Tuesday, March 31, 2009

My "Perfect Injection"

“Be sure to call me when you are ready to give it,” my nursing instructor ordered.

It was going to be my first buttock injection and she wanted to be there to insure that I would perform the technique properly.

A year had passed since I had done my first deltoid injection. As I prepped the patient’s upper arm, he had said, “Boy, you are shaking. This your first shot?” I told him, in partial truth, “No, it’s not my first.” After all, I had given an injection before…to an orange. Despite my anxiety and tremulous hand, that injection had gone well enough.

Next, I had performed my first thigh injection. The poor woman was emaciated, she had a severe case of tuberculosis. I felt her thigh before I went in with the needle. The depth of her muscle tissue must have been less than an inch. With the syringe in my right hand, held like a dart, I entered the muscle and instantly felt the needle hit a very hard surface. “You hit my bone!” she exclaimed.

Indeed I had. I felt horrible. Looking back, I resent the nurse who had ordered me to give that particular patient an injection. Even an experienced nurse would have found it challenging, plus she had known it was my first. Another salty ol' nurse, eating her young.

Before I go any farther, I want to let you know am joining

I hope you will join in and tell one of your own when you are done reading
my true story!

Now, it was time for my first buttock injection and I was determined to have it go well. It was important to me that this injection went off without a hitch. Third times a charm. Right?

Having made the call for my nursing instructor to return to the unit, I picked up the cylindrical glass medication vial and read the label. Then, I drew the medication into the 3 milliliter syringe, leaving the needle in place, inside of the drug bottle. My teacher showed up a moment later and did a double check of the vial and syringe.


Walking briskly down the hall, everything was going well. I didn’t trip or anything.


Swinging the heavy wooden door of the semi-private patient room open, we proceeded in, side by side. Two burn patients lay in their beds, wrapped like mummies in white gauze bandages. The man in the far bed near the window was Mr. Johnson. He was moaning and writhing in pain. “Mr. Johnson, this is my nursing instructor,” I said in introduction. “We are here to give you your Demerol, it will help you with your pain,” I continued, “Please roll to your side, I am going to need to give this near your hip.” Rolling to his side, he asked in a pained voice, “This your first time?” I replied, “No, sir. No, it’s not.” My words, again, a partial truth.

The patient's Ventral Gluteal was my muscle of choice. Manipulating my hand, I located the landmarks for this muscle, to the side of the buttocks, towards the hip. Pointing at the exact spot I planned to give the shot, I looked up at my instructor. She nodded in approval.


After prepping the skin with alcohol, it was time to give the injection. My hand trembling, I bent my elbow and pulled the syringe back, toward my shoulder. Then, thrusting my hand forward, I slipped the needle smoothly into the muscle.


Immediately, I pulled the needle back out and looked up at my instructor. On my face was a huge smile. Sweet success. My eyes quickly shifted back to the syringe.

That was when I saw it…the medication was still in the syringe!

My smile dropped and joy turned to panic. At that same moment,seeing the, ehem, problem with my technique, my instructor’s jaw dropped and here eyes bulged in extreme surprise.

Turning the needle away from my instructor, I tried to hand her the syringe. “You do it,” I mouthed silently. In a scolding gesture, she firmly waved her index finger at me. She sternly mouthed in return,“Do it again. Now!”

Only seconds had passed at this point, when the patient started crying out in anger, “She hit my burn, she hit my burn!” In quick rebuttal, my teacher said, “No she did not hit your burn, but that muscle is not going to work for this shot, she is going to need to do it again.”

Quickly, I chose a new site, prepped the skin, and adeptly inserted the needle deep into the tissue below. My thumb depressed the plunger and injected the much needed pain medication, perfectly.

“Sir, you are going to feel better soon,” my instructor told him. “We will be back shortly to check on you.”

Shoulders slumped and head hung in shame, I walked to the door. Dread was filling my mind, anticipating the discipline coming.

My teacher opened the door and we exited to the hall. As soon as the door was closed tightly, she put her hand to her mouth. She was laughing hysterically! “I have never, ever, seen anything like that!” she managed to get out between her belly laughs. “Go take a break. We'll talk when you get back.”

I am sure that she rolled with laughter again at lunch, as she shared the story of my “perfect injection” with her colleagues.
Somehow, I’ll bet she still looks back at that day and laughs, just as I am now!

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Feeling the need to escape...

At this moment...
I would like to walk through this screen
and into paradise.
Is it Friday yet?

Friday, March 27, 2009

Unplugging with Kimba

I'm going to make this short and sweet...

Now I am joining Kimba in shutting it down. Going to focus on my firehubby who is coming off of a 72 hour shift.

He is a good man and he deserves 100% of me today
after working so hard for our family.

So, I wish you all well!
Looking forward to enjoying your posts very soon.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

A Thousand Words Thursday

Cheaper Than Therapy
Joining the mom jen again this week, click her button above and
share a picture that speaks a thousand words to you!

The kids joined the army at Gettysberg
Princess leads with the flag, Scout has the drums in the back
The Ultimate Family Field Trip
July3-July22, 2007
Ft. Wm. Henry
Ft. t=Ticonderoga
Pittsford,NY-Firehubby's childhood
Washington D.C.
Williamsberg VA
Visiting friends in N.J.
New York, City
Back to Boston to see more awesome friends.
A whirlwind of adventure and family fun!

p.s. Is anyone else having trouble w/ blogger changing the spacing on their text? Hopefully the scheduled outaged today at 4pm PDT will fix this.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Firehubby Baby Catcher

click here
Dude, try "birth canal."
I'm not so sure about your lingo there!
p.s. I know how much you all LOVE to see the words "to be continued..." but I have a feeling it will be worth it.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

I was a terrible SCUBA diver!

When I was living in Hawaii and working as a traveling nurse I decided to tag along with my buddies and learn to SCUBA dive.

It is a miracle that I am alive today.

(The title of this post says it all! )

In order to get a diving certification the novice diver has to do a set number of dives and perform specific skills...

I thought that I would join Rachel at Once Upon A Miracle today and tell this diving story. I am hoping you will join in this fun. I want to read a great story about you next!

This is my true story and I’m sticking to it:

A diving boat was floating on the turquoise tropical waters of Hawaii. The warm water was choppy and the dive master ordered his students into the water.

I tumbled backwards, into the water, from the edge of the boat. My feet flipped above my head and into the water, my body following.

The water was warm and clear. This should have felt comforting, but the swells were huge. As I rested at the surface, the water rose in giant peaks around me. The boat was intermittently obscured, as I remained at the bottom of the walls of water, looking up at the wave-like swells that never crashed into whitewash.

This is scary. I really don’t like this after all. Oh goodness, my stomach. Oh gosh, I am feeling so nauseated with this rocky ride.

Soon, I could see my dive master in the water. The other students were also bobbing at the surface. In a large gesture, the instructor motioned for the team to begin our decent.

Oh my gosh, I think I am going to throw up. Oh no, I don’t want to dive. But I can’t stay here…

I released the air from my flotation vest and down I went, submerging into the depths below.

I immediately went to the gently kicking feet of my dive master. Wanting to be close enough to grab him if the nausea worsened, I stuck to him like an undersea parasite.

Down, down, down. We finally reached a huge outcropping of ancient hardened lava. As volumes of gases emerged from the underwater flow of magma, hollow tubes were left behind.

The scenery was interesting, but the growing feeling of nausea distracted me and kept me from finding pleasure in the moment.

Oh, I am going to need to throw up. No, no! Pass nausea, pass!

When diving basics are taught to new SCUBA divers, instructions are given on how to vomit underwater. I’m not kidding! You are supposed to take a breath in the regulator (mouth piece), vomit into that mouthpiece (it will exit the same place that an exhaled breath exits), and then use the air in your lungs to blow the rest of the gunk out. I was not eager to see if I could perform this “skill” without DROWNING!

Soon, I had no choice, I needed to surface! Tugging on the foot of the instructor, I did the hand motion for “something is wrong”, pointed to my stomach, and then pointed to the surface. He made some motions to his assist and then accompanied me to the surface.

At the surface I…well…let’s just say, fed the fish. Sorry. Sorry!

(The dive master actually told me he never heard anyone vomit as loud as I did. Nice.)

“Julie, this is our last dive. Please, will you come back down. Let’s finish your skills. It won’t take long.” After a minute of contemplating my stomach, I agreed to return to the bottom.

The last skills went surprisingly well. All of the students were able to finish the list of things needed to complete their certifications. I was at the bottom for another 20 minutes or so. My stomach held out, not great, but good enough.

The ascent to the surface began after another gesture from our leader. Slowly, I began to head towards the light above. When I was about 15 feet from the surface I notice some long, translucent pink “ropes” surrounding me. Before I knew it, these slimy, thick strands were dragging along my body. Wherever they touched, I felt a sharp burning pain.

After rising to the surface, and nearly in tears, I pulled myself up the long ladder to the deck of the boat. I describe the underwater scene of being attacked by a pink alien to the boat crew.

“You’ve been stung by a Portuguese Man-of-War,” the crew member said “They are not dangerous unless you are allergic to them. They just hurt like heck.”

Soon another dive instructor brought over some meat tenderizer and coated my irritated skin with it.

As the boat headed to shore, I laid on the deck with my eyes closed, nauseated and in pain.

A single thought went through my mind...

This is the last time I'm SCUBA diving… EVER!

Monday, March 23, 2009

Not Me Monday

Yeah! It's another Monday! Look how McMamma's Not Me Monday has improved my Monday Attitude! You should definately join her....click here!

Let's get this straight my bloggy friends...I am ALWAYS punctual! That is what I am known for! They call me "Just on-time Julie"...NOT ")

I had a delightful day @ work on Saturday, but it was NOT my clock that failed to wake me @ 5:30! Firehubby did not tap me on the shoulder at 6:20 and ask, "Are you going to work?"

I hopped out of bed, quickly bathed, brushed my hair and teeth. But, I did NOT race off to work without make-up on. My patient's deserve better than that, their nurse should look picture perfect!

As I tucked myself into bed on Saturday night, preparing to get up again on Sunday, I did not double, triple, quadruple check that darn clock! I couldn't figure out why it did not go off, then I set it again for morning.

My subsconscious mind did NOT have confidence in the clock that night, so it woke me each hour to make sure I was not oversleeping. THANKS ALOT brain!!!

I was such a restless sleeper, I felt like this guy:

On Sunday, before work, I did NOT take a couple of minutes to say "Hi" to y'all in bloggy land instead of putting on my make-up again. My lovely laboring patient did NOT take five minutes between contractions to make herself look so pretty.

She looked so very lovely...her nurse, NOT so much.

That same cute patient did NOT embroider on the bottom of her sock "It's a boy" and "Catch doctor!". NO, when I put her feet up, those words did NOT peak out above the foot petals! HA!

I really like my patient yesterday!!! Pretty and funny.

By the way, it was a BOY. A sweet, darling, little bundle of joy, boy! Gonna say it again...I love my job!

ON A SERIOUS NOTE: Please pray for baby Stellan, McMamma's boy. He was taken to the hospital this morning with a serious heart problem.
As I went to link up this morning, I found that he is very, very sick right now.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Off to Work...

I'm off to work.
2nd-12 hour shift this weekend.
Can't believe they pay me to do this!!!
(Don't tell them, but I would do it for free ")
I hope you are having a great weekend too!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

A Thousand Words Thursday

Jen @ Cheaper Than Therapy keeps me laughing
and I am crazy about her blog.
So, I wanted to join her in A Thousand Words Thursday this week.

To me, this picture is worth a thousand words ")

My Mom's amazing!

6 under 7 years!

I'm #5.

After 2 years of trying, worrying, praying...

God blessed her...

and blessed her ...

and blessed her...

She is a huge inspiration to me...I look forward to sharing more about her with you!

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Some Called Her an Embryo, I Called Her My Angel

I was sharing this story with a class I was teaching recently.
Now, I would like to share it with you.

Her name is Angel.

She is my baby.

The day that I found out I was pregnant, I began dreaming of Angel. I rushed from the bathroom with pregnancy test in hand. Pointing to the double stripes on the stick, I said to Firehubby, “Oh my gosh, it’s positive! Our babies are going to be 14 months apart!" My mind was racing. Our lives had changed, in those two short minutes. "We’re gonna need a new car, there is no way they both are going to fit in the back seat!” I exclaimed.

Later that night, I settled onto the sofa with 5 month old Scout, nestled against my chest. I envisioned myself rocking my two babies together, one in each arm.

Angel was very real to me, from that moment in time. She was my child.

She was my dream and my hope for the future.

That wondrous day, she was a tiny c-shaped life; 1/8th inch long.

Over the next weeks, I was continuously aware of her presence. She was very real to me, as nausea ruled my world.

Here is a picture of what Angel would have looked like at 8 weeks.

An ultrasound image of a baby at this gestational age does not really allow you to see any detail, like the arms and legs.This picture was really helpful to me, because I could see that in her last days as an embryo, Angel was taking on a more recognizable form. She was not quite an inch long at this age, but was growing quickly!

Although I did not find out for another two weeks, Angel’s life had ended, shortly after 8 weeks.

My dreams were shattered.
My heart was broken.
My baby was not coming home to be rocked with her brother.

My grief had begun.

It has been 11 years now, and the intensity of my pain has diminished. God had a new plan for our lives. Within a few months, I was pregnant again. Scout and Princess were born 18 months apart.

The Princess is my joy and I am grateful for her beyond words...

But, I will never forget my baby…my precious Angel.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Not Me Monday

It's NOT my second post today!
That would NOT be strange!!!
It's just not a Monday in my book without a NOT ME! If you haven't gone to confession with McMamma lately you really should. It is quite cathartic!

We did NOT celebrated our leprechaun heritage a day early so Firedaddy could join us

~he's a polichaun, but he loves a green meal

We did NOT enjoy our magically delicious menu:

Tortigreeni and Lingreeni with Pesto

Shamrock Smoothie

Green apples with greenut butter

Green Salad

Mashed Irish potatoes

At the end of the rainbow~green dippin' dots and
St. Pattycakes

A traditional Irish meal does NOT makes us smile! ")

(The green is almost gone!*)

*A sure sign a good time was NOT had celebrating St. Patty's day.

March 17 Bonus: Celebrating the mystery pet's birthday!

I'm NOT telling...really.

Not Looking forward to seeing pix of your celebrations tomorrow! ")

Friday, March 13, 2009

Stories From the Delivery Room

What a cute couple! Jill and Scott were in labor. Yep, they were totally in it together. You know, they were the kind who say “we’re pregnant.” They were so excited to welcome a second baby to their family.

It always makes me happy to see a team like Scott and Jill. Watching couples who are kind and respectful to each other is refreshing. I certainly do not take this for granted. Many fathers-to-be seem closer to the TV remote than to their wives. I was anticipating a fulfilling day at the office, caring for these two.

With each contraction, Scott looked into Jill’s eyes and helped her breathe. They had gone through Lamaze classes prior to the arrival of their first baby. “It helps a lot for early labor, but I’m no hero. Sign me up, I’m gonna want my epidural!” she said with a chuckle.

Within the hour, the joking and playfulness turned into concentration. The contractions were clearly getting harder. I gently pressed upon Jill’s abdomen, the contractions palpated strong. I knew it wouldn’t be before I would be calling the anesthesiologist.

When I admit my patients to labor and delivery, discussing pain management is a high priority. Breathing through the contractions, getting IV pain medication, or having an epidural are the three main options for dealing with the pain of labor. Some nurses strongly encourage their patients to get epidurals. They hate to see women in pain. I actually don’t have a preference. I truly believe pain management is a woman’s choice and that she should do what she feels is best for her. Supporting a woman’s decision is my job. Continuously questioning her or asking her if she has changed her mind only undermines her confidence.

Sure enough, before long Jill was ready for me to make the call. She was tired and ready for a break from the pain.

I walked out to the nurse’s station and paged the anesthesiologist. Within 15 minutes, I heard a cart rolling down the hall and a knock on the door. Dr Smith had arrived to place the epidural. Before he could start, he needed to take time to discuss the risks and benefits of the procedure. After Jill signed the epidural consent, Scott and I helped her dangle her legs over edge of bed and moved the tray table in place for her to lean on. Dr. Smith chatted with them as he readied his supplies. “Your position is really important in helping me place this catheter,” Dr. Smith instructed Jill. “I need you to drop your shoulders and place your chin to your chest. Good! Now push your lower back towards my fingers here, arching it just like a Halloween cat. Perfect.”

Dr. Smith’s attending physician, Dr. Wong, had arrived prior to the beginning of the procedure. By the time they begin their OB rotations, the anesthesia residents are skilled at epidural. However, supervision by an attending physician is required.

Dr. Smith’s skill was impressive, and within a few minutes the epidural catheter was in place. Scott held the over-bed table as Jill remained perfectly still, despite the strong contractions. Things were going smoothly. Dr. Smith performed a test dose to insure that the catheter was in the epidural space and not in the spinal fluid.

“Any ringing in your ears or metallic taste in your mouth, Jill?” Dr. Smith asked.

“No,” Jill replied.

“Can you move your toes?” Jill wiggled her toes in response.

“Do your feet feel numb?”

“Nope, they feel normal,” said Jill.

Those were the answers Dr. Smith was looking for. He then meticulously secured the epidural catheter to Jill’s back, using Tincture of Benzoin and 2 inch paper tape. Nobody wanted the catheter to pull out--especially Jill!

Scott hugged Jill and kissed her on the forehead. Clearly he was proud of the impressive job she had done, holding still through such incredible pain. I helped her to lay back down, flat on her back, just as Dr. Smith requested.

“Oh yeah, now I feel it. My legs are getting numb. Will my pain stop soon?” Jill asked.

“Not too long now,” Dr. Smith replied.

A few minutes later, Jill reported that she could feel her abdomen getting numb. Dr. Wong assured her that everything was going as expected.

Another minute went by and Jill started to become restless.

“My breast are getting really numb,” Jill said with anxiety in her voice, “and my hands are getting tingly too.”

The two doctors exchanged concerned looks. Scott was sitting tensely in the recliner by Jill’s side, holding her hand. Dr. Smith began to check the anesthesia level.

“Oh no, something is wrong, I don’t feel well. Oh, it’s getting hard to breathe. Something is wrong. Please, please, do something!”

To be continued…

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Daylight Savings Drawback

Here is one reason that Firehubby is not crazy about Daylight Savings:
This picture is blurry, but I only am allowed to make him risk life and limb twice a year. Darn!!!!
Yep, that's my fun and funky chalkboard wall.
*No making fun of my small TV, it's the only one in the house!

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I cannot catch up on my laundry!

So today I came up with a great plan!

My sweet neighbors are all helping...

The white load is at Mary’s

The dark load at Joan’s

The red load at Karen’s

The bedding at Marie’s

I am out having tea with my honey!

Hey, it cannot hurt to dream!

...off to fold!

Monday, March 9, 2009


Yesterday I was feeling the need to get out of the house and go for a Sunday drive.

This is where the road took us...

Laguna Beach

What a lovely day!

The kids loved the tide pools,

playing in the sand,

and getting their feet wet!

It was a perfect day with my family...

I am savoring the memories

Friday, March 6, 2009

I Did Jail Time, Part 2

I thought that I was so brave, accepting this assignment on the jail ward , where is my courage now?

After finishing report and locating essential nursing supplies, I knew it was time to face the inmates.

Taking the large cool ring in my hand, I fumble for the key. Trembling, I unlocked the first door. Six patients quickly made their way to their beds. Trying to look confident and experienced, I did my best Nurse Ratchet impression.

I loudly announced, “Listen up men, you will do as I say and nothing else. One false move and I will have a sheriff in here to rock your world.”

Well, not quite…

Approaching the first patient, I muster up a sentence. “Are you John Smith?” He politely replies, “Yes, nurse”.

Okay, I think I am going to be alright.

Taking vital signs and making assessments went better than I expected. I was treated appropriately and with respect. Drama was the last thing that I wanted.

One patient stood out in my mind. When I had received report on Mr. Jones I was surprised to find that his crime was revealed to me. The diagnosis, Methyl Bromide poisoning. You see, this fellow Jones, he was never cut out to be a brain surgeon. He and a buddy had decided to rob a “vacant” house. Unfortunately their brilliant plan had almost killed them. The owners were not home because…the house was being fumigated! Luckily for him, a neighbor heard the ruckus and called the police. The two hoodlums were unconscious when they were taken into custody. As I took care of Mr. Jones, I found him to be alert and oriented. His assessment was normal. Soon he would leave the luxury and sweet nurses of the jail ward and return to the big house.

Entering the only private room on my list, my level of anxiety decreased. A frail man lay before me. Knowing his crime would probably have sent shivers up my spine. He was serving multiple life sentences. While changing sheets and giving a bed bath, I contemplated the man before me. He would no longer be a risk to society, I thought. Severe brain damage had left him in a coma. Months before he had managed to use his sheet to form a noose, he had hanged himself.

No, he would never be a threat again.

The day wound down and the night shift nurse reporting for duty assumed care of my prisoner patients. Walking back down the now familiar hallways, I returned to the sheriff’s desk and that menacing steel door. “Key,” the desk sergeant murmured and put out his hand. Reaching out, he grabbed the key and handed back my identification badge. He pushed a hidden button and the massive metal doors slowly opened…

unlike many inside, I was free to go.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

I Did Jail Time

I was shaking as I walked down the narrow corridor. My heart was pounding heavily in my chest. I couldn’t believe it; I was actually going to jail. The elevator button was pressed, we were headed to the 13th floor.

Not only was I scared out of my mind, I was feeling superstitious, too. What kind of building has a 13th floor, for goodness sakes, usually the buttons skip from 12 to 14?

Suddenly, the doors opened and before me I saw the jail’s visiting booths. You know the kind with the phones and thick glass walls. I stepped to the left and walked towards huge steel doors.

This place is a fortress!

A small slot in the door opened. A gruff voice told me to hand over my identification. Slowly the massive steel panels slid open. I felt faint…

I had made some bad decisions in my day. Was this really the path I wanted to follow?




It would be my first day of nursing on the Jail Ward.

Armed sheriff’s deputies manned the front desk. Behind them, the wall was lined with semi-automatic AR-15’s, at the ready for any riot. A no-nonsense sergeant gave me a large, bangle-like metal ring with a key on it. “Before you go in there,” he said sternly, “there ’re a couple of things you’ll need to know.”

“When you want to go into the inmate’s room you will first knock on the door. The prisoners must all sit down on their beds,” he said. “They shall remain there until you leave. No sharp objects are to be brought into the room. If you receive anything but full cooperation, report it to an officer immediately. If an inmate is well enough to harass a nurse, they are well enough to return to jail.”

Following this debriefing, he told me how to locate the charge nurse. Down the hall and to the left I found the jail’s emergency room. Just outside the door, a fully restrained prisoner laid on a metal gurney. Froth flowing from his mouth, he was growling like a wild animal. Despite the restraints, he bounced the heavy gurney off the ground. A nurse walked out from the adjoining room. Seeing me, a wide eyed rookie, she glared with contempt and then, looking down at the patient, muttered “PCP…I’ve had enough of PCP”.

Glancing over my shoulder in disbelief, I hurried on down the halls. The ward was clean, but cold, and without personality. The dull gray floor tiles were freshly mopped, the smell of institutional disinfectant was strong and a bit irritating. Coming to the first of two nurses’ stations, the charge nurse greeted me. “This your first time on the Jail Ward?” she asked.

Was it the deer-in-the-headlight look that gave me away?

After another brief orientation, I found myself on my own. The night nurse was ready to give me report. She ran down the patients’ medical conditions, but conspicuously omitted any mention of their criminal histories.
“What did this guy do that he’s in jail?” I cautiously asked, pointing to one of my patient’s Kardex.

“We never know what crimes the patients have committed,” she said dryly. “It’s better that way.”

Better? What have I gotten myself into?

(to be continued…)

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Not Me Monday

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

By now you are getting the idea that I am a domestic goddess! Right! Right?...

Well, on Tuesday night, when my kids asked the dreaded question:

"Mom, what's for dinner?"

I did NOT say

“Chef’s Surprise!”

Which did NOT mean

Mommy forgot to put dinner in the crock pot …

so I will be as surprised as you!

At that moment I did NOT wish for

a personal chef


(I don’t dare to dream!)

Ooooh, speaking of food, I did not overindulge in this:

Chocolate Souffle Cake with Hagen Daaz Ice Cream on the side*

(*This is the actual dessert from CPK!!! I did NOT make this picture nice and big to make you jealous! I am NOT a cruel woman!)

No, NOT a Belgian chocolate souffle cake served with warm triple thick hot fudge over vanilla bean sauce... let's NOT forget the ice cream!

I did NOT tip the scales with this sweet little number... no NOT me! Back to WW!!
(Who is suffering now? NOT me!)

Later in the week , I had a chance to visit my favorite doctor.

My Immunologist/Allergist/Acupuncture Specialist.

I am having more issues with my previously mentioned medical issue...

so, I am NOT back to


It is so very much like a spa treatment...
you just have to try it... NOT!

The doctor had just finished putting 12 needles in my FACE (of the 50 needles total!) when I did NOT say to him:

"Hey doc, I would love to get a picture of this, my blog friends will dig it!"

He grinned at me and said "That's not going to happen."

"Hey, it's my face!" I told him...okay, NOT really.

But I did NOT joke with him,...

"If you won't let me take a picture, I will tell everyone you are a witch doctor and that I am just another voodoo doll to you!"

We both laughed.

I am just NOT like that! You guys know that!






Oh yeah! I almost forgot. I want to let you know that I did NOT spend time in jail, and I do NOT want you to come back on Wednesday to read about it!

Well, I am off to look at your "Not Me's"! If you haven't joined in the fun with MckMama, you really are NOT missing out ;)

*I am NOT frustrated w/ Blogger again, this was supposed to auto post on Monday!