraphernalia in the trunk and gently place the IV pole and pump in the back seat. We head back up the mountain. It is Friday night and it’s going to be another swell weekend.

So as we drive home, Papa senses my distress and knows me well enough to know that I will need back-up for this overwhelming task and he suggests that we ask my best buddy, Trish to come over and help. Now that’s an idea! She is somewhat mechanical. She sews…she’s crafty, and I helped her once when she reupholstered a chair for me. She’s amazing! That required measuring fabric….you know, math stuff…..plus stapling and putting it all back together. Perfect. She be just the right person to assist me, but there’s only one problem. She’s not home!  Arrrrrgghhh!

Ok, not to panic. I can do this. Did I mention I hate puzzles? That’s what this is to me, a puzzle. If you get all the pieces in the proper place, you get this pretty picture and then all is well with the world. I pull out my handy-dandy notes and start pulling stuff out of the boxes. All of a sudden, there’s a knock on the front door. I run to the door, and throw it open and there’s Trish! I burst into tears! She’s my best buddy and I can do that pity party stuff around her! She on the other hand, won’t tolerate that nonsense and suggests we get right to work.

We did it!

Now, all together….(sung to the tune of….The Leg Bone is Connected to the…….)

The plastic needle is connected to the saline flush syringe, the flush syringe is inserted in the hep lock, the vitamins are injected into the yellow port of the IV bag, the injection port is ………..

Pardon me, but I’m feeling a little ill right now. I will talk to you all later.

Rescue Woman~Super Hero

Weekend Assignment #16: Create a brand-new Superhero secret identity for yourself, based on your personality and proclivities -- and make sure to list at least one "super power" that relates to a special talent you have. Now, to be clear, this "super power" shouldn't actually be a super power, like the ability to fly or shoot lasers from your eyes (unless you can actually do that). No, we're just talking about naming a "talent" you have, in superhero terms. So, for example, if you're really good at finding bargains, you could say you have Super Shopping Senses -- "Oooh! My shopping sense is tingling! Something in this aisle is on sale!!!!" Like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Presenting………….Rescue Woman-Super Hero

Yes, meet Rescue Woman!  Compelled to solve your problems, big or small! Destined to save the human race! Gladly assumes responsibility for the well-being of others!

Harried and overcommitted, but still managing to wear the weight of the world on her tired shoulders! An enormous burden!

Proudly protecting her loved ones from their God-given, American right to fall flat on their faces, pull themselves up with their boot straps and make their own way in the world! Anticipating and providing for their every need!

Fearlessly ensuring that they never have to face the awful consequences of their behavior in such horrifying situations like........overdue Science projects or the pain and humiliation of failing grades, empty gas tanks and disconnected cell phones!

Rent? Not a problem! You say you have no where to live? Lost everything? Family of seven?  Piece of cake!  Rescue Woman will move you in to her home and single-handedly pull together an entire household of furniture, dishes, clothing, cash donations, etc. to replace what you lost to repeated bad decisions and get you on your feet again!

What a woman!

Fortified with her super-charged stress breakfast, consisting of Diet Pepsi on the rocks and a scrumptious chocolate donut in one hand, she will stoically reach in and grab her checkbook or wallet and handle those pesky little bills for you!

Watch her step up to the plate, at any hour day or night, and deal with near fatal drug and/or alcohol overdoses. She’ll stay up all night at your bedside, then work a 10 hour day and still pull together a last minute book report; typed to perfection, for a surly 12-year old who just remembered it was due yesterday!

With little regard for herself and at the expense of her mental and physical health, (mammograms? Rescue Woman doesn’t need no stinkin’ mammogram) her personal relationships and household, she will always be there for those she loves and a few others, ensuring that they live their lives like she thinks they should!

Laughing in the face of those who spout their New-Age nonsense and label her "co-dependent," she will forever flex her slightly flabby arm and cry……..

"OH, NO…It can’t be!  Rescue Woman at your service!"

 

Good News!

Today I was notified that my other journal, Up Close and Personal-A Photo Blog, has been selected to be highlighed on the AOL Journal's Main Page starting tomorrow!  Can you believe it?  The girls and I are really pleased to be honored by the Editors! 

If you haven't been to that journal before, please stop by and take a look at what a bunch of amateurs can do with a camera, once they set their minds to it! 

It's funny, that I didn't really act on my interest in photography until starting up this journal and then looking at other photo journals that were linked, such as Steven, Kat, Monica's, and Insight's, etc.  (There are several other favorites that I will pimp later!) 

Those got me going, then Ab joined right in and she's taking some outstanding shots for a 12 year old kid!   Tam's always been pretty good at photography and even took a class in high school. I just wish she'd take a few more shots with us. 

Anyway, again my thanks to the friends and fellow journalers that have encouraged me in my writing and photography.  I am blessed to have found all of you, because you've been such an inspiration!!  

Muuuuwaaaaahh! 

Proudly, 

 Lisa 

Going in for the Kill

I swear, they’re out to get me. It’s a well organized conspiracy in the insect community. I am doomed.

Friday night, as I am leaving work, I get in the car and start up the engine, feeling that old familiar itch. This time it’s not around my ankles. Only because they weren’t easily accessible since…"Fly Boy’s Mama wears combat boots!" Don’t ask.

This time they went in for the kill, attacking my delicate little wrist, right next to the stylish, but trusty Timex reading 1700 hours, straight up! Another red, itchy welt is rising and I resist the urge to claw it like a crazed animal with my perfectly polished, and within uniform regulations-french manicured nails.

Arrrgggh! What bit me this time?

Ok, so here it is Sunday morning and the ugly welt is now about the size of a quarter and still as red as a newborn’s cryin’ face. Despite calamine and caladryl lotion this sucker is still itching like the day it happened. This bite is not from your average mosquito. If that was what it was! The guys sent in the big guns to get me.

I’ve told my family that I fully expect this one to do me in. They might as well start planning the services. I fully expect to contract West Nile Virus from that puppy. They better start watching for the symptoms. Stuttering, forgetfulness, stumbling into walls. Oh…I am already doing that? Ok then, it’s probably going to be Mad Cow Disease. Or, it could be Ptomain Poisoning (I got that one from quroboros ) or psoriasis. Yes, that’s gotta be it! Don’t they always say…"The heartbreak of psoriasis!"

Whatever it is, it’s gonna kill me I am sure!

I will expect y’all at the funeral.

I like daffodils.

 

photo credit:  earthsunmoon.com

Weekend Assignment #15: Bad Food Moments

Tell us about the the most disgusting food/drink you've ever had in your mouth. Please note that I'm emphasizing the words "food and/or drink" -- No fair talking about the time you ate an earthworm or Play-Doh, or drank antifreeze, or ate something else that doesn't actually constitute food. You know what I'm talking about, here. Let's all be grown-ups, shall we. Real food, please: It can be badly prepared, strange and awful, accidentally rancid or whatever, but it's gotta be something someone somewhere recognizes as food.

Extra Credit: Name an actual food product that was so awful that you couldn't even bring yourself to try it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Seriously Bad Food Moment

Every self-respecting Okie girl loves fried okra! Although I wasn’t actually born in Oklahoma, I come from good Oklahoma Indian stock and was trained up right.

My Papa makes some great fried okra. Mmmmmmmmmmm! I can’t get much fried okra here, and Papa’s not up to doin’ much cookin’ anymore, so fried zucchini comes about as close to it as I can get.

So, a few years back a friend and I stop for dinner at a local buffet. Variety galore! Yum.

I pretty much don’t eat anything that I can’t immediately recognize, but I know fried zucchini when I see it. I pick up a few, (using the tongs, silly-us Okie’s got manners!) and plop a few of those babies on my plate right next to a little bit of this and a spoonful of that.

We head to the table and dig in! I’m starved! Immediately, I go for the fresh, plump fried zucchini and take a BIG bite, chewing enthusiastically.

:: wide-eyed stare:: I’m thinkin’ this doesn’t taste like any fried zucchini I ever ate! BLECH!

Panic sets in as I chew and chew. Whatever it is that I just put in my mouth gets bigger and tastes nastier each time my teeth meet. I just can’t spit this stuff out on my plate! Gag! What am I going to do with "it?"

Me: "Kerry…..What am I eating? Look, right there! What is that?" as I point to the half-bitten fried zucchini impostor!

"Whhaaaattt isssss itttttt?" Ahhh doooonnnthinnnnnkkk itttttssss zuuuuuccchhhinnnnniiii!" Blech!!!

Kerry: "That my dear, looks suspiciously like a fried oyster!" ::laughing hysterically::

Me: ::swallow:: "Oyster! I just ate an oyster? Oh, my GAWD, that was the absolutely nastiest tasting thing I have ever had in my mouth! There wasn’t a pearl in that thing either!"

Yep, I would have to say that I am a lot more carefully on the buffet lines these days. I still have nightmares!

Oh, and let’s just forget about the extra credit, shall we. I don’t wanna think about anything remotely resembling food after dredging up that wonderful memory.

 

To become a real boy you must prove yourself BRAVE, TRUTHFUL, and UNSELFISH.~from "Pinnocchio"

Twenty-eight years ago today, my "Fly Boy" was born. He didn’t mess around making his grand entrance. Nope, after about 2 hours of labor pains that were an easy 20 minutes apart, they suddenly dropped to excruciating one minute episodes of sheer agony and I knew he meant serious business. On a weekday, at 7:00 in the morning on a Southern California freeway, there was no way we were going to make it to the hospital at which he was supposed to arrive!

While I lay on our waterbed, (well it was 1976) writhing in the throws of labor, his father called the hospital and advised them of our little problem. They suggested it just might be the right time to call the local Fire Department or he could prepare to get some childbirth instructions over the phone. Despite being a Nebraska farm boy, he elected to summon help from the firefighters. Good thinkin’ Daddy!

I didn’t know our community had that many firemen. Obviously there weren’t too many other fire-fighting duties to be done that morning, because every one of them was right there in my bedroom. In a scene just like the old Emergency television show, the firemen discussed my situation with the emergency room at a nearby hospital. I think one of them told my husband to boil some water. Water? I thought that was only on tv.

I sure didn’t like the idea of having that baby at home in my bed, but they kept assuring me all would be fine and the "ambulance is on they way!" Swell.

The guy who kept the closest eye on me was the one with his handy-dandy penlight SPOTLIGHTING the birth canal saying "You know, this is soooo interesting! My wife is going to have a baby soon!" Then he’d call the rest of the guys over for a look and there’d be about 12 heads all bent down around my fanny.

Ugghh. The indignity of it all. Actually, at that point, I’d have sold tickets to the neighbors if they wanted to come watch. I just wanted to have that baby NOW! The firemen preferred that I wait for the ambulance and they "encouraged" me to use my breathing techniques learned in the Lamaze classes until the ambulance arrived.

Lights, siren and more action. Finally the ambulance! "Great" I say to myself, now the baby will be born in the ambulance instead of my bedroom.

What are these people thinking?  I can’t possibly make it to a hospital.

In the ambulance as we head to the nearest hospital, I am instructed to continue my Lamaze breathing and to avoid pushing or risk immediate delivery. The fireman tells me to squeeze his hand with each contraction that causes me to want to expel that impatient child.  He assures me that it will be just a few more minutes to the hospital.

I breathe……I squeeze. It’s now 7:25.

As we pull up to the Emergency Room, I just give up and decide that I don’t care what these people want, this child is being born this very second and they can either help, or get the hell out of the way!

Quickly, they open the ambulance door and wheel me toward the emergency entrance.

I start to push. "The baby’s coming!" I hear one of the nurses say!

"Get her off the gurney and on to bed!" someone yells.

I ask for my husband and I tell them he’s supposed to see the baby’s birth. "After all" I yell, "we took those stupid Lamaze classes!" They tell me he’s putting on some scrubs and he’ll be right in!  He betterrrrrr hurrrrrrry!

7:27….Daddy rushes in his with green scrubs just barely covering his clothes, just as the ER Doctor catches the determined baby and I thank the Lord that it’s over!

Congratulations!

"IT’S A BOY!"

Yes.......A REAL Boy!

Happy, Happy Birthday to my wonderful son! 

Love, Mom

 

Well...you dared me!

I had to pull out my high school graduation photo after seeing those posted by some of my fellow journalers.

Ahhhh, memories. Yep, this is me.  Class of 1971.  Geez, look at those eyebrows.  I am so glad I've had braces on my teeth since this was taken.

Ten miles from the beach in Orange County, California, I spent high school days and sweet summers in the sun, as a real surfer girl. My hair, streaked with "Summer Blonde" highlights, parted right down the middle and ironed, yes ironed….with a real clothes iron, to make it hang straight as a board. Just like all of the other OC girls.

I wasn’t much of a surfer…but I won the guy’s admiration for trying. Mostly it was a way to hang out with the surfer boys in my neighborhood, and get rides to Huntington Beach where the guys rode the "boss" waves near the pier and all of us girls baked our baby oil/iodined bodies in the sun, and looked really "bitchen!"

We ate "strips" which was a precursor to today’s nachos. Basically, a delicacy of sandy tortilla chips with taco or barbecue sauce drizzled on top, that we bought from high priced food stands on the beach. If we had enough money left at the end of the day, we’d gorge on cheap tacos and burritos from Del Taco on the ride home.

We had occasional parties around the fire rings at night, drinking cheap Ripple wine, listening to the Beach Boys sing, "Help Me Rhonda" and "Surfer Girl" until the night patrol would run us off. Like all teens, we thought we were immortal. We’d never wear seatbelts as we’d hang out of the car windows, half-drunk and cruise to find more fun or parties.

I am amazed this beach beauty is alive to tell the story. I don’t know what would have been worse, my mother killing me for coming home drunk, or falling out of the Woody on the highway!

More Vacation Excitement!

Now that I’ve finished my stress breakfast consisting of a slice of scrumptious, to-die-for (probably a poor choice of breakfast food and words considering the topic) chocolate spoon cake and iced diet pepsi, I am ready to tell yesterday’s story.

I am not so sure that I’d call this a "vacation" at this point. Somehow....near comatose diabetics, bloody gaping wounds, paramedics and ambulances just doesn’t fit my idea of fun.

Since we live in a small mountain community, the Department of motor Vehicles graces us with their presence for a few hours once every Friday, at the Veteran’s Hall. Everyone in town, including me-procrastinator that I am-decided that yesterday would be the Friday to take care of business. When I arrived about 1:00 pm, I picked up number eleven and sat down to await my turn. I heard one of the three clerks call "89" and I groaned, realizing that they had to finish off the first hundred folks before they made it through to my measly number.

So, I settled in to the hard metal folding chair for my long wait. I had to stay. At 2:00 pm a clerk announced that if our number wasn’t called by 2:30 when they closed, we were out of luck. We could either come back next Friday, or drive down the mountain to the DMV offices that were open until 5 o’clock, because this "office" closed promptly at 2:30 so they could pack up the computers and make it to their home office by quitting time.

Thanks to whoever had numbers 3 and 8 and gave up the wait. Gratefully, I made it to the window by the skin of my teeth at 25 minutes after 2:00. Heading home about 10 minutes later with a 50 year old bladder that was about to burst, I ran into the house and started up the stairs. I wasn’t about to use Papa’s bathroom until I got it cleaned and that was my next job for the day. I then heard……..

Papa~very sweetly: "Lisa, could you come here and help me for a minute?" (which I interpret to mean he needs help opening a bottle or straightening out the covers on his bed)

Me: "Ok! Just a second…I have to pee!" ::just in time-big sigh of relief::

Me: "Where are you?" as I head down the stairs.

Papa: ::groaning::

I follow the moaning to his bathroom, where he’s nearly unconscious, face up on the tile floor. There’s blood all over the floor, and a pile of something that looks like wavy brains just the side of his bloody left hand. The palm of his hand is split wide open like a watermelon that’s been just had it’s first cut.

Me: "OH MY GOD...WHAT HAPPENED?"

I then recognize the bloody, brain-like material to be the innerds of a Cup of Noodles that are still intact, and the smashed styrofoam cup is over near the toilet. WTH?

Papa’s just barely able to tell me that he fell, as I yell that I am going to call 911 and run to the kitchen phone. He’s protesting, saying he doesn’t need an ambulance and asks me to help him up. Yeah, right! Men can be sooooo stupid. Thank God us women make better decisions in those type of situations!

After dealing with a very calm dispatcher who assures me that help is on the way, I make my way back to Papa and try not to slip in the blood as a try to get into the bathroom. With his Hep C and my open chigger bites, it wouldn’t be a good thing. His breathing is very shallow and his eyes are rolling back in his head. I check for a pulse and notice he’s clammy. I gently cup his head in my hand to see if he’s got a head injury and find that he’s soaking wet. It then clicks….he’s nearly in a diabetic coma. I’ve never seen him with blood sugar that low before, but I’ve learned enough over the years to know what to do.

I run to the fridge and look for some juice or something liquid and sugary. I open a half-filled at bottle of old, flat (pre-vacation) Dr. Pepper and pour him about 4 0unces in a glass and assist him as he’s swallows it. I was amazed that he was able to drink it without choking. It musta have been the lack of carbonation that made it go down so smooth. The sirens are getting closer, so I run and open the front door.

The paramedics and firemen fill up the hallway with their equipment as I tell them what’s happened and all about his medical issues. Jennifer, one of the paramedics that treated him a few months back with a horrible post-surgery bleeding episode, agrees with me that it’s a diabetic emergency. She then takes a blood sample and finds that his sugar is 23! That’s after I gave him the Dr. Pepper! Yikes! A glucose IV is started. Everyone’s amazed that he’s somewhat coherent as most people would be fully comatose at that point. She instructs me to gather up his meds for the trip.

After determining that there’s no apparent head/neck injury and temporarily bandaging up his hand, they load him up on the gurney and then out to the ambulance. I call a few family members, get Ab settled and head to the hospital. I fill out the obligatory paperwork, return it to the desk and they ask me to have a seat until the doctor has stabilized him. Irritated, I try to read a recent Time magazine that’s filled with articles about the serious obesity problem in America, which irritates me even more since I have first hand knowledge of the subject.

Finally, the nurse comes out and informs me that my father is stable, that his hand is being stapled, they are running tests and that I will get to see him in a little while, once the doctor is finished with repairing his hand. I continue to sit and people watch, when a handsome elderly gentleman, who looks to be in his 80s, walks by, looks at me and smiled real big with a wink before he exits the hospital. Silly boy! It made my day!

Once Papa was stable, I was allowed to go to his bedside where he was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and oxygen. His heart rate was irregular and they were having problems keeping his blood sugar up, despite the glucose. He was instructed to eat and they brought him a tuna sandwich and soup. He ate all of the sandwich, drank a small glass of milk and a couple of bites of the vegetable soup. Several hours and blood checks later they feel like he can be released for home, much to my astonishment. And, of course they wanted him to eat again at home, which he wouldn’t do. He just fell right into bed and slept all night.

This morning, we were about to run into the same problem. Papa got up and was pretty sore and unsteady on his feet. I was insistent that he check his blood sugar, but he said he just knew it wasn’t low. Wrong! It was 36! So I sat him in a chair and rounded up some cranberry juice cocktail real quick. It took about 30 minutes or so to get his sugar in the acceptable range. Then I took him to breakfast and he ate most of a bowl of oatmeal.

Right now, his blood sugar is right about where it should be at 119 and we’re awaiting a call from his doctors to see if they think he needs to be checked out down the mountain. I am a little concerned about the fact that they didn’t ex-ray his hand, and his fingers are very bruised and sore. Possibly, he broke something in addition to the cut. Additionally, something’s going on to make these drastic low blood sugar situations, especially when he hasn’t taken any insulin.

Geez….what a vacation!  More later!

Scalzi's Weekend Assignment

Okay....Here's the Blogfather's latest assignment, and I am all over it!

Weekend Assignment  #14: Write a haiku about your most cherished snack food or carbonated beverage.

That's right, a poem about your rapturous enjoyment of junk food. Come on, you're Americans (most of you). If we know anything about Americans, it's that we loooooove our junk food. So why not express it? In Haiku form?

But wait, you say. I'm all for expounding my love of sugar-and-fat-laden foods, but how do I write a haiku? Well, writing a haiku is simple: It has three lines, and each line has a certain number of syllables:

First five syllables;
Seven syllables come next,
And then five once more.

Now, technically speaking, a traditional haiku should also reference weather or the seasons in some way, but I think it's a little much to write about snack foods and the season in seventeen syllables, so we'll ignore that -- but if you want, you can write about snack foods and the seasons for extra credit. For example:

Raspberry Zingers
Unnatural red tinge, like
Nuclear fall leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's mine........ahem....

Iced Diet Pepsi,

Aspartame, Bubbles, Caffeine,

Jolts me all seasons.

I never was able to develop a taste for coffee, so for years my drug of choice has been Pepsi.  Of course I had to resort to the diet stuff when I hit my late 30's, to avoid those extra calories.  My father, a trained drug and alcohol counselor, says that I have all of the addictive traits of an alcoholic, but substitute the alcohol with Diet Pepsi. 

It's so true....I don't know how I could go without it for a day.  ::shuddering at the thought::

Hello...I'm Lisa and I am a Pepsiholic..................

photo from dietpepsi.com

There's NO Place Like Home!

We're home from Oklahoma; safe and sound for the most part!  Modern travel is so wonderful.  It's just incredible that you can be half-way across the country one minute, then home in a few hours. 

This photo was taken at about 35,000 feet, from my window seat, as we were flying out of our Denver connection yesterday afternoon. 

We had a great trip and spent lots of time eating and visiting with family.  As many times as I've travelled to Oklahoma, I don't think I ever noticed how many mexican restaurants they have in OKC.  I swear, they must have 15 on every major street, and within blocks of each other!  We managed to sample a few of the mexican places, and have determined a favorite; Chilinos. Yum!  One plus to Okie mexican food is that they always serve warm, gooey, sweet sopapillas for dessert!   Not so here in my parts.  I'd never seen a sopapilla until I visited New Mexico and Oklahoma.  Best yet, in OKC they're complimentary with your meal! 

I do believe most of the folks there go out to eat every night, because we did and every place we went was filled with hungry diners.   The prices are still affordable, I guess.  We fed 8 people the other night for about $63.00!  They have every kind of food and restaurant imaginable.  We enjoyed a particularly good chinese buffet, where they made Moo Shu Chicken tableside, in addition to all the tasty stuff on the buffet line.     

Another thing that Oklahoma has is an impressive array of menacing bugs.  What was God thinking when he made chiggers? When I was a kid, I had a penpal from Oklahoma and she always complained about chiggers.  I never experienced them until this trip! 

I managed to get a horrible case of chigger bites on my lower legs while Ab and I took photos at the Kirkpatrick Science and Air Space Museum- Omniplex Gardens on Tuesday. 

Interestingly enough, those bites came right after we finished watching Bugs! (sponsored by Terminix) at the OmniDome Theater, which is a 70-ft diameter dome movie screen that surrounds the audience.  By yesterday afternoon they itched so intensely, that I thought I wouldn't be able to stand it.  This extreme itching was despite the fact that I had used Caladryl lotion and taken Benedryl capsules every few hours. 

It seems that I am just hyper-sensitive to chigger bites because by the time that we got home last night, my ankles were so swollen and covered with angry red welts that I was sure I'd have to see a doctor today. 

Instead, I did some internet research about the ugly little red fellas.  I now know more than I could ever imagine and how they create the torture that they put us through.  Also, I found out that there's no real treatment, other than what I am already doing!  Guess I will just have to let nature run it's course in order for them to get better, which can be up to a couple of weeks, according to what I read.  In case you haven't experienced chiggers, you can read all about them by going to the chigger bites link above.

So, right now I must go put some more medicine on my bites, and try to do a little unpacking.  Will be back with more vacation "fun" and photos later!