Soda pop can be hazardous to your health…

This is a true story.  I am not proud of this occurrence.  I actually do feel quite idiotic about it.  I do, however, feel it is my duty to share with you the dangers of soda pop; specifically those in 2 litre bottles.  Please, heed my advice and make sure you share this with family, friends, and anyone else you see buying such a bottle.  You could help prevent such trauma entering their lives.

It all began one winter evening.  I was sitting in the living room watching tv.  Waldo and Lucy (my dogs) were snuggled up beside me.  I had just finished making some homemade chicken soup from scratch.  I had turned the heat down to minimum under the pot so that it could happily simmer for a couple of hours.  The house was already smelling good.  It was nice to sit back and relax and enjoy some quiet time.  Wiseguy was working the night shift.  No kids were in the house.  Peace and quiet reigned…until IT happened!

I heard a gunshot come from the direction of my kitchen.  I screamed out loud!  My heart was pounding.  I walked cautiously toward the kitchen entranceway; I was alone and afraid.  I stood in the doorway…my mouth agape.  I was in shock.  I couldn’t move.  My eyes slowly moved around the scene in the kitchen, trying to compute what had happened.  What HAD happened?

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This is what I saw as I looked around the room:  My walls and cupboards were covered in something brownish.  I looked at the pot on the stove.  The lid was slightly askew to allow steam to escape, but no evidence of an explosion.  I saw my floor covered in brown liquid as well.  Where had it come from?  Suddenly I saw drops coming from the ceiling.  I looked upwards…GASP!!!!  There were brown droplets falling from my now-brown-previously-white ceiling.  What had HAPPENED!!??  My brain could not compute it.  Then, as if guided by a higher power, my eyes locked onto the culprit.

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You have probably already figured out what transpired.  If not, here is the play by play.

  1. Soup pot simmering.
  2. Two litre, plastic Pepsi bottle a foot away from the stove; new…unopened.
  3. Pepsi bottle was slowly being heated; refer to #1 in play by play.
  4. Pepsi bottle no longer had room for expansion.
  5. BANG!!!  Explosion of said Pepsi bottle.
  6. There was about an inch of that beverage left in the bottle…the rest was catapulted into the ceiling and dispersed ungraciously all over my counters, stove, fridge, windows, blinds, floor, table, coffee maker, toaster, dishwasher, etc.
  7. Meltdown…no…not the bottle; I crumpled to the floor in the hallway in shocked bewilderment.
  8. I whimpered.
  9. I felt a small body brush up beside me.  CRAP!  The dogs were trying to get into the kitchen!
  10. I hollered, “NOOOOOOOOOO!” at the dogs who then proceeded to back off.

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So…where would you begin the mind-boggling clean up?  Floor?  Just watch out for the Pepsi drops from the sky.  Ceiling?  Yes, you could start there, but how do you get to the ceiling without stepping into one of the puddles on the floor?  How about counters? Cupboards?  Fridge?  What would be the best plan of attack to wash up a room, literally, sprayed in soda pop.  Yes, quite the conundrum.

Where did I start?  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t recall.  I believe I was so traumatized by it, that I erased the actual cleanup from memory.  I tend to have sketchy thoughts about towels on the floor and a step stool to reach the ceiling, but it’s all kind of muddled; dream/nightmare or reality.  Not sure.  For weeks and many, many months after that “cleanup” I would find sticky spots somewhere in the kitchen.  Oh, it had spattered into the hallway too.  I learned that when my foot stuck to the floor.  I’d open a cupboard to pull out a plate and find brown spots on it.  Just when I would think it was all gone, I would find evidence of it somewhere else.  Years later, when we decided to renovate our kitchen, we pulled out the fridge and the stove and guess what we found?  A Rorschach test of that spiteful drink.  After washing that wall, and covering it with tiles I can finally say that I have never seen another spot of Pepsi in the kitchen.  That was the end of the nightmarish soda fountain episode.

The one other part of this true-life horror story is really the irony of the whole situation.  You see, I don’t drink pop.  I can’t stand the stuff.  When I was younger and used to drink it, I actually preferred Sprite or 7Up…bubbly and clear liquids!   Ironic right?  I had a volcano of brownish sugar-beverage all over my kitchen and I never even drank it.

I learned a valuable lesson that evening and I urge you to share this knowledge…for safety’s sake.  I no longer buy two litre bottles of pop.  No more large, plastic potential bombs in my humble abode.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”  Benjamin Franklin

I prefer to purchase the lovely, aluminum can versions of pop.  For safety reasons, these sugar drinks are stashed away inside the fridge at all time…far, far away from any and all sources of heat.

Moral of the story:   Soda pop can be hazardous to your health…especially your mental health.

 

 

 

 

What’s up doc?

There are two kinds of people in society:  1) Hypochondriacs and 2) FODs (Fear of Doctors).  I am of the European reasoning that doctors will only give you bad news.  If you are like me, you prefer good news and happy times.  So, with this thought in mind, why would I go to a place where there are other ill people who can make me sick, and speak to someone who will only give me bad news?  As of today I renounce my FOD status!  Why? I had a life changing experience that I will share with you and hopefully convert you from a FOD person to a…hmmm…guess I will need to come up with a third group of personalities.  Here is what happened.

My story begins two and a half weeks ago.  Remember those dreary, rain filled days?  I had decided to book an “annual” physical with my doctor (at her subtle request).  You see, I had visited a few weeks earlier unsure if I had strep throat.  I wanted to ensure that none of the grandbabies got sick so…yes…I fought my Fear of Doctor to get checked out.  That day I did not have strep, but I still had a miserably sore throat.  Although I truly believed I had no reason for it…well, hindsight is 20/20 and as you recall I proceeded into that awful cold/sinus/deafness ailment.  Now, let’s backup to that day of the physical.

As a sidenote, I would like to state that my “yearly” physical takes place every decade (if I can schedule it).  Now, being closer to my 50s, the creaky bones of arthritis and the hollering of other women to get checked out, made me think I should squeeze one in early.  This one was done after 5 years.  Good for me!  The physical part of my checkup was done and I was sent for blood work.  Does everyone know what blood work is all about?  Sure you do!  Or, are you more like me.  Last time I needed to go for surgery, when I was at the ripe old age of twenty-three , I had blood work done.  It’s been a couple of years.  Not that my doctor hasn’t been trying.  I believe that in the last 15 years she has given me the paper for blood work about 4 times.  (1) I lost it.  (2)  The paper had been in my purse so long that it was tattered and torn and unreadable.  (3) I think the dog ate it  (haha, I always wanted to say that, but he actually didn’t).  The last one she gave me (4) was still on my desk at home.  I had every good intention of having it done.  Well, this time she beat me.  “Take this upstairs and get your blood work done.”  Now, if I didn’t, I would be an awful patient.  So I trotted upstairs and bided my time.

One minute later it was my turn.  I sat in the chair, rolled up my sleeve and proceeded to have a needle jammed into me.  I asked, “So, will the doctor call me with the results?”  She looked at me like I had three heads.  I explained, “I haven’t had blood taken in about twenty years.”  “Oh,” she began, “if there is nothing wrong then you won’t get a call.”  My follow up question, “How long until the she gets the test results?”  Reply, “about three days.”

My blood was drawn Wednesday.  No call on Thursday.  It was Friday and all was clear!  Woo hoo!  Brrrrrrriiinnnggggg!  CRAP!  Doctor’s office.  Summary of phone call:  Doctor wants to see me.  YIKES!  Since doctors’ appointment days book up quickly, I had to wait a week to see her.  Naturally, I spent those five days doing what any other normal FOD would do.  It’s also a Hypochondriac’s favourite game.  All together now:  What’s My Ailment!

Yes, I spent several gloriously rainy days in a cough-ridden haze being depressed about my  extended cold illness.  I got to worry about what beloved foods I was going to have to cut out.  I LOVE PIZZA!   High cholesterol?  That was possible.  Hmmm, maybe diabetes.  Was I going to be a diabetic?  Then, through this mist of sorrow I would reach for that happy spark of simple stuff like low iron.  I could handle that!  Yeah, that’s all it was.  If it was something really drastic then I would be rushed to Emergency right?  That was how I finally stopped thinking about it.

Sunday night I realized that the next day would be THE day that I saw my doctor and got the final say.  I decided to stay with my positive side.  No matter what happened, I could handle it.  And if I had to give up pizza or french fries then I would die happily at an early age eating the foods I loved.  (I know…I’m a total realist).

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Now, not only did I wake up to SUNSHINE after three weeks (hello Vitamin D), but that just added to my increased happy thoughts.  I ate a banana for breakfast.  I got there early.  I actually got to see Doc before my scheduled appointment.  I took a deep breath.  I relaxed and believed that there was nothing bad.  She walked in, “So, we are here to talk about your results.”  My heart skipped a beat.  I reminded myself, think positive.  “You’re not dying,” she said matter-of-factly.  “You’ll be happy to hear it’s your thyroid.”  Happy?  Happy to hear that something is wrong with me?  Short notes:  I have a slow thyroid which makes me sleepy and cold and with one pill a day I’ll be good as new.  Celebration time!

So, I am sharing my story to tell you:  GO SEE YOUR DOCTOR.  It can be good news.

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Don’t be a FOD (Fear of Doctor) type.  Be a SYD (See Your Doctor).  You might be pleasantly surprised and ask, “What’s up doc?”

Note 1:  Supreme artwork and colour choices were represented and drawn by Maryann.

Note 2:  Yes, I’m proud of it.

Note 3:  Yes, I’m improving.  I might try markers next time.