I love school and school loves me. I'm as happy as can be. I love school and school loves me.
I figured I needed to make a permanent record that at the beginning of this semester, I was happy about school.
This semester I am taking Human Physiology and lab, Microbiology, and Human Anatomy and lab. I MUST study every single day. I have a test sometimes two each week. In Micro, there is a "pop" quiz every day. It's not very pop if you know you're getting one. Right now, I've gotten full points for each of them.
So far, the curriculum of each class are similar, in that we are reviewing basic chemistry. Each subject ventures off on its own, but the fundamental principles are the same.
Next week on Wednesday, I have an exam in Anatomy covering the different systems of the body (there are 11 of them), embryology, and tissues. Yep. It is a tremendous amount of information and we've only had three lectures. I'm a little worried. This exam could be EXTREMELY difficult. I have to remind myself that we have only had three lectures and that this is a 4-hour freshman level course. Anatomy is easily two semester course and embryology is a huge field in itself. Doctors specialize in each of the 11 body systems. As the MD who teaches the class has stressed that connective tissue is the most diverse and abundant tissue and that he spent 2 lectures covering it, I am going to focus most of my attention on that.
Then, next Friday, I have a test covering pages 24 - 44 in Physiology. Not a whole bunch of pages to worry about, but it is the basic chemistry portion of the chapter and doesn't even begin to touch on nucleotides (DNA and RNA). I just have to remember SPONCH. Sulfur, phosphorous, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon and hydrogen. Plus, everything about them; all of their neutrons, protons, electrons and how the chemically bond with one another and organic groups. Yep, there's a few hours of studying there, too.
Micro, so far, is interesting. Right now we are looking at taxonomy and cell formation of very, very, very small living things. It's pretty cool. Just for fun, my notebook is green and I write with a green pen. When I think bacteria, I think green gunk. It works for me.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
God's Pop Quizes
Since the very first day we moved into our house, the toilet in the master bathroom has wobbled. Initially the problem was remedied with a shim. No more wobbles. Last week, the shim was no longer enough and the toilet was wobbling again, more than it had originally. So, my wonderful husband called the plumber.
The plumber came and went on this past Wednesday. Neither my husband nor I were home at the time, but our daughter was. She said the plumber lifted the toilet off the floor and claimed that we had termites and there was nothing he could do about the toilet until the floor was fixed.
Exterminators were called and a handy-man was called. They were scheduled to arrive around noon on Thursday.
Thursday morning I reported to my 9:50 physiology lab at 9:40. At 9:50 am, I was still the only person there. The instructor finally entered the room and asked if I was there for the lab.
"Yes."
"Well, come on into the other room. We aren't having a lab today. I already gave the introduction and dismissed everyone."
"Ah, Am I late?"
"No. You are right on time."
Once we arrived in the correct room, he handed me a syllabus which he said I could NOT keep. Something about how he hadn't been able to secure copies. Then he went on to explain the grading scale and the requirements of the class.
Then, he asked what time the class started.
"9:50."
"Well, if you could arrive no later than 9:30, then you won't miss any of the instructions for the lab."
What?!? I guess it's a good thing that I do not have a class before this one.
After that I was dismissed and went home. Cool. More time for me to study.
When the Orkin man showed up, I told him of the toilet situation. He went into my bathroom and looked and the floor and the toilet's hole in the floor. (No the plumber had not replaced the toilet. He left it off to the side and a towel stuffed in the pipe.)
"Hmmm," he says as he steps on the floor. And then he groans.
He says it just might be termites and off we go to inspect the basement and the sub-floor. Guess what. No evidence of termites anywhere.
We go outside to inspect the outside walls. Our woodpile was suspect and the Orkin man and I moved it away from the house. Guess what...No evidence of termites.
Then the Orkin man spotted an ant. He asked me if I had ever seen any ants in the bathroom. Well, as a matter of fact, yes. The ants were identified as carpenter ants and we would definitely need to treat our house for them as they can cause as much damage as termites.
About this time, Larry, the handy-man shows up. He sets out to check out the bathroom floor. Out pops his handy-dandy pocket knife. He pokes it several times into the flooring and says we do not have termites. I suggested ants, but he disagreed. He said the constant wobbling of the toilet weakened the bolts securing the toilet and the seal broke causing leakage which caused water damage. He said he could fix my whole problem for $80.
Of course I said, "Fix it."
"When?"
"Right now."
"Well, I can't right now. How about tomorrow?"
"No good for me. I have class."
"I can't come on Monday. How about Tuesday."
Just great. No working toilet until Tuesday. Just then, he remembers he could come back in about 2 hours and fix it then. I tell him that would be fine and I would make the necessary phone calls to adjust my schedule to make it satisfactory.
He leaves. The Orkin man writes up an estimate and assorted pest control proposal and I call my horseback riding student to cancel her lesson.
Oh yeah, as we have a big problem with fleas this summer, I have the Orkin man do an estimate for super flea treatment.
Two hours later, Larry is back. Unfortunately, the pipe fixture that goes into the floor is much too tall and sits about 1/4 inch higher than it should and that was forcing the toilet to balance on top of it. Eventually, the bolts wore out and the toilet was just barely sitting on the pipe. Can you imagine the crappy situation that would have been caused had the toilet toppled over? Anyway, Larry did his best, but had to retrieve and additional tool and get the right fitting. So, one more day goes by.
Just because Larry is a good guy, he popped by this afternoon to see if he could continue his work today. Luckily my daughter was home and she told him to proceed. He was nearly finished when I got home from school.
It's 6 pm on Friday. I have a working toilet, no termites, maybe carpenter ants and fleas in my house, but my husband is vacuuming after sprinkling pet flea-killer carpet fresh.
The laminate floor installers come next week to put new floors down in the kitchen. I would wonder what they would find under the linoleum, but I'm having them put the new floor down directly on top of the old one. If it ain't broke don't fix it and don't ask, don't tell.
The plumber came and went on this past Wednesday. Neither my husband nor I were home at the time, but our daughter was. She said the plumber lifted the toilet off the floor and claimed that we had termites and there was nothing he could do about the toilet until the floor was fixed.
Exterminators were called and a handy-man was called. They were scheduled to arrive around noon on Thursday.
Thursday morning I reported to my 9:50 physiology lab at 9:40. At 9:50 am, I was still the only person there. The instructor finally entered the room and asked if I was there for the lab.
"Yes."
"Well, come on into the other room. We aren't having a lab today. I already gave the introduction and dismissed everyone."
"Ah, Am I late?"
"No. You are right on time."
Once we arrived in the correct room, he handed me a syllabus which he said I could NOT keep. Something about how he hadn't been able to secure copies. Then he went on to explain the grading scale and the requirements of the class.
Then, he asked what time the class started.
"9:50."
"Well, if you could arrive no later than 9:30, then you won't miss any of the instructions for the lab."
What?!? I guess it's a good thing that I do not have a class before this one.
After that I was dismissed and went home. Cool. More time for me to study.
When the Orkin man showed up, I told him of the toilet situation. He went into my bathroom and looked and the floor and the toilet's hole in the floor. (No the plumber had not replaced the toilet. He left it off to the side and a towel stuffed in the pipe.)
"Hmmm," he says as he steps on the floor. And then he groans.
He says it just might be termites and off we go to inspect the basement and the sub-floor. Guess what. No evidence of termites anywhere.
We go outside to inspect the outside walls. Our woodpile was suspect and the Orkin man and I moved it away from the house. Guess what...No evidence of termites.
Then the Orkin man spotted an ant. He asked me if I had ever seen any ants in the bathroom. Well, as a matter of fact, yes. The ants were identified as carpenter ants and we would definitely need to treat our house for them as they can cause as much damage as termites.
About this time, Larry, the handy-man shows up. He sets out to check out the bathroom floor. Out pops his handy-dandy pocket knife. He pokes it several times into the flooring and says we do not have termites. I suggested ants, but he disagreed. He said the constant wobbling of the toilet weakened the bolts securing the toilet and the seal broke causing leakage which caused water damage. He said he could fix my whole problem for $80.
Of course I said, "Fix it."
"When?"
"Right now."
"Well, I can't right now. How about tomorrow?"
"No good for me. I have class."
"I can't come on Monday. How about Tuesday."
Just great. No working toilet until Tuesday. Just then, he remembers he could come back in about 2 hours and fix it then. I tell him that would be fine and I would make the necessary phone calls to adjust my schedule to make it satisfactory.
He leaves. The Orkin man writes up an estimate and assorted pest control proposal and I call my horseback riding student to cancel her lesson.
Oh yeah, as we have a big problem with fleas this summer, I have the Orkin man do an estimate for super flea treatment.
Two hours later, Larry is back. Unfortunately, the pipe fixture that goes into the floor is much too tall and sits about 1/4 inch higher than it should and that was forcing the toilet to balance on top of it. Eventually, the bolts wore out and the toilet was just barely sitting on the pipe. Can you imagine the crappy situation that would have been caused had the toilet toppled over? Anyway, Larry did his best, but had to retrieve and additional tool and get the right fitting. So, one more day goes by.
Just because Larry is a good guy, he popped by this afternoon to see if he could continue his work today. Luckily my daughter was home and she told him to proceed. He was nearly finished when I got home from school.
It's 6 pm on Friday. I have a working toilet, no termites, maybe carpenter ants and fleas in my house, but my husband is vacuuming after sprinkling pet flea-killer carpet fresh.
The laminate floor installers come next week to put new floors down in the kitchen. I would wonder what they would find under the linoleum, but I'm having them put the new floor down directly on top of the old one. If it ain't broke don't fix it and don't ask, don't tell.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Bug Bites and Karma
This morning, my observant husband pointed out that a bug had bitten me on my backside.
"Yep. I was bitten by a very big bug."
He was confused so I clarified.
"Gravity."
He laughed.
Yesterday morning, we had gone out on our morning walk. During our idle chit chat, he had made some smart comment and I, naturally, had to respond in the like.
I said something to the affect that I would have to "kick his butt" and quick bent my leg back to hit his behind with the heel of my left foot. As my foot came down, it became tangled in his feet and I took a spill.
Surprised, he just looked at me. Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet and brushed off my hands.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied. Then we giggled at my antics. "It's never a dull moment with me around."
Lesson learned. Karma is always watching.
"Yep. I was bitten by a very big bug."
He was confused so I clarified.
"Gravity."
He laughed.
Yesterday morning, we had gone out on our morning walk. During our idle chit chat, he had made some smart comment and I, naturally, had to respond in the like.
I said something to the affect that I would have to "kick his butt" and quick bent my leg back to hit his behind with the heel of my left foot. As my foot came down, it became tangled in his feet and I took a spill.
Surprised, he just looked at me. Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet and brushed off my hands.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied. Then we giggled at my antics. "It's never a dull moment with me around."
Lesson learned. Karma is always watching.
My Big Girl
She is so pretty.
She also loves attention. It is difficult to get a good picture of her because she wants to be right up close. I have lots of pictures of just her nostril.
Each day is something new for her.
A couple of weeks ago, I tried giving her a bath. Okay, I tried getting her wet with the hose. It went okay for a few minutes, but then, pandemonium. Fear and anxiety got the better of her.
Wanda and I tried again just a few days ago. We met with huge success. Hopefully, the next time will be even easier.
New Addition
Back in May, we had a 3-day rain. When the sun finally broke through the cloud cover, my husband and I took our three dogs for a walk. At the end of the road, several blocks from our house, there is an empty lot adjacent to a creek. Out of the tall grass, I heard the distinct cries of a cat.
"Here, kitty, kitty," I answered.
More meowing.
"Here, kitty, kitty."
Eventually, a brown and black striped fluffy tail became visible in the tall grass and shortly thereafter, a domestic long-hair cat broke out of the vegetation and rejoiced at having been found.
After a few pets, which revealed no collar, the cat happily snuggled into my arms, unperturbed by the very curious dogs at my feet.
Closer examination indicated this cat was definitely lost as it had been declawed. So, I brought it home.
My husband immediately protested saying that we didn't need another cat. I replied that I would do the right thing and post "found" signs and hopefully, somebody would claim this cat.
The cat settled into our home, thankful to be inside away from the cruddy weather and none too soon either, because that evening was the beginning of a 5-day rain. Talk about perfect luck.
My daughter inspected the cat and informed us that it was a she. Her cat, Nona, was not overjoyed with the new arrival, but they seemed to get along. The dogs, however, were greatly disappointed with the new cat. Turns out, the new cat had not yet learned the fine art of playing chase. She didn't run when approached. Bummer for the pups.
After the rain, I posted signs around the neighborhood and made inquiries with folks that I suspected might be the rightful parents. No luck. I did received some response to the signs, but those lost cats did not match my found cat.
After several more days, I decided that the cat would be staying with us. She had proved to be a loving cat, who actually enjoyed snuggling and showed affection. Good qualities for living with dog people. So, the cat, became Emily.
Emily, is the most relaxed cat around. She lays on the kitchen counter and does not protest being pushed around. She actually becomes a dust rag. She gently wrestles and readily submits to being picked up and carried.
My husband, in spite of his original protests, plays with the Emily and has been known to seek her out for cuddles. He even brought her to bed one evening.
After two months, he came to the conclusion that Emily would be staying with us on a permanent basis and suggested a trip to the vet.
At the vet clinic, we explained how Emily came into our lives and that we knew absolutely nothing about her.
The vet tech took a quick peak and informed us that our Emily was a neutered male. Hmmm. Other than that, he was in good health. His age, based upon the appearance of his teeth, was estimated to be 18 months. He was tested for feline aids and leukemia and he was negative for both. He received his immunizations and a clean bill of health.
All that was left to do was to determine a proper male name.
Emily went through some trial names, none of which lasted more than a couple of hours. He was Bob, then Charlie, Freddy was immediately cast aside as was Dieter. Alister lasted less than 10 seconds. Eventually, everyone agreed that Emily was now Henry.
Henry is a member of the family, as degreed by my wonderful husband. He told Henry one afternoon that he was the best pet, almost as good as Jake. WOW! High praise, especially since my sweet husband thinks that Jake (the Westie) hung the sun, moon and stars.
Just the other day, my husband and I went for our morning walk. I noticed a LOST CAT sign and stopped to check it out. Luckily, it wasn't our Henry.
My husband said, "Good, because it's too late now. It's been over two months. He's ours."
"Does that mean you would fight to keep him?"
"Yes."
"Here, kitty, kitty," I answered.
More meowing.
"Here, kitty, kitty."
Eventually, a brown and black striped fluffy tail became visible in the tall grass and shortly thereafter, a domestic long-hair cat broke out of the vegetation and rejoiced at having been found.
After a few pets, which revealed no collar, the cat happily snuggled into my arms, unperturbed by the very curious dogs at my feet.
Closer examination indicated this cat was definitely lost as it had been declawed. So, I brought it home.
My husband immediately protested saying that we didn't need another cat. I replied that I would do the right thing and post "found" signs and hopefully, somebody would claim this cat.
The cat settled into our home, thankful to be inside away from the cruddy weather and none too soon either, because that evening was the beginning of a 5-day rain. Talk about perfect luck.
My daughter inspected the cat and informed us that it was a she. Her cat, Nona, was not overjoyed with the new arrival, but they seemed to get along. The dogs, however, were greatly disappointed with the new cat. Turns out, the new cat had not yet learned the fine art of playing chase. She didn't run when approached. Bummer for the pups.
After the rain, I posted signs around the neighborhood and made inquiries with folks that I suspected might be the rightful parents. No luck. I did received some response to the signs, but those lost cats did not match my found cat.
After several more days, I decided that the cat would be staying with us. She had proved to be a loving cat, who actually enjoyed snuggling and showed affection. Good qualities for living with dog people. So, the cat, became Emily.
Emily, is the most relaxed cat around. She lays on the kitchen counter and does not protest being pushed around. She actually becomes a dust rag. She gently wrestles and readily submits to being picked up and carried.
My husband, in spite of his original protests, plays with the Emily and has been known to seek her out for cuddles. He even brought her to bed one evening.
After two months, he came to the conclusion that Emily would be staying with us on a permanent basis and suggested a trip to the vet.
At the vet clinic, we explained how Emily came into our lives and that we knew absolutely nothing about her.
The vet tech took a quick peak and informed us that our Emily was a neutered male. Hmmm. Other than that, he was in good health. His age, based upon the appearance of his teeth, was estimated to be 18 months. He was tested for feline aids and leukemia and he was negative for both. He received his immunizations and a clean bill of health.
All that was left to do was to determine a proper male name.
Emily went through some trial names, none of which lasted more than a couple of hours. He was Bob, then Charlie, Freddy was immediately cast aside as was Dieter. Alister lasted less than 10 seconds. Eventually, everyone agreed that Emily was now Henry.
Henry is a member of the family, as degreed by my wonderful husband. He told Henry one afternoon that he was the best pet, almost as good as Jake. WOW! High praise, especially since my sweet husband thinks that Jake (the Westie) hung the sun, moon and stars.
Just the other day, my husband and I went for our morning walk. I noticed a LOST CAT sign and stopped to check it out. Luckily, it wasn't our Henry.
My husband said, "Good, because it's too late now. It's been over two months. He's ours."
"Does that mean you would fight to keep him?"
"Yes."
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Like Attracts Like
They say birds of a feather flock together and that like attracts like. I really hope there are some exceptions, if not, I'm in trouble.
The other day at the mall, I became cognizant of men noticing me. Unfortunately, it was only ugly men checking me out. I don't mean plain men, I mean down right ugly men. When the fat belly, barefoot man with leg tattoos, long unclean hair and a scraggly beard gave me the once over, I had had it. What the hell? Why only ugly men?
Okay, my husband, who I think is quite yummy, thinks I'm something special to look at. That's nice. But..he loves me. There is a difference. I'd really like to be able to turn a few heads, not stop traffic at a crash-up derby. 'Dang, you sure gots a purdy mouth.'
Yesterday at school, I noticed something equally as disturbing. I'm old. Yikes! I certainly don't feel old. There is one young man who I see everyday in the hallway. He is attractive and appears to be older than 20. I've noticed him dismiss me, like I'm his mother. Dang.
Today, at the gas station, the redneck in the King Cab pick-up work truck said hi to me. Okay...at least this guy had a job. He sure beats barefoot fatty.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the market. I'm very happily married. It's a good thing, too. Sejavascript:void(0)
Publish Posteing the caliber of men out there who find me attractive, makes me appreciate my yummy husband all the more.
The other day at the mall, I became cognizant of men noticing me. Unfortunately, it was only ugly men checking me out. I don't mean plain men, I mean down right ugly men. When the fat belly, barefoot man with leg tattoos, long unclean hair and a scraggly beard gave me the once over, I had had it. What the hell? Why only ugly men?
Okay, my husband, who I think is quite yummy, thinks I'm something special to look at. That's nice. But..he loves me. There is a difference. I'd really like to be able to turn a few heads, not stop traffic at a crash-up derby. 'Dang, you sure gots a purdy mouth.'
Yesterday at school, I noticed something equally as disturbing. I'm old. Yikes! I certainly don't feel old. There is one young man who I see everyday in the hallway. He is attractive and appears to be older than 20. I've noticed him dismiss me, like I'm his mother. Dang.
Today, at the gas station, the redneck in the King Cab pick-up work truck said hi to me. Okay...at least this guy had a job. He sure beats barefoot fatty.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the market. I'm very happily married. It's a good thing, too. Sejavascript:void(0)
Publish Posteing the caliber of men out there who find me attractive, makes me appreciate my yummy husband all the more.
Broken
Last week, County Magazine gave me an assignment. It was pretty cool. I had to go interview a lady in Tonganoxie about her farm, especially her goats. The place is called Screamin' Oaks and I had such a good time. Of course, I did. There were animals involved. The best part about the experience it that I learned all kinds of new things about goats. Did you know they eat all the weeds that grass eaters won't eat? They eat poison ivy and if you drink their milk, you'll build a resistance to the ill effects of poison ivy. How cool is that?
After I left the goat farm, I went out to Oakmont Farm. Sometime between farms, my camera decided that it wasn't going to work anymore. It is broken.
When I bought my camera and super storage chip four years ago, I spent a pretty penny. My husband and I went to Best Buy over the weekend and discovered that my camera, which had been good quality at 3.2 pixels, is now a joke. A camera with 7.1 pixels costs about $200 less than what I paid originally. And the memory chip, well, that thing cost me $100 for 256 MB and now I can get 2 GB for $70. Technology. Wow.
So, my husband, Mr. Thrifty, opted to order a camera online. He saved about $40 plus shipping. That's great. The downside is that I have to wait for delivery. That's a bummer.
I really would have liked to have it yesterday. Yesterday was a big day for Kadance. She had a lesson with Vanessa (a horse trainer) and the task for the day was saddling. Kadance did such a great job. No worries. When the time comes for riding her, she'll be wonderful. She really is a pretty horse and she has a lovely extended trot.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
As my aunt recently said...
I went inside to take a nap...and the next thing I knew...it was May!
Holy Smokes! May is merely hours from being over. Time has just been zipping by! Yikes! When I was a little girl, I would wish to be older. My mother always told me not to wish my life away because it was something you could never get back. She sure was smart. Now, I wish to have a few more hours each day. There are about a million things I could accomplish with a few more hours.
Our foreign exchange student leave in a couple of days. Before heading back to Germany, she will visit some of her German relatives before returning to her parents. She's been here 10 months. Her parents will be amazed at how much she has grown up in 10 months. She is more outgoing and more willing to talk to strangers than she was when she first arrived. I have a feeling she'll be back in the United States, especially, Las Vegas. That town is her favorite place of all the cities she has visited.
My other kid, Jordan, had surgery this morning. Last week, she had a sore throat. It wasn't any better the following day. So, an appointment was made and the doc at the clinic immediately referred her to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist. I took her to see him the following morning. As soon as she opened her mouth, the Doctor said, "Oh, yes..Those must come out."
That was it. Exam over. Surgery appointment book was opened. Her tonsils were obnoxiously inflamed with one having a gruesome abscess growing on it. Bleck. The surgery went well and she is still sleeping. Good for her. I, naturally, took photos.
These are the nasty offending body parts.
Although she hated her pre-op outfit, I took photographic evidence. See...
We had to wait nearly an hour in the pre-op room. Apparently, the tonsilectomy right before her had an emergency in recovery. It was a little kid. I heard him screaming in the family lounge. I felt bad for him and his whole family, grandparents included, who were also waiting in the family lounge.
Eventually, she was given her warm blanket and drowsy medication and wheeled off to surgery.
All ended up A-okay. Here she is in recovery.
As for me...I am as busy as always. Between taking and giving horseback riding lessons, I write for a local magazine. My latest article got a green light from my editor. She made very minor edits. Yippie. Filming for my movie starts next week. I'm not the lead role, but a very close supporting actor, in a local production of a murder mystery psychological thriller. The Movie Channel on cable has agreed to purchase upon completion. That means I'll get some money out of the deal. Not alot, naturally. The contract is for a percentage. As long as it stays a minor production, the percentage will be very low. BUT, if it becomes a cult classic....then gross sales increase and my percentage yields more cash. I have also been chosen as a student for a class of 15 for a novel writing course. The last course I took resulted in publication and a position as a contributing writer for the magazine. I'm very excited about it. I already have a terrific idea (in my opinion) and have written several pages. Hopefully, with an instructor and frequent deadlines, I can get this novel completed. PLUS, I'm returning to school this summer. Classes start next week. I'm taking Child Development. This fall, microbiology and human physiology. Then in January, apply to nursing school.
Yep, it's a full calendar. What's really cool, it that I'll be taking college courses with my kid. Jordan is dual enrolled in High School and community college. With her AP classes and college courses, by the time she graduates from High school, she'll be a sophomore in college. Now, we just have to figure out where she'll be going.
Holy Smokes! May is merely hours from being over. Time has just been zipping by! Yikes! When I was a little girl, I would wish to be older. My mother always told me not to wish my life away because it was something you could never get back. She sure was smart. Now, I wish to have a few more hours each day. There are about a million things I could accomplish with a few more hours.
Our foreign exchange student leave in a couple of days. Before heading back to Germany, she will visit some of her German relatives before returning to her parents. She's been here 10 months. Her parents will be amazed at how much she has grown up in 10 months. She is more outgoing and more willing to talk to strangers than she was when she first arrived. I have a feeling she'll be back in the United States, especially, Las Vegas. That town is her favorite place of all the cities she has visited.
My other kid, Jordan, had surgery this morning. Last week, she had a sore throat. It wasn't any better the following day. So, an appointment was made and the doc at the clinic immediately referred her to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist. I took her to see him the following morning. As soon as she opened her mouth, the Doctor said, "Oh, yes..Those must come out."
That was it. Exam over. Surgery appointment book was opened. Her tonsils were obnoxiously inflamed with one having a gruesome abscess growing on it. Bleck. The surgery went well and she is still sleeping. Good for her. I, naturally, took photos.
These are the nasty offending body parts.Although she hated her pre-op outfit, I took photographic evidence. See...
We had to wait nearly an hour in the pre-op room. Apparently, the tonsilectomy right before her had an emergency in recovery. It was a little kid. I heard him screaming in the family lounge. I felt bad for him and his whole family, grandparents included, who were also waiting in the family lounge.
Eventually, she was given her warm blanket and drowsy medication and wheeled off to surgery.
All ended up A-okay. Here she is in recovery.
As for me...I am as busy as always. Between taking and giving horseback riding lessons, I write for a local magazine. My latest article got a green light from my editor. She made very minor edits. Yippie. Filming for my movie starts next week. I'm not the lead role, but a very close supporting actor, in a local production of a murder mystery psychological thriller. The Movie Channel on cable has agreed to purchase upon completion. That means I'll get some money out of the deal. Not alot, naturally. The contract is for a percentage. As long as it stays a minor production, the percentage will be very low. BUT, if it becomes a cult classic....then gross sales increase and my percentage yields more cash. I have also been chosen as a student for a class of 15 for a novel writing course. The last course I took resulted in publication and a position as a contributing writer for the magazine. I'm very excited about it. I already have a terrific idea (in my opinion) and have written several pages. Hopefully, with an instructor and frequent deadlines, I can get this novel completed. PLUS, I'm returning to school this summer. Classes start next week. I'm taking Child Development. This fall, microbiology and human physiology. Then in January, apply to nursing school.
Yep, it's a full calendar. What's really cool, it that I'll be taking college courses with my kid. Jordan is dual enrolled in High School and community college. With her AP classes and college courses, by the time she graduates from High school, she'll be a sophomore in college. Now, we just have to figure out where she'll be going.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Kentucky Horse Park
Here at the Rolex Kentucky 3-Day Event, I have learned and seen many, many things that will make my husband cringe. I met Larry in the Draft Horse Barn and he opened up my world. Larry, one of the caretakers, gave me amazing information about draft horses. What those amazing giant horses can do boggle the mind. He also told me the genetic impact of cross-breeding a cold-blood with a hot-blood. The warmblood, which my big girl is, is stubborn and eats a tremendous amount. Certainly, as a draft care-taker, he'll have his bias, but if the information he provided is correct, I am convinced there is a Percheron in my future. After watching the cross-country portion of the eventing, I am not so ready to dismiss jumping as a possibility. First, I must achieve the original goal: THE FLYING LEAD CHANGE.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
The dog rescue
The other afternoon, my dog Sydney started barking like crazy. Interested in what was causing the fuss, my other dog, Jake visited the window and started barking. Well, that got up my curiousity and I went to the window. Out in the rain, a hound mix hobbled on three legs through the yard. He hobbled to the neighbor's yard. I was concerned for his well-being so, I put on my shoes and ventured out into the rain to see if I could help.
He scampered to the far side of the neighbor's house. I followed. He gave up and hunkered down. I could readily see that his back leg was hurt. I cautiously approached expecting him to maybe growl or even snap at me. Nothing. He was ready to be caught. Although I looped a leash around his collar, he didn't want to walk anymore. I carefully picked him up and carried him home.
I brought him into my house where he was enthusiactically greeted by my dogs. This pup didn't protest in the least. I wrapped a warm towel around him and he snuggled next to me. There was a name and a telephone number on his collar and I called. I got an answering machine and left a message that I had found the dog and was taking it to the vet. I didn't mention that his leg had big sores on it and that he favored it.
I put the dog in my truck. He still did not resist.
At the vet's, I was immediately taken into an exam room. Initially, it was suspect that he might have been hit by a car. The dog was very thin and the sores were old. The vet agreed to treat the dog and attempt to contact the owner.
I left the vet's office. I decided that if the owner was unable to be contacted, I would take care of the vet bill and adopt the dog. Of course, I made this decision without consulting my husband.
Once home, I called the number on the collar again. I repeated calling all evening. Finally, at 10:30 that night, someone answered. He hadn't gotten my message and was pleased that the dog had been found. Turns out, the dog had been missing for well over a month and had traveled over 30 miles from home.
The next morning, I stopped by the vet's to let them know that the owner had been located. Fortunately, the owner had already been by and took the dog home. Yea!
Later that evening, the dog's "real" owner, a 12-year old boy, called to thank me for taking care of his dog. The boy told me he had missed his dog and was very happy to have him home. I told the boy that I, too, had been worried about the dog and was thrilled that he was able to return home.
Turns out, the name on the dog's collar was not the dog's name, but the boy's name. The dog, who I had been calling Shane, was actually Dipstick.
I'm such a sucker for animals.
He scampered to the far side of the neighbor's house. I followed. He gave up and hunkered down. I could readily see that his back leg was hurt. I cautiously approached expecting him to maybe growl or even snap at me. Nothing. He was ready to be caught. Although I looped a leash around his collar, he didn't want to walk anymore. I carefully picked him up and carried him home.
I brought him into my house where he was enthusiactically greeted by my dogs. This pup didn't protest in the least. I wrapped a warm towel around him and he snuggled next to me. There was a name and a telephone number on his collar and I called. I got an answering machine and left a message that I had found the dog and was taking it to the vet. I didn't mention that his leg had big sores on it and that he favored it.
I put the dog in my truck. He still did not resist.
At the vet's, I was immediately taken into an exam room. Initially, it was suspect that he might have been hit by a car. The dog was very thin and the sores were old. The vet agreed to treat the dog and attempt to contact the owner.
I left the vet's office. I decided that if the owner was unable to be contacted, I would take care of the vet bill and adopt the dog. Of course, I made this decision without consulting my husband.
Once home, I called the number on the collar again. I repeated calling all evening. Finally, at 10:30 that night, someone answered. He hadn't gotten my message and was pleased that the dog had been found. Turns out, the dog had been missing for well over a month and had traveled over 30 miles from home.
The next morning, I stopped by the vet's to let them know that the owner had been located. Fortunately, the owner had already been by and took the dog home. Yea!
Later that evening, the dog's "real" owner, a 12-year old boy, called to thank me for taking care of his dog. The boy told me he had missed his dog and was very happy to have him home. I told the boy that I, too, had been worried about the dog and was thrilled that he was able to return home.
Turns out, the name on the dog's collar was not the dog's name, but the boy's name. The dog, who I had been calling Shane, was actually Dipstick.
I'm such a sucker for animals.
Access Denied Websites
On substitute days, I have free time during the day while the children are either in a specials class or at lunch. Unfortunately, the computers at the local schools have restricted websites. Although it is possible to view my blog (text only), I am unable to sign in. That's inconvenient. Apparently the administration doesn't understand the need to be granted access to my blog. It's a bummer. So, I have to wait until I get home in order to make my thoughts and activities known to my friends and family. That is a problem in itself as I get distracted by all of my other responsibilities. My apologies for the lengthy gaps between postings.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Promotion Day!
My amazing husband woke up early on this particular morning (March 2, 2007) a very happy man. Okay, he wakes up most mornings a very happy man. Mornings when he wakes an unhappy man have usually involved having to get up during the night because my dog, Sydney, needed to go outside. He also rises with a frown after I have had a rough night filled with bad dreams. He claims I become physical in my REM confrontations. I plead the 5th.This morning, regardless of how my night might have been, would only bring promises of excitement. This was the day he would be promoted. It was a very, very long time in coming. He overcame many obstacles and fought his share of battles.
This day would see the end of gold oak leaves as they would be replaced by silver oak leaves.
My parents flew in from Colorado that morning to be present for the ceremony. My dad was the special guest. My husband had requested my dad attend and say a few words about him. My dad, pleased to do so, found a set of his silver oak leaves from his active duty days and presented them to my husband. It was touching.Notice the gentlemen at the podium. I think he is wiping a tear. I, however, was so proud of my husband that I could only grin until my cheeks hurts. My dad did say very nice things about the man I married and the soldiers with whom he serves.
After highlighting the noteworthy military accomplishments of my husband's career, my dad pinned on one silver oak leaf, and I pinned on the other. Our daughter pinned a third on his beret. 
Once our family congratulations were finished, we posed for an official photograph. My mother, the official photographer, is behind the lens and is not in the picture.
Our foreign exchange student, Mona, was also taking photographs on this momentous occasion.
I took the photograph of the cake. My mother is holding the cake. Those are her hand to the side.
My husband, in his spare time, ordered all of the food and organized the ceremony. He even ordered the cake. On the red frosting side of the cake, that half is chocolate cake. The white frosting side of the cake is white cake.
Neither my mother nor I was aware of this until after all of the chocolate side had been eaten and we noticed that the color of the cake had changed.
Evidence That I Do Not Bounce...I Splat
This past November, I took a trip down to Oklahoma to visit my sister and participate in a horse clinic. Refresh your memory by visiting the post dated December 21st.
Well, this is the bruise on my backside. My brain probably had a very similar bruise that was hidden only by my skull, scalp and hair. Yes, my brain did hurt as much as this bruise looks like it hurt.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
The Ides of March
March 15th, the Ides of March is Kadance's birthday. She is two years old. And in true two-year old fashion, has temper tantrums.
The day before her birthday, I was at the barn working with the horses. I really want her to be a good horse that I can feel confident while riding and ride well. I know it will take a long time and a lot of work to reach that point. I decided to bring her in from the pasture, groom her and begin playing Parelli ground games.
Bringing her in from the pasture was easy. Having her stand still while grooming was difficult. Having her raise and hold up her feet for picking, impossible. Playing ground games, by this point, futile.
Kadance does not stand still for very long. She still has to learn that skill. She does enjoy being brushed, but looses interest quickly and investigates EVERYTHING around her: the groom bucket, the water dish, the lead rope, the cross tie ropes, the spicket, the hose, the barn cats, the bits of hay blowing around in the wind, bits of dried mud, my hair, my boot laces, the brush. I do mean EVERYTHING. Recognizing my effort to continue with grooming would be an exercise, I chose to stop while I was ahead and move on to the next task, picking up feet.
HA HA HA. It is to laugh. She takes no issue to having her feet touched. She will, with encouragement, pick up her front feet. Keeping them up...a completely different story. She prefers them to remain on the ground. Never mind that I am trying (trying being the operative word) to maintain proper foot care. The first time the foot came up, it was immediately placed down on top of the bridge of my left foot. Apparently, she was comfortable in that position because it took effort (porcupine game?...ha ha ha) to get her to shift her weight and allow blood flow to return to my toes. Next attempt ended with her foot atop the big toe of my right foot. The hind feet...well, I was successful in raising it a fraction of an inch off the ground and only for a fraction of a second. Kadance decided she didn't want to cooperate and walked off, taking my thumb with her. Talk about seeing stars.
I snatched my hand back and walked away fighting back tears of pain. Bent over and taking deep breaths, I contemplated how I was going to break through the communication barrier. I was frustrated, but not angry. The situation was making me more sad than anything. I so desperately want to have a melding of the minds with my horse. As she is curious, she meandered (yes, that is exactly what she did. She is a big fat warmblood, afterall.) over to see what I could possibly be doing. I stood up, pet her (lots of friendly game) and made another attempt. Same results.
Now, my thumb was throbbing and both feet were hurting, I decided that I needed to change focus. Okay, let's go with lots more friendly game. Well, remember when I said she is two years old? TEMPER TANTRUM.
She huffed and puffed and nearly blew the arena down. I let loose of the lead rope because there was no holding her back. She ran around, kicking up her heals, snorting and squealing. When she finally wore herself out, she stood still. I cautiously approached. She was breathing hard and moist with sweat. She was also ready for a scratch on the chin and a rub on the cheek.
Enough for today, but must finish on a positive note. I was successful in getting her to back up and to come forward; the Parelli yo-yo game.
By the time I returned to the barn from releasing her back in the pasture, I was disappointed, dejected, discouraged, and depressed.
The next day, I woke up with a big bruise on the top of my left foot, my big toe on my right foot nearly black, and my poor thumb...too painful to even open a bottle of soda. Once I got to the barn, I asked for help from Wanda. My girl is such a warmblood. She was none-to-happy about the driving game. More temper tantrums. At one point she spun around and presented her hindquarters to Wanda. Tsk, tsk, she shouldn't have done that. Wanda tagged her fanny. Now, Kadance was really put out and squealed and kicked up her heels. Lots and lots and lots of protesting and trotting in circles. Generally unhappy behavior. Eventually, she calmed down and when asked to pick up her front feet, she did. With no resistance, either. The hind feet, well...we need to work on that some more.
The good news is that I no longer want to put a For Sale sign on her stall.
The day before her birthday, I was at the barn working with the horses. I really want her to be a good horse that I can feel confident while riding and ride well. I know it will take a long time and a lot of work to reach that point. I decided to bring her in from the pasture, groom her and begin playing Parelli ground games.
Bringing her in from the pasture was easy. Having her stand still while grooming was difficult. Having her raise and hold up her feet for picking, impossible. Playing ground games, by this point, futile.
Kadance does not stand still for very long. She still has to learn that skill. She does enjoy being brushed, but looses interest quickly and investigates EVERYTHING around her: the groom bucket, the water dish, the lead rope, the cross tie ropes, the spicket, the hose, the barn cats, the bits of hay blowing around in the wind, bits of dried mud, my hair, my boot laces, the brush. I do mean EVERYTHING. Recognizing my effort to continue with grooming would be an exercise, I chose to stop while I was ahead and move on to the next task, picking up feet.
HA HA HA. It is to laugh. She takes no issue to having her feet touched. She will, with encouragement, pick up her front feet. Keeping them up...a completely different story. She prefers them to remain on the ground. Never mind that I am trying (trying being the operative word) to maintain proper foot care. The first time the foot came up, it was immediately placed down on top of the bridge of my left foot. Apparently, she was comfortable in that position because it took effort (porcupine game?...ha ha ha) to get her to shift her weight and allow blood flow to return to my toes. Next attempt ended with her foot atop the big toe of my right foot. The hind feet...well, I was successful in raising it a fraction of an inch off the ground and only for a fraction of a second. Kadance decided she didn't want to cooperate and walked off, taking my thumb with her. Talk about seeing stars.
I snatched my hand back and walked away fighting back tears of pain. Bent over and taking deep breaths, I contemplated how I was going to break through the communication barrier. I was frustrated, but not angry. The situation was making me more sad than anything. I so desperately want to have a melding of the minds with my horse. As she is curious, she meandered (yes, that is exactly what she did. She is a big fat warmblood, afterall.) over to see what I could possibly be doing. I stood up, pet her (lots of friendly game) and made another attempt. Same results.
Now, my thumb was throbbing and both feet were hurting, I decided that I needed to change focus. Okay, let's go with lots more friendly game. Well, remember when I said she is two years old? TEMPER TANTRUM.
She huffed and puffed and nearly blew the arena down. I let loose of the lead rope because there was no holding her back. She ran around, kicking up her heals, snorting and squealing. When she finally wore herself out, she stood still. I cautiously approached. She was breathing hard and moist with sweat. She was also ready for a scratch on the chin and a rub on the cheek.
Enough for today, but must finish on a positive note. I was successful in getting her to back up and to come forward; the Parelli yo-yo game.
By the time I returned to the barn from releasing her back in the pasture, I was disappointed, dejected, discouraged, and depressed.
The next day, I woke up with a big bruise on the top of my left foot, my big toe on my right foot nearly black, and my poor thumb...too painful to even open a bottle of soda. Once I got to the barn, I asked for help from Wanda. My girl is such a warmblood. She was none-to-happy about the driving game. More temper tantrums. At one point she spun around and presented her hindquarters to Wanda. Tsk, tsk, she shouldn't have done that. Wanda tagged her fanny. Now, Kadance was really put out and squealed and kicked up her heels. Lots and lots and lots of protesting and trotting in circles. Generally unhappy behavior. Eventually, she calmed down and when asked to pick up her front feet, she did. With no resistance, either. The hind feet, well...we need to work on that some more.
The good news is that I no longer want to put a For Sale sign on her stall.
Lots of Substituting
Leavenworth County Public Schools have been testing third, fourth and fifth graders for the past two weeks. Luckily, I've been selected as a substitute to monitor the testing. Easy, easy days. The only downside to sitting in a room and watching teachers proctor a standardized test is that access to the internet is limited. The school district restricts certain websites and my blog is one of those off limits sites. I'm not exactly sure why stories about squirrel attacks should be considered to have a negative impact on young minds. Actually, I believe the website host is the off limits page. They'd rather have young minds playing mathematical and logic games than reading blogs. It's understandable, but really a drag for me.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The lab results came back
"Mrs. Hanson?"
"Yes."
"The test results came back on the squirrel."
"Really?"
"Yes. It was negative for rabies."
"Good. I suspected as much."
"Yes, well. It didn't have rabies."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a good day."
"Yes."
"The test results came back on the squirrel."
"Really?"
"Yes. It was negative for rabies."
"Good. I suspected as much."
"Yes, well. It didn't have rabies."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a good day."
The newest member of my family
Knight's Mount Kadance has FINALLY come home. A lifetime of dreaming and wishing and hoping and a whole bunch of hard work and negotiations, but she is finally here. It has taken my whole life to get a horse. It has taken nearly two years to convince my amazing husband that having a horse is a good thing.
Her trip from Oklahoma to Kansas and then to Missouri was smooth right up to the last 1o miles. That's when the roads changed from pavement to gravel. The weather had been crummy; crummy, slush, snow, freezing, thawing, and more freezing.
The gravel road, which is particularly hilly, was a combination of slippery mud and slippery slush. Where the trees and roadside had prevented the sunlight from melting the snow drifts, the snow maintained a firm frozen grip. By the time Kadance arrived, the sun had set and the last remaining sunlight was rapidly fading. The last turn, the one into the ranch drive, proved to be the end of the road. A snowdrift prevented the truck from pulling all the way into the driveway and the trailer, which contained my wonderful filly, was trapped alongside the gravel road.
Not wanting to risk injury or instilling a reason to be afraid of the trailer, I suggested Kadance be allowed to exit the trailer. PHEW. Luckily, Jen (Kadance's original mom) agreed with me and she encouraged Kadance to leave the trailer to see her new home. Meanwhile, Craig (Jen's husband) struggled to free the truck and trailer from the clutches of the snowdrift.
All ended well. Craig decided to back the truck out of the driveway and return to the gravel road. They had planned to pick up hay the next morning and prepositioning the truck and trailer made sense to everyone.
During the mechanical fiasco, Kadance settled into her new home nicely. Initially, she was hesitant, but with Wanda, Jen and I there to give her soft words of encouragement, Kadance trusted she was safe and moved on in.
My sweet, non-horse-loving husband watched in silence and he bared witness to changes in his world over which he had little control. The life that he had grown accustomed to enjoying faded into the background and a 1/2 ton animal moved into the foreground. Although he has ZERO interest in horses and prefers to see them in the far, far distance, he did make an attempt to reach out and pet her. Unfortunately, she moved before he could touch her and he snatched away his hand as if escaping the steel teeth of a bear trap. I have not yet been able to convince him that horses are herbivores and will not eat him. He remains living in his world of nightmarish, predatory carnivores of equine origin. How sad. On the bright side, I will never had to ask him to please get of the horse and allow me to ride. I have the monopoly on horse-human bonding time.
Monday, February 05, 2007
When Animals Attack/Attach...same thing
When my dog, Sydney gets out of the bath, the very first thing she does is rub her face on the carpet to try to dry off her mustache. The second thing she does is pee and/or poop.
I had just stepped out of the shower after bathing myself and my dog. As she rubs her face along the carpet, I wrap myself in a towel and head for the back door. She is right on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Sydney darts outside and I immediately notice that Jake and Annabelle are very involved with something along the back fence. Jake turns to see Sydney running at him and I notice the squirrel make a move along the ground next to the fence. The movement caught Sydney's attention and Jake jumped to regain control of the creature.
I scream, "Nooooo!" and jet out the door. Yes, I am still only in a towel and yes, there is snow and ice on the ground and yes, the temperature is well below freezing. No mind, I am on a mission.
The squirrel has wedged its body between the fence and a tree. I wrestle with the dogs trying to free the squirrel. My towel, forgotten. I look into the squirrel's eyes and see complete fear and notice that his back legs aren't moving. I scoop the squirrel up in my right hand and try to place him on the tree with the hopes that he'll scamper up the trunk to safety. He just hangs there, back end not working. I hold him into place, still in my right hand.
My husband comes to the back door. "What's going on?" he says.
"Get the dogs." I shout.
"But I don't have on shoes."
"I'm naked, here!" My towel is managing to stay along side my body as a bit of it is under my arm which I have pressed to my side.
"What are you..." my husband begins to say.
"Aaaaahhh!" The squirrel with super human strength latches onto my left index finger with his razor sharp incisor teeth. The dogs go bizzerk.
"Kel!" my husband shouts at me as he tippy toes onto the deck in his bare feet. Meanwhile, my naked behind is swinging in the breeze.
I wiggle my finger free, not sure what to do now. My husband calls for the dogs to come inside, but they are not paying him even a speck of attention. The squirrel has captivated their focus.
Some how, the squirrel double-backs on itself and sinks his teeth into my right index finger. By now, my husband has given up on the dogs and in his effort to help in the situation, he stands behind me and holds the towel up to cover my butt. The squirrel is firmly attached to my finger and with each twitch works his teeth deeper into it. I hold my arm out, hanging the squirrel over the fence. I just want the thing OFF!
My left hand is covered with blood dripping from the bites in my left finger and the squirrel isn't letting go. I can hear the tissue snap and crackle and those teeth sink deeper and deeper. It is really hurting. I squeal in pain. I've had enough of this.
I grab his little body in my left hand and press my left thumb on his cheek and pry my finger off the bottom incisors. Those suckers are LONG! Finally freed, I simple drop the squirrel on the far side of the fence. Blood pours from both fingers, the dogs are wild with excitement and my husband, doing everything he can, holds the towel around me.
Once back inside the house, I stand there holding my hands together trying to have the blood pool in my palms and not drip all over the floor. I tell my husband I am going to make a dash to the bathroom.
He stands there and says, "What do you want me to do?"
I had hoped he would say, 'wait a second and I'll get a towel so you don't drip all over the floor,' but for as wonderful as he is, he does not do emergencies well.
The dogs have also come inside by now. Earlier, Mona had scrubbed the kitchen floors and mopped them. They had been beautiful. Now they are covered with dirty feet prints from all three dogs, my husband and me. Plus, droplets of blood. Sorry, Mona.
I make it to the master bathroom sans towel, and turn on the water faucet. I run warm water over my fingers, which are bleeding a steady amount. My husband, in the other room says something about rabies.
Having been bitten by a mouse several years ago, I know the likelihood of rabies transmition by squirrel is slim, but not wanting to take chances, I knew I would need the squirrel.
"Honey, please come here," I call to my husband. Suddenly, I don't feel well and kneel down in front of the sink.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
As the sparkles of white light dance before my eyes and the grey clouds fog in my head, I say, "I'm going to pass out."
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
I am in no position to answer and my knees give out. He holds me up and I manage to remain aware enough to keep my bleeding fingers in the sink.
"Okay, you'll have to go get the squirrel." I tell him.
"What!? Why?"
"Because if they want to check it for rabies, they'll need its body."
He starts complaining about how this is just one more reason why.....he never does finish the statement. He mumbles about having to get the squirrel and how he will do that and how will he carry it.
I suggest he get some gloves and the dog crate or maybe a box. He tells me to never mind as he has something.
By now, the bleeding has subsided and I accept the fact that I will be going to see a doctor. First, I have to get on some clothes. After that, my first phone call is to the vet. I want to double check the possibility of squirrels having rabies. I figure that if it wasn't necessary to go to the ER, then why make the trip. Unfortunately, they are already closed for the day.
The next call is to the insurance company. As a military dependent, health care is provided by the military at a military facility. With no emergency care on post, I would have to go to a civilian health care provider, but I would need authorization from the military.
When the representative answers the phone, I explain, "Yes, I have been bitten by a wild animal and..."
"You need to go to an emergency room," she replies.
"Yes, I figured as much. But really, it isn't that bad. It was a squirrel."
"Oh, we don't have those here."
I ask where she is and she tells me Arizona.
"Ah, but you do have rattlesnakes and scorpions," I say.
"That is true," she answers.
She provides me with the Army on-call doctor number and say I can call on Monday for a follow-up or I can go ahead and call now. Either way, I will be covered.
Meanwhile, my husband tells Mona to hand him the duct tape.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's the silver tape in the drawer."
I opt to call the on-call doc. The desk sergeant who answers the phone advises that I should go to the emergency room. He tells me to call back on Monday and not wait to speak to the doctor right now because all he would tell me would be to go to the emergency room.
Off to the emergency room. Mona is invited to come. She might as well get the complete American experience. She's already been to the police department with me to pay a speeding ticket, she should visit an emergency room, too.
The three of us walk into the ER, my husband, holding a cardboard box, me with my hands spread before me, and Mona, with camera. The greeting nurse, a male, asks me if I had just painted my nails and were waiting for them to dry.
We explain that I have been bitten by a squirrel and the squirrel is in the box.
"Don't open it in here," he cautions. "We need to get you cleaned up and call animal control to come take care of the squirrel." He also advises that the likelihood of a squirrel transmitting rabies is remote as they are such a small animal that rabies would kill them too quickly to really be able to live long enough to cause harm to anyone. It's what I thought. The encounter with a wild mouse wasn't completely for not.
"Please," I say. "Don't make me fill out any paperwork. My fingers are no good."
Luckily, the lady at the intake desk, takes all of my information and directly inputs it in the computer. Meanwhile the nurse, comes back with a swab and some Neosporin.
"That's it?" I ask. "I could have done that at home."
Then comes the discussion about Tetanus. Yes, I have had a Tetanus shot within the past 10 years, but uncertain if it's been just over 5 or under 5 years ago. Better safe than sorry. I will be getting a shot.
While getting my vital signs taken by another male nurse, Brent, the police animal control guy shows up.
"Where's the dog?" he asks.
"No dog," replies my husband. "Squirrel."
"We don't do squirrels," he quickly says. "Dogs, yes. Raccoon, yes. Squirrels, no."
"Well, what am I going to do with it?" my husband asks.
"Is it dead?"
"No. It's still alive. You can hear him moving around in there."
"If it were dead, I would take it, but since it's alive, I can't."
There is discussion about killing it. Perhaps wacking it with a stick. That is ruled out because apparently, it would be considered cruel to wack it. I suggest taking it to the parking lot and stomping on its head. That would be quick and painless. The police animal guy says I should have let my dogs finish it off. Naturally, being eaten isn't considered cruel.
My betadine wash arrives. Nurse Brent dabs my fingers with swabs that have been dipped in the batadine. I chose to soak my fingers in the container. Might as well do a thorough job. At least it isn't iodine. Remember that horrific red stuff your mom put on scrapes? That stuff that burned hotter than fire and you felt as if your skin was melting off? Remember?
Out in the hallway, there is discussion about shooting raccoons because they do carry and regularly transmit rabies.
That's when I interject, "You can't shoot the squirrel! His head would vaporize." The animal control guy just looks at me in disbelief. He has no sense of humor.
While I am soaking, two administrator nurses-types and the maintenance guy, holding a caulking gun, come to hear the story. They have, by this point, heard the commotion and part of the story. The maintenance guy suggests a hammer to off the squirrel. The other male nurse agrees that does sound like an engineering solution to the problem.
"Okay, do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I ask. Of course they do. So, I tell them all about how I was naked in the back yard with a squirrel hanging off my finger tip, the dogs running about crazed with excitement and my husband complaining that he doesn't have on any shoes while holding up a towel to cover my behind.
My husband and the animal control guy go outside where my husband is instructed to release the squirrel. As it seems an odd proposition, my husband questions the animal control guy's judgment, but releases it per instruction. The squirrel, who definitely has a broken leg and is also missing an ear, makes a vain attempt to reach safety before it needs to take a rest. It finally reaches a bush where is attempts to hide and rest.
I find this to be a terrible solution to the squirrel issue. "You know," I say to the folks in the ER. "Some small child is going to see that squirrel and be amazed that it doesn't run away and PICK IT UP. That kid is going to be bitten and then I won't be the only person in the ER with squirrel bites today."
A woman replies, "And that will be Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels' fault."
I agree.
The doctor arrives to examine my fingers. "That looks painful," he says.
"It is painful," I say.
"Ooooh, it got you on both fingers."
"Yes, he did."
"Well. I'll go ahead and get you on some antibiotics just because he got you pretty good."
Keflex and a Tetanus shot...That's to be my treatment.
Meanwhile, the animal control guy's supervisor has been contacted. The new instructions are to bring in the squirrel. At least the supervisor has some forethought.
I watch the animal control guy return to the bush where the squirrel is hiding, but this time, he has that 5-foot long steel pole with the noose at the end. The one that they use on vicious dogs. I suggest to anyone listening that perhaps it would be easier to just reach in the bush and grab the squirrel.
"That's how you get bit," someone replies. I think my husband said it, but I'm not for sure.
"Well, he does have big leather gloves," I point out.
The squirrel, now captured, is drug along the pavement back towards the patrol car where Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels tries to get it into a plastic bag. Keep in mind, Mona has been taking pictures the WHOLE time.
The animal control guy claims that he did use the stick on the squirrel. Mona, who I am apt to believe, says he did not use his stick, that he strangled the squirrel with the noose.
Eventually, the squirrel goes to heaven. I finally get my Tetanus shot. We've been in the ER for nearly an hour and a half.
The animal control guy decides to complete an incident report. On the television in the background there is a story about a Football Linebacker who rushed a cop and the cop tazered him.
I agreed with that cop's decision. "I would have tazered him, too," I say.
The animal control guy mentions that since the Tazer Gun has been available to the police departments, the number of shootings has decreased.
Then...he says, "I prefer to use my hands. The military taught me how to use my hands and the police department showed me how to use my hands. I would rather use the hand-to-hand take down."
"Wait a second," I say. "You would rather use hand-to-hand combat on a bad guy, but you needed a 5-foot long pole for a 6-ounce squirrel?"
The animal control guy....has no sense of humor.
---------On a side note. I realize this posting has taken some time; however, let me point out that BOTH of my index fingers still hurt. Ever try to tie your shoes or zip up your pants without using your index fingers? Ever try to type without using your index fingers? Those folks who have malformed, deformed, or missing hands who perform daily functions with their feet or a stick are in a word, AMAZING. I, to be sure, am a hopeless mess without the ability to use my index fingers.
I had just stepped out of the shower after bathing myself and my dog. As she rubs her face along the carpet, I wrap myself in a towel and head for the back door. She is right on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Sydney darts outside and I immediately notice that Jake and Annabelle are very involved with something along the back fence. Jake turns to see Sydney running at him and I notice the squirrel make a move along the ground next to the fence. The movement caught Sydney's attention and Jake jumped to regain control of the creature.
I scream, "Nooooo!" and jet out the door. Yes, I am still only in a towel and yes, there is snow and ice on the ground and yes, the temperature is well below freezing. No mind, I am on a mission.
The squirrel has wedged its body between the fence and a tree. I wrestle with the dogs trying to free the squirrel. My towel, forgotten. I look into the squirrel's eyes and see complete fear and notice that his back legs aren't moving. I scoop the squirrel up in my right hand and try to place him on the tree with the hopes that he'll scamper up the trunk to safety. He just hangs there, back end not working. I hold him into place, still in my right hand.
My husband comes to the back door. "What's going on?" he says.
"Get the dogs." I shout.
"But I don't have on shoes."
"I'm naked, here!" My towel is managing to stay along side my body as a bit of it is under my arm which I have pressed to my side.
"What are you..." my husband begins to say.
"Aaaaahhh!" The squirrel with super human strength latches onto my left index finger with his razor sharp incisor teeth. The dogs go bizzerk.
"Kel!" my husband shouts at me as he tippy toes onto the deck in his bare feet. Meanwhile, my naked behind is swinging in the breeze.
I wiggle my finger free, not sure what to do now. My husband calls for the dogs to come inside, but they are not paying him even a speck of attention. The squirrel has captivated their focus.
Some how, the squirrel double-backs on itself and sinks his teeth into my right index finger. By now, my husband has given up on the dogs and in his effort to help in the situation, he stands behind me and holds the towel up to cover my butt. The squirrel is firmly attached to my finger and with each twitch works his teeth deeper into it. I hold my arm out, hanging the squirrel over the fence. I just want the thing OFF!
My left hand is covered with blood dripping from the bites in my left finger and the squirrel isn't letting go. I can hear the tissue snap and crackle and those teeth sink deeper and deeper. It is really hurting. I squeal in pain. I've had enough of this.
I grab his little body in my left hand and press my left thumb on his cheek and pry my finger off the bottom incisors. Those suckers are LONG! Finally freed, I simple drop the squirrel on the far side of the fence. Blood pours from both fingers, the dogs are wild with excitement and my husband, doing everything he can, holds the towel around me.
Once back inside the house, I stand there holding my hands together trying to have the blood pool in my palms and not drip all over the floor. I tell my husband I am going to make a dash to the bathroom.
He stands there and says, "What do you want me to do?"
I had hoped he would say, 'wait a second and I'll get a towel so you don't drip all over the floor,' but for as wonderful as he is, he does not do emergencies well.
The dogs have also come inside by now. Earlier, Mona had scrubbed the kitchen floors and mopped them. They had been beautiful. Now they are covered with dirty feet prints from all three dogs, my husband and me. Plus, droplets of blood. Sorry, Mona.
I make it to the master bathroom sans towel, and turn on the water faucet. I run warm water over my fingers, which are bleeding a steady amount. My husband, in the other room says something about rabies.
Having been bitten by a mouse several years ago, I know the likelihood of rabies transmition by squirrel is slim, but not wanting to take chances, I knew I would need the squirrel.
"Honey, please come here," I call to my husband. Suddenly, I don't feel well and kneel down in front of the sink.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
As the sparkles of white light dance before my eyes and the grey clouds fog in my head, I say, "I'm going to pass out."
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
I am in no position to answer and my knees give out. He holds me up and I manage to remain aware enough to keep my bleeding fingers in the sink.
"Okay, you'll have to go get the squirrel." I tell him.
"What!? Why?"
"Because if they want to check it for rabies, they'll need its body."
He starts complaining about how this is just one more reason why.....he never does finish the statement. He mumbles about having to get the squirrel and how he will do that and how will he carry it.
I suggest he get some gloves and the dog crate or maybe a box. He tells me to never mind as he has something.
By now, the bleeding has subsided and I accept the fact that I will be going to see a doctor. First, I have to get on some clothes. After that, my first phone call is to the vet. I want to double check the possibility of squirrels having rabies. I figure that if it wasn't necessary to go to the ER, then why make the trip. Unfortunately, they are already closed for the day.
The next call is to the insurance company. As a military dependent, health care is provided by the military at a military facility. With no emergency care on post, I would have to go to a civilian health care provider, but I would need authorization from the military.
When the representative answers the phone, I explain, "Yes, I have been bitten by a wild animal and..."
"You need to go to an emergency room," she replies.
"Yes, I figured as much. But really, it isn't that bad. It was a squirrel."
"Oh, we don't have those here."
I ask where she is and she tells me Arizona.
"Ah, but you do have rattlesnakes and scorpions," I say.
"That is true," she answers.
She provides me with the Army on-call doctor number and say I can call on Monday for a follow-up or I can go ahead and call now. Either way, I will be covered.
Meanwhile, my husband tells Mona to hand him the duct tape.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's the silver tape in the drawer."
I opt to call the on-call doc. The desk sergeant who answers the phone advises that I should go to the emergency room. He tells me to call back on Monday and not wait to speak to the doctor right now because all he would tell me would be to go to the emergency room.
Off to the emergency room. Mona is invited to come. She might as well get the complete American experience. She's already been to the police department with me to pay a speeding ticket, she should visit an emergency room, too.
The three of us walk into the ER, my husband, holding a cardboard box, me with my hands spread before me, and Mona, with camera. The greeting nurse, a male, asks me if I had just painted my nails and were waiting for them to dry.
We explain that I have been bitten by a squirrel and the squirrel is in the box.
"Don't open it in here," he cautions. "We need to get you cleaned up and call animal control to come take care of the squirrel." He also advises that the likelihood of a squirrel transmitting rabies is remote as they are such a small animal that rabies would kill them too quickly to really be able to live long enough to cause harm to anyone. It's what I thought. The encounter with a wild mouse wasn't completely for not.
"Please," I say. "Don't make me fill out any paperwork. My fingers are no good."
Luckily, the lady at the intake desk, takes all of my information and directly inputs it in the computer. Meanwhile the nurse, comes back with a swab and some Neosporin.
"That's it?" I ask. "I could have done that at home."
Then comes the discussion about Tetanus. Yes, I have had a Tetanus shot within the past 10 years, but uncertain if it's been just over 5 or under 5 years ago. Better safe than sorry. I will be getting a shot.
While getting my vital signs taken by another male nurse, Brent, the police animal control guy shows up.
"Where's the dog?" he asks.
"No dog," replies my husband. "Squirrel."
"We don't do squirrels," he quickly says. "Dogs, yes. Raccoon, yes. Squirrels, no."
"Well, what am I going to do with it?" my husband asks.
"Is it dead?"
"No. It's still alive. You can hear him moving around in there."
"If it were dead, I would take it, but since it's alive, I can't."
There is discussion about killing it. Perhaps wacking it with a stick. That is ruled out because apparently, it would be considered cruel to wack it. I suggest taking it to the parking lot and stomping on its head. That would be quick and painless. The police animal guy says I should have let my dogs finish it off. Naturally, being eaten isn't considered cruel.
My betadine wash arrives. Nurse Brent dabs my fingers with swabs that have been dipped in the batadine. I chose to soak my fingers in the container. Might as well do a thorough job. At least it isn't iodine. Remember that horrific red stuff your mom put on scrapes? That stuff that burned hotter than fire and you felt as if your skin was melting off? Remember?
Out in the hallway, there is discussion about shooting raccoons because they do carry and regularly transmit rabies.
That's when I interject, "You can't shoot the squirrel! His head would vaporize." The animal control guy just looks at me in disbelief. He has no sense of humor.
While I am soaking, two administrator nurses-types and the maintenance guy, holding a caulking gun, come to hear the story. They have, by this point, heard the commotion and part of the story. The maintenance guy suggests a hammer to off the squirrel. The other male nurse agrees that does sound like an engineering solution to the problem.
"Okay, do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I ask. Of course they do. So, I tell them all about how I was naked in the back yard with a squirrel hanging off my finger tip, the dogs running about crazed with excitement and my husband complaining that he doesn't have on any shoes while holding up a towel to cover my behind.
My husband and the animal control guy go outside where my husband is instructed to release the squirrel. As it seems an odd proposition, my husband questions the animal control guy's judgment, but releases it per instruction. The squirrel, who definitely has a broken leg and is also missing an ear, makes a vain attempt to reach safety before it needs to take a rest. It finally reaches a bush where is attempts to hide and rest.
I find this to be a terrible solution to the squirrel issue. "You know," I say to the folks in the ER. "Some small child is going to see that squirrel and be amazed that it doesn't run away and PICK IT UP. That kid is going to be bitten and then I won't be the only person in the ER with squirrel bites today."
A woman replies, "And that will be Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels' fault."
I agree.
The doctor arrives to examine my fingers. "That looks painful," he says.
"It is painful," I say.
"Ooooh, it got you on both fingers."
"Yes, he did."
"Well. I'll go ahead and get you on some antibiotics just because he got you pretty good."
Keflex and a Tetanus shot...That's to be my treatment.
Meanwhile, the animal control guy's supervisor has been contacted. The new instructions are to bring in the squirrel. At least the supervisor has some forethought.
I watch the animal control guy return to the bush where the squirrel is hiding, but this time, he has that 5-foot long steel pole with the noose at the end. The one that they use on vicious dogs. I suggest to anyone listening that perhaps it would be easier to just reach in the bush and grab the squirrel.
"That's how you get bit," someone replies. I think my husband said it, but I'm not for sure.
"Well, he does have big leather gloves," I point out.
The squirrel, now captured, is drug along the pavement back towards the patrol car where Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels tries to get it into a plastic bag. Keep in mind, Mona has been taking pictures the WHOLE time.
The animal control guy claims that he did use the stick on the squirrel. Mona, who I am apt to believe, says he did not use his stick, that he strangled the squirrel with the noose.
Eventually, the squirrel goes to heaven. I finally get my Tetanus shot. We've been in the ER for nearly an hour and a half.
The animal control guy decides to complete an incident report. On the television in the background there is a story about a Football Linebacker who rushed a cop and the cop tazered him.
I agreed with that cop's decision. "I would have tazered him, too," I say.
The animal control guy mentions that since the Tazer Gun has been available to the police departments, the number of shootings has decreased.
Then...he says, "I prefer to use my hands. The military taught me how to use my hands and the police department showed me how to use my hands. I would rather use the hand-to-hand take down."
"Wait a second," I say. "You would rather use hand-to-hand combat on a bad guy, but you needed a 5-foot long pole for a 6-ounce squirrel?"
The animal control guy....has no sense of humor.
---------On a side note. I realize this posting has taken some time; however, let me point out that BOTH of my index fingers still hurt. Ever try to tie your shoes or zip up your pants without using your index fingers? Ever try to type without using your index fingers? Those folks who have malformed, deformed, or missing hands who perform daily functions with their feet or a stick are in a word, AMAZING. I, to be sure, am a hopeless mess without the ability to use my index fingers.
Oooouuucchhhhh!
Those little teeth are very, very sharp and much longer than you might suspect. It may not look like much on the outside, but on the inside it really hurts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
