The Burger Babe

When I was in college full-time in Boston, one of my summer jobs was to stand on the sidewalk outside a restaurant called the Pour House, handing out menus dressed like a hamburger. The bun went from my shoulders to the top of my knees. On the bun, there were two huge smiling eyes; right in the middle was a round nose, and a big toothless smile completed the crazy-looking face. Atop my shoulders was an oversized white chef’s hat that covered my entire head. There was a white screen so I could see out. Although I enticed many young men who walked by—as I got many whistles and quite a few dates—my costume terrified every four-legged dog. One afternoon, a customer tied his dog to the parking meter in front of me. The dog went berserk, and he barked at me for ten minutes as I tried to greet and hand out my menus. Then, the car next to the dog started to back up, and the dog was unaware since he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the walking burger. I approached him and tried to move him out of harms way. The dog bit my hand in appreciation as I saved his life. The next day, I gave my notice and went off to look for a safer and saner way to earn a buck.

Is That a Tick?

I hate bugs. When I see one I get itchy all over. I get jumpy just thinking about them. Recently, I had a slumber party with one. Last weekend, my husband, my toddler and I went to Freedom, New Hampshire, to help our friends cut up firewood for the winter. The following Monday morning I was taking a shower when I heard my husband say, “You have to look at this, now!” The shower door flew open and my husband showed me his neck. “Is that a tic,” he asked? It looked like a big black pimple, but it wasn’t. It was a tick. I rushed to finish my shower as I tried to remember how to remove a tick.

“Vaseline,” I said. “That will suffocate it.” My husband applied Vaseline onto his tick and he pulled at it with a little pair of tweezers. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get it all out in one piece. I tried to get the head out with bigger tweezers, but it wouldn’t release. It was so difficult that I started to think it was one of his neck hairs. We eventually gave up.

I finally checked myself, and I found a black bump in front of my armpit. “I just slept and showered with a tick,” I wailed. My husband—now the calm one—dabbed Vaseline onto the bug. It eased out a little and my husband removed the whole tick.

My husband started researching tick bites on the Internet. He was concerned about the redness around his bite. “You should see the doctor,” I said. He agreed, and he made an appointment later that morning. My arm was hurting, so I made an appointment as well.

We drove to the clinic carrying our ticks in baggies. My bag contained a little deer tick on a cotton swab; my husband’s bag was full of tissues and tick parts. My doctor looked at my tick and my bite, and she told me the recommendation was to take doxycycline: a special antibiotic that can prevent Lyme disease. She also wanted to test me in six weeks.

When I saw my husband in the lobby, I asked him where his prescription was. “I didn’t get one,” he said. He was told to keep an eye on his bite, and the head should work its way out in time. I was upset that my husband’s doctor didn’t offer him antibiotics. I thought he was at a higher risk of contracting Lyme disease than I was.

Later that day I did more research on tick bites on the Internet, and I became more concerned. We covered our ticks with Vaseline, and I learned that irritating the tick can cause it to inject bodily fluids into the bite—bodily fluids that could contain Lyme disease. I called our doctor’s office and asked, “Why didn’t my husband get a prescription for doxycycline when my doctor said it was the recommendation?” Later that day my husband talked to his doctor again and he finally got his prescription.

Now that we both have taken doxycycline, we can only wait and see what happens. We check our son and ourselves every day, because the best way to prevent Lyme disease is to remove the tick as soon as possible. I will do my best to never take a tick to bed again.

My Baby Won't Wake Up!

One icy February morning, my nine-month-old son would not wake up. He had slept two hours past his usual waking time. He was recovering from a stomach virus he got from daycare, so I thought he needed the extra sleep to heal. When he did awake, he started crying and he arched his back violently. I called the doctor, but my son had stopped crying by the time he returned my call. I described to the doctor what had happened, and he assumed that the issue had resolved itself since he was awake and he had stopped crying.

I tried to feed my baby, but he wouldn't nurse. He started crying again, and then he fell asleep. I let him sleep for another hour and then I tried to wake him. Again, he wouldn't nurse. He would arch his back and cry, and then he would stop crying and fall asleep. After a while, I called the doctor's office again and the receptionist told me to bring my baby in.

The fresh air woke my little guy, and he was happy on the way to the doctor's office. The receptionist saw his smiling face and she said, "You've been worrying your parents today." As we waited in the exam room, my son began to cry again, and he had diarrhea that looked bloody. The doctor came in, and he sent us to the Emergency Room.

After a battery of grueling tests, an ultrasound showed that my baby had a medical condition called intussusception. This is when a part of the intestine folds in on itself causing severe pain and obstruction. An ambulance drove my baby and me to a Boston children's hospital to undergo a procedure to fix the problem.

When we arrived, my son was more alert. Seeing that, the ER doctor ordered another ultrasound, which showed the intussusception had resolved on its own. My son stayed in the hospital for two more days under observation until there was no more blood in his stool.

Intussusception is most common in male babies from five to ten months old. It can be life-threatening, so if you think your baby has these symptoms, contact your doctor immediately.