Utz Potato Chip: A Medical Demo Resource

You pass many milestones in your teenage years:  Sweet Sixteen, getting your driver's license, going to prom, graduating.  I can also add learning to swallow pills to that list.  Up until high school, I had a severe mental block about swallowing pills.  Could be tiny ones, gel ones, even slippery capsules.  It didn't matter.  I just couldn't get my throat to cooperate when I had two Tylenol or Advil on my tongue.  I'd take a big gulp of water and they would just float around in my mouth, bumping against my teeth.  I'd end up gagging or nearly choking, with tears welling up in my eyes.  It was pretty embarrassing.  I knew kids half my age who could do this with no problem.  I had pretty much accepted that crushing up pills and mixing them with apple sauce would remain a key part of my medicinal life forever.  I had visions of myself doing just that even at the age of 92.  My mom, on the other hand, thought otherwise.  It was a personal conquest of hers to have me take medication the way it was intended.  The sight of me reluctantly downing very bitter tasting apple sauce every time I had a headache or back pain was just too much for her.  One night, she insisted that I try to take two Tylenol sans apple sauce.  After some sad attempts of my own, my mother lost her patience, grabbed me by the neck, yelled for me to open my mouth, and threw a Tylenol down my throat.  When I say threw, I'm talking wound up like a major league pitcher, and catapulted that thing down my esophagus.  Amidst her yelling, I had no choice but to swallow the pill, beings as it was halfway to my small intestine already.  After this episode of hysterics, my dad entered the picture, feeling sorry for me, and tried to show me the illogical thought process I seemed to have about swallowing small little pills.  After going into an anatomy lesson about the size of my throat and the physics of pill buoyancy, he grabbed a bag of chips to use as a prop.  He put a medium sized one on his tongue, swallowed it, and showed that it was gone, ending with a simple, "There. See?"  This seemed a strange analogy to me since potato chips can melt in your mouth, become squishy, and are not nearly as solid as a hard, compressed pill.  However, I finally realized the absurdity of the situation at this point:  my mother showcasing her untapped pitching skills and my dad using fried potato slices as a teaching tool.  I slowly calmed down, tried not to think about it, grabbed Tylenol #2, took a swig of water, tilted my head back, waited for about 3 minutes too long, and finally got that oval-shaped demon down.  I'm sure it nearly dissolved in my mouth anyway, but it didn't matter.  I had done it and I haven't looked back since.  Tylenol, Advil...child's play.  Try taking a peanut-sized antibiotic with no slippery coating or gel exterior with barely a mouthful of water.  Now that deserves a circus-band-swallowing-act-drum-roll if you ask me.  I still don't miss the taste of Tylenol-laden apple sauce; some things were just not meant to be mixed. 

To The Sound of a Roaring Crowd

After having visited the shore for vacation, I began reminiscing about some of my favorite beach memories from when I was a child.  I can remember how the walk to the beach seemed to take forever or how the upside down roller coaster was so intimidating. Several memories stand out more poignantly than others.  This is one of them.  When I was younger, my parents and I would vacation at North Wildwood, NJ.  My mom and I used to stay down for an entire month in the summer.  It was really a fun, special time.  During one month-long excursion, when I was in middle school, we headed to the "boards" to shop, play, and ride.  They had just put in some new public restrooms, which were very much needed.  Everyone knows how ladies' rooms never seem to be big enough.  We decided to make a pit-stop before heading to Morey's Pier.  Nothing unusual at first.  The bathroom was bright and inviting, having just been constructed, painted, and cleaned.  However, once I emerged from my stall, I knew something was not right.  My mom and I washed our hands, glanced briefly in the mirror, and made our way to the exit.  As we approached the only way in and out, we noticed the entrance/exit door, which had previously been propped open, was shut.  Another bathroom patron was standing next to it, holding up some slats in front of the one tiny window.  Apparently, when the door was closed, the single window closed too.  Genius.  We came to realize that we, my mom, 3 other women, a younger child, and myself were locked in the bathroom.  Since this was prior to the age of the cell phone, someone had to call out to a passerby and inform them of our situation.  Fire trucks, police cars, and EMTs showed up within minutes with lights flashing and sirens booming.  One of the "bathroom six," as we soon called ourselves, began to have an anxiety attack.  The little girl with us was frightened.  Our calm and collected demeanors were fading fast.  Meanwhile, outside, different teams of people were trying to figure out how to get us out.  The first idea was to use a firefighter's ax and chop the door down.  All six of us gathered into one stall, huddled together for cover, and hoped that shards from the door would not make it all the way to the last stall.  However, city officials wanted the least amount of damage done to the new restroom, so that was out.  Next, it was suggested that we climb up through a skylight window in the roof.  This was rejected since one of the trapped maidens was a rather large woman and might not fit through the opening.  The third solution ended up being the right one:  we were going to crawl out through a grate in the front door.  After 3 hours of being stranded in the bathroom with 4 strangers and waiting patiently as they unscrewed 60 bolts in the door, we finally emerged on all fours onto the boardwalk to the sound of a roaring crowd under the bright lights of fire trucks and rescue teams.  The spectacle caught everyone's attention, even that of a local newspaper writer.  The next day, we made front page!  When we went back up to the boardwalk several days later, we saw that the entrance/exit door to the bathroom had been removed.  I'd like to think that somehow, in some weird way, we left our mark on Wildwood's boardwalk that night.  Our legacy:  door-less public bathrooms.

*Product Plug* - A Cheerful Pet Boiled Wool Dog Toys

If you have a furbaby in your life, then you should get a hold of some of A Cheerful Pet's boiled wool dog toys.  I just purchased a rat shaped toy for my little Chewie and she loves it.  I love it too, because not only is it a 100% natural wool product, but by purchasing a Cheerful Pet product, you help Nepali women provide for their families and giving them an enriched quality of life. Also, any product purchased from the PUMA collection provides food, shelter and education for the children of the PUMA orphanage in Nepal.  Another great bonus, the toys are solid and do not have stuffing.  So, your little furball can't make a hole in it and leave bits of cotton fuzz everywhere.  You can't order directly online at the moment, but I purchased my dog toy at Ocean City Dog and Kitty on the OCNJ boardwalk.  Check your local pet store to see if they carry these durable and adorable dog toys!

I Heart TechnoNerds!

Nothing beats going down to OCNJ for two weeks on vacation.  Soaking up the sun, listening to the waves, reading several books.  Perfection.  Well, on a rather warm evening, we decided to remain indoors and watch a movie instead of battling the crowds on the boardwalk or at the ice cream shops.  Typically, watching a movie involves turning on a premium movie channel or sliding in a dvd.  Well, that is just too run-of-the-mill for us.  We watched a brand-new, downloaded movie using someone else's wireless Internet signal, played it using the "enhanced" XBox, and had the sound come out of the Party Cooler.  What is a Party Cooler you ask?  Oh, it is the cooler that is the "life of the party," and it proved to be just that.  Basically, a Party Cooler is a blue and black cube-shaped, vinyl cooler with handles and a radio in front.  You can hook up an MP3 player to listen to your favorite tunes on the beach, or in this case, hook up your laptop and play a movie that's still playing in theaters.  This Frankenstein-esqe set-up, complete with multi-colored wires, rusty antennae, and remnants of fine, beach sand, worked perfectly, that is, until the 9 volt batteries inside the cooler started to slowly die out.  Pretty soon, we realized we might have to resort to using a potato.  Now that would be totally ridiculous.