The British Chip Shop

Haddonfield, NJ, 08033

856-354-0204

My girls love fish and chips, and to be honest, they have not yet learned to be fish and chips snobs.  They would be just as happy at Arthur Treachers as they were sitting a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace, enjoying lunch on a drizzly August afternoon.  But as soon as Eilis saw the sign driving through Haddonfield that a Fish and Chip shop was coming, we knew we’d be there sooner rather than later.

Sooner was lunch just yesterday afternoon.  We celebrated my first day back to school since the stone ages by taking a ride to check the place out, and we were totally impressed by most everything.  The decor is reminiscent of what you’ll find in the UK, with dark, rich wood; a portrait of the Queen; and football jerseys lining the walls.  It was cozy and comfortable, and there were quite a few diners enjoying lunch or tea.

We settled into our seats, and the gang ordered various sodas from the UK, while I ordered an iced tea.  You won’t find Coke or Pepsi products here - only real UK sodas, a scary prospect if you’ve ever enjoyed some of the International sodas at EPCOT’s Club Cool.  Fortunately, everyone was pleased with their fizzy drink selections.  Because you are getting the imported product, you won’t get refills of your drinks, but between Jim, Eilis and Granuaile, we ended up with half a can of soda left over of the three varieties they ordered.

Jim and Eilis both ordered fish and chips - Eilis ordered a queen sized portion, while Jim opted for the larger King size.  Granuaile had fish and chips as well, except on the children’s size, they call them fish nibbleys.  The fish was perfection - light and crisp on the outside, moist and steaming hot on the inside.  The chips, while a bit closer to the American sized french fries than a real British chip, were okay - nothing terribly special.

The condiments on the table included HP sauce and malt vinegar, neither of which Eilis and Granuaile will use.  We ended up asking for ketchup for Granuaile and tartar sauce for Eilis.  The tartar sauce was deemed some of the best Eilis had ever tasted, but the portion was quite small - especially for the Jersey diner eating public.

I ordered the cottage pie, which they informed us was a 15 minute prep.  Everything here is cooked to order, so we accepted the wait for the pie, knowing it would be piping hot when served.  It was delicious, with a slight crust on the mashed potato top, and the expected piping hot inside.  I couldn’t finish the portion, especially after I dove into the spring mix green salad that accompanied my cottage pie.  I’m not sure what it was dressed with, but it was excellent.

We were all pretty full, but Jim wanted the whole UK experience, so we ordered the fried Mars bar to share, and I ordered a scone, which I hoped I didn’t have to share.  The Mars bar was a batter dipped candy bar, fried to crisp perfection on the outside, while the inside was a creamy chocolate and caramel.  Way too rich for me, but I can see why this could easily be someone’s request for their last meal.  The scone was a little disappointing - not as fresh tasting as I had hoped, with barely enough clotted cream and jam to put on one half, let alone two.  I would have used it all on one half, but Granuaile shared, so I had to split the tiny portion over two halves.

The one thing you will notice if you dine here is the one thing everyone dining in Haddonfield knows - it’s a dry town.  No fine Enlgish stouts here, I’m afraid.  If you are looking for a TRUE pub experience, you’ll have to bring your own brew.

Overall, we enjoyed our meal.  The only true disappointments were in the tiny portions of tartar sauce, jam, and clotted cream.  We really would have liked more of each.  Not a five star performance, but a solid four at least.

So, here’s the story.  Last summer, at the last minute, literally days before Florida schools would have been in session, we decided to move.  We were just going to pack up, hit the road, and begin a new adventure.  Having not lived in the Orlando area for a long time, we weren’t sure about neighborhoods, schools, or things along those lines.  As anxious as we were, we could have sent them to Dr. Nick’s School of SMRT Kids and probably been fine with that - at least for the school year - but we thought we should do a parent’s due diligence and scope out the lay of the land.

Because we were so late in deciding to do anything, renting seemed like a good idea.  We were driving around neighborhoods that we believed to be good, and in passing through, found a police car.  Jim, being the sociable being he is, pulled into the parking lot to ask the guy what he thought of the neighborhood.  In his honest opinion, he didn’t know anything about the neighborhood, but he did give us the business card for his buddy, Carl.

Carl knocked himself out last summer, trying to find our temporary Florida home, and when we finally found one, it was through no fault of his that the people renting it put oddities in their contract - including things like “If our air conditioner stops working, you have to replace it”.  We always knew that when the time was right again, we’d find Carl and work with him.

This was going to be the year to move.  I was planning to have surgery early in the summer, so by the end of the summer, I was in good shape, house hunting, and ready to go.  Unfortunately, I didn’t bounce back as quickly as I had hoped, and after a week of house hunting and not finding anything, I became sick and had to return to the hospital in NJ.

Carl never wavered for a moment in working with us, and provided us mountains of information and dozens of housing options.  He’s been great at scouting out areas with the best schools, and pointing us in the direction of the right house.

If you are ever in the Orlando area, looking for an agent that will find you what you need, check out Carl.  He will eventually be the agent who sells us our Florida home.

]]> http://skamarakas.com/anna/2010/08/29/an-real-estate-extraordinary-guy-carl-head/feed/ http://skamarakas.com/anna/2010/08/27/as-the-wound-turns-the-continuing-saga/ http://skamarakas.com/anna/2010/08/27/as-the-wound-turns-the-continuing-saga/#comments Fri, 27 Aug 2010 17:56:11 +0000 anna http://skamarakas.com/anna/?p=1373 Because people are sending me messages and asking ever so politely (like the one “What the hell is going on with you??”) why I haven’t updated my status and what’s going on with me, here’s the latest and the greatest.

First, no one is to feel sorry for what’s going on.  I am not the world’s best patient, by any stretch.  When I was supposed to be home, sitting on my arse, recovering from the initial surgery, I was reaching for things I couldn’t reach, taking car rides I didn’t need to take, and doing way more bending and lifting than I probably should.

Then when my surgeon expressed concern over a 10 day trip to Florida while I had an open wound, I gave him big puppy dog eyes and batted my eyelashes.  When he wasn’t impressed by either of those things, I begged, pleaded, and promised video conferencing if necessary.  He finally consented, against his better judgement, and we all know how that turned out.  I got infected with germs known only to alien space rangers inhabiting the far reaches of New Mexico in government secured facilities, and ended up spending nearly a week at the lovely Paoli Hospital and Day Spa.

Obviously, some of this is my own fault.  And really, it’s not all that bad.  I am not in a tremendous amount of pain; the nurses like to remind me that I shouldn’t be pushing, pulling, or lifting, so I’ve had quite the reprieve from housework and other daily chores; and my doctor is a cutie, so weekly visits to see him aren’t even all that painful.  So don’t feel sorry!!

So where am I now?

Let me introduce you to my significant other - the wound VAC.  This fabulous little device hangs around my neck, cleverly concealed in an oh so stylish black canvas bag (Louis Vuitton eat your heart out), and continually sucks stuff out of the wound.  The nifty and convenient canister holds all of the bodily fluids that my body apparently doesn’t need, and it improves circulation in the area of the wound to promote healing.  It reduces healing time by up to 60% on average.

And you thought I was just another imperfect face!

The nurses and my doctor seem really pleased with how well I am healing, although the one wound nurse that is an expert in this field estimates I probably have another two months committed to the wound VAC.  My goal is to be wound VAC free by the time of our Moms Panel October reunion.  Fingers crossed.

In the grand scheme of things, life is good.  I am well on my way to recovery, down about 15 pounds from where I was before surgery, and fitting more comfortably in a smaller size (or two, depending on the clothes).

Tune in next week…or whenever I get around to it…..to see the next chapter of As the World Turns!

If you have gotten one of these calls, please let us know below.

This is an illegal telemarketing activity dialing random numbers to lure in Spanish speaking US citizens and steal your personal information. There is no contest to win, and these types of boiler room operations only serve to do you harm. They wants your name, credit card information, and to do you nothing but harm.

Why is there no pause or delay in the call? Thats to avoid wasting time leaving messages on voice mail or answering machines. They want quick immediate responses as part of this smash and grab operation.

Why Spanish? Its who they are targeting. The US has a large Spanish speaking population. How large? According to the 2007 American Community Survey conducted by the United States Census Bureau, Spanish is the primary language spoken at home by over 34 million people aged 5 or older.

And what about people learning Spanish? There are 6 million Spanish students based on that 2007 survey.

For that boiler room operation, that is a huge audience to target.

Ways to tell these calls are not legit? Why no message at the end in English and Spanish telling you where they are from? Why call hundreds of numbers all over the country at random? Simple steps and common sense that illegal operations don’t want to do. Its one criminal offense to run these types of operations. It is another series of crimes to provide false or inaccurate information to deceive or lure you away from their true address and information. The criminals know this so they don’t risk multiple offenses. If the crimes they commit are low in number, or harder to prosecute, it makes law enforcement move on to another criminal.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  No, not when the kids go back to school!  No, not when you can put away your bathing suit (and the multitude of bathing suit covers that hid all the stuff you didn’t want people to see on the beach all summer long).

It’s time to gear up to apply for the Walt Disney World Moms Panel!  In just a very short time, you’ll be able to log in and apply for the job that will change your life.  Well, it changed mine anyway, and only in fabulously positive ways.

I’ll post a much longer post (because you all know that brevity is not my strong suit) about how much this has all meant to me, as I quickly and sadly approach the end of my tenure on the panel, but for now, BE EXCITED!

Keep your eyes peeled right here - http://disneyworldforum.disney.go.com/recruiting/the_program_is_closed.aspx

Audubon, NJ

Today was a busy day for us.  It was my first visit back to my surgeon since my hospitalization, and it seems that the nurses, even Nurse Ratched, are not lulling me into a false sense of security when they tell me my wound is looking good.  I have one damn sexy wound.

We drove out to Medford to pick the girls up, and having already been up since before six this morning, while I answered questions for www.disneyworldmoms.com, Jim took a nap.  We then left for his 4:45 appointment with the family doctor, just to see how he is and check on his blood pressure.  To top all of that off, we’ve been filling out disability forms that are really enough to drive anyone to mental illness, therefore qualifying them for disability.

So when we left the doctor’s office at just after 5, the thought of actually cooking dinner was appealing to no one.  When Jim offered to get something for dinner, I couldn’t decide what.  Granuaile wanted the diner for their SpongeBob special (fish sticks).  Eilis was happy with McDonald’s.  I couldn’t decide.  As a result of my indecision, we opted for Golden Corral - a chain buffet restaurant.  Surely they would have something for everyone.

And they did.  If what you were looking for was sticky tables, empty buffet stations, cruddy floors, nasty bathrooms (no, these bathrooms were beyond nasty - with an overwhelming odor of urine, filthy floors, and inadequate hand washing supplies), and dirty trays and utensils - they had it all.

The food here is basic American buffet fair.  You’ll find an abundance of fried food and starches; meats of some sort (on this particular evening, there was baked ham; pot roast; meatloaf; Bourbon chicken; Mongolian beef; and ribs); and something resembling a form of seafood - tonight being four different kinds of fried shrimp; fried catfish; and shrimp in lobster sauce.  It’s not good food, but it’s not bad food.  It’s mediocre food, all you want of it, cheap.

I’m not knocking Golden Corral - it is what it is, and it doesn’t pretend to be something it isn’t.  But it should at least be clean.  And it isn’t that.  On a night when there was no line waiting to get in, plenty of empty tables, and no packed buffet line, you have to wonder how bad it would be on those days we’ve driven past and the place is mobbed.

And next time, I’ll be quicker and more decisive so we don’t end up here again.

Beautiful Pennsylvania!  The air this morning is crisp for a day in August, starting out at 64 degrees.  There’s a gentle breeze blowing the leaves on the trees that are part of the stunning view I have outside of my window.  What a great way to wake up on summer vacation!

After admiring the sunrise, I grab my room service menu so I can order my breakfast.  Not too hungry this morning, and trying to watch my girlish figure.  A banana, some yogurt, and some granola sounds good.  And a cup of piping hot tea.  The air conditioning in my room was turned down a bit too low last night!

Then the real fun begins.  Because my “summer vacation”, as you all know, has so far been spent recovering from plastic surgery.  We won’t bore you with the details - here’s the Cliff’s Notes version - Weight Loss Surgery, Excess Skin, Tummy Tuck, Infection.  And the next turn on the road of summer fun we’re having so far takes me back where it all began.  Paoli Hospital.

I’m not even gonna post pictures of what my wound looks like.  Ewww.

So how did I get here?  Bad travel agent?  Cheap GPS?  Didn’t book through Travelocity?

This is what happened - a perfectly well thought out plan occurred.  I’d have gastric bypass surgery; lose a bunch of weight; have plastic surgery to take care of the ugly remnants of my former self; get a contract with the Ford Modeling Agency for Rapidly Aging Mothers; and if nothing else, at least not have to sweat my ass off in Spanx (God love them) every time I go to FL.

When I researched my surgery ahead of time, like a diligent non-emergency surgical consumer should, I thought I did a great job.  I checked out doctors and their credentials.  I looked into costs and variations.  I looked into the different types of procedures that might be available to me.  And I checked out hospitals and their spa like surroundings.  I had all of my pre-op ducks in a row - making sure the will was up to date, the kids were taken care of, and I had a ride to the hospital and a way to get home.

But the one part I sort of glazed over was the “risks and complications” area.  Because, after all, I’ve had a number of surgeries, and I bounce back really well.  I was up and caring for babies within hours of two of my c-sections.  I was playing on the floor with a not quite one year old Eilis the day after my gall bladder was taken out.  I was back in the car line for school one day later when my kidney stones were removed.  And how many times do you have to hear that I did Disney World 10 days after gastric bypass surgery?  I tell everyone that!  Who would think there would be risks and complications?  That just doesn’t happen to me.

So now that I have risks, complications, and at least four different bacteria - all bad - living among my bits and pieces (including a staph infection and a gram negative bacteria), I want you guys to know that you have to be better researchers than I was.  I am learning the hard way there is no such thing as being Unbreakable.  And I learned that I need to better follow doctors’ orders.  But if you’re a mom, you know how hard it is not to do the things your family needs or wants you to do.  You have to do it.

That’s my trip report on this summer’s journey.  Not as fascinating as a trip cross country.  Not as exciting as a cruise through the British Isles.  Not even as interesting as a trip to Milwaukee for Irish Weekend.  But you can consider this my Public Service Announcement of the moment.  Before you embark on any journey, remember not to just focus on the destination.  Make sure you map out all the twists and turns.

In deciding to review my surgeon, I thought of the many times I went to the Obesity Help website - http://www.obesityhelp.com/ - to look at other people’s experiences with gastric bypass surgeons and plastic surgeons.  I could read the descriptions and while personalities often dictate the type of person you may “fit” with, I felt like I got a fairly good understanding of what I wanted and didn’t want in a surgeon.

So, for those of you looking for someone to do plastic surgery, I hope you’ll find the review helpful - but take it with a grain of salt.  This is based on my experience, and it is based on my personality as well.  You may not mesh with the same type of person I would mesh with, and vice versa.

The surgeon I chose to do my procedures was Dr. Nestor Veitia.  The first thing that you notice is he exudes warmth.  He smile is genuine, his handshake sincere.  There was a very quick leap for me from being absolutely terrified to being only slightly panicked, and I credit his calm and approachable demeanor.

As a fat chick, I sometimes (oh, who am I kidding - ALWAYS) go into situations with body image issues and the feeling that my fat arse is being judged.  I felt none of that with Dr. Veitia.  With a vast amount of experience in reconstructive surgery for people following significant weight loss, I imagine he has probably seen the worst of it in terms of hanging aprons of skin, plagued with and broken down by chronic rashes.  I felt treated no differently than I would expect Heidi Klum to be treated for a crows foot (because you know Heidi Klum is too perfect to get crows FEET).  There was no sense that I was being judged for eating too much cheesecake or too many Oreos.  There was only compassionate understanding of my request for the surgery.

This doctor took the time to explain everything to me in a manner that was understandable by lay people, but not in a way that you felt as though the explanation was being dumbed down, or that you were being talked down to.  I felt comfortable asking questions, and never got the impression that my questions were ignorant in their nature.

Along the way, I have felt like my input into the direction the course of my treatment takes has been considered and acknowledged, and I love the way decisions I didn’t feel comfortable making on my own (like whether or not I should go to Colorado) were discussed and given honest medical feedback so that I was armed with the proper tools to make the decisions.

I felt like the risks of the procedure were explained going in, and some of the complications I’ve experienced post-op have been explained and again, my questions answered and my interests and concerns about the direction of my treatment definitely considered.

And of course, there is the super valuable fact that he does indeed laugh at my jokes.

I could not recommend this surgeon any more if he were my brother.  Professional, compassionate, knowledgeable, and possessing wicked mad SKILZ - those are all of the things I looked for and found with Dr. Veitia.

You can find Dr. Veitia at the Surgical Specialists Group in Paoli and West Chester, PA through the link below

http://www.surspc.com/bio_22_veitia.htm

The pain was excruciating - worse than any of my three c-sections - and I really probably would have been much more comfortable at the hospital.  But, being the pain in the butt that I am, I wanted to go home.  I figured there was really nothing that could be done for me in the hospital that I couldn’t do for myself at home - or someone could do for me.  Food wasn’t tasting good, so I wasn’t going to eat much.  I had my pain meds, so there was no need for the morphine pump.  Jim had arranged the downstairs so that our recliner was closer to the middle of the room, near the coffee table and the sofa.  That way, I could sleep on the recliner, and he could sleep right next to me on the couch; plus, everything I needed would be right there on the coffee table.  It worked out great.

But honestly, I should have stayed the extra night.

My in-laws came up to pick us up, and even just getting into the car was horrendous.  Every muscle in my stomach hurts, and getting in and out of the wheelchair, then in and out of the car didn’t help.  I couldn’t wait to get home.

Not being a pain pill person, I was surprised to find myself looking forward to the six hour mark, when I could take them!  I felt very strongly like I needed them, otherwise, I would have worked through the pain without them.  That’s just plain crazy.

My first week at home was marked by resting on the recliner.  Laying flat is not an option, so the bed was not an option for me.  I had loads of help between the grandparents and Jim, plus Eilis went to the shore for a long July 4th weekend.  You are going to need help - there is no question.  You won’t be able to lift more than 5 pounds, and forget driving while on the pain meds.

Bottom line - don’t try to be brave; try to be smart.  Anticipate the need for pain meds and don’t grit your teeth and tough it out.  When they say walk around, that does not mean do a 5K - take it easy.  Rest, relax, and recuperate.

I am off and on closing my eyes, and when I finally start to get my wits about me, I realize we have no “real” power.  We’ve had an enormous storm, and power has been cut to the hospital.  The real me, that lies somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain feels a second of panic, and I wonder if I’ve actually been operated on, or if we have to come back and do this all over again tomorrow.  Then the drugged out, barely out of anesthesia part of my brain starts singing “Don’t Worry Be Happy”, and all is right with the world.

I hear them say something about having to move all of us from recovery to regular rooms, where there is apparently better access to electricity, and within minutes, I am being moved.  I think.  I remember being told I was moving, and I remember being in the room.  Nothing else is in the “in between” part.

The first thing I want you to know is I am in pain.  As soon as I am aware, there is pain.  The nurses make sure I know where my morphine button is, but I am hesitant to use it, as I want to be able to get up, move around, and get the hell outta here.  It’s a hospital, after all!

I have compression boots on my feet, I am catheterized, and still on an IV when they come later that evening to walk me around.  I can’t even begin to tell you how bad the pain is when they try to sit me up.  Everything below my neck feels like it’s on fire.  They seem to be trying to sit me up in such a way that the agony is overwhelming, and I am crying.  I’ve never done that after a surgery before.  Seriously.

I think the better thing would have been to up the back of the bed as straight up as it could go, and lower the leg part as low as it could go, then try to turn on my butt to get out, but they wanted to pull me to an upright position, and have me hold onto them as I pulled myself out of the bed.  All I could think is that they have obviously replace the nurses with candy stripers who have no idea what I’ve just been through.  That or Nazis.  I knew I should have bought the cross with the whole Jesus on it - it would have stood out more.

After they walk me from my bed to the sink in the bathroom - we’re talking maybe 10 feet - they let me go back to my bed.  They are cheering and congratulating me as if I’ve just completed the Iron Man competition - bless their hearts.  The first thing they do is give me my morphine button and a pep talk on USING the damn thing.  Why thank you, I think I shall!

There is no food from room service this evening, because the lack of power has eliminated their ability to prepare food.  I feel terrible for Jim, who is here with me with no car, but he manages to find a vending machine running on an emergency generator somewhere.  Food at this moment to me sounds like certain death, so I pass.

It’s a fitful night sleeping for me, but the nurses really do give me some space and time to shut my eyes a bit.  Vitals are taken, catheter is removed, and I am one step closer to heading out the door!