Today, my blog is about poopy. And a little bit about pee pee. But mostly poop. So, if you don't want to read about, think about, or hear about poop or any of it's derivatives, then no hard feelings, I'll see you next time.
When I was pregnant with my first child, I had to do one of those tests where you collect your pee for 24 hours in an orange container. Then, I loaded up the container in the back of my car and headed out for the doctor's office on my way to work. Well, I took a sharp curve and apparently the lid was not on tight, and guess what? Urine for a treat. Half the container spilled in the floorboard of the car. I rescued the other half and presented it hopefully to the nurse - won't this be enough? No, she said, you have to start all over.
Sigh. We do what we have to do. But over the years, I have developed such an aversion to bodily fluids, perhaps stemming from that incident, that I have to do things like close my ears in public restrooms so I won't accidentally hear someone else "go." Or if one of my dogs has an oopsy in the house, I have to carefully get a paper towel, lay it on top of the offending materials, and patiently wait for my husband to get home and deal with it. If someone talks about a booger or a small child sneezes out some goo, I involuntarily gag and my eyes water up.
Just another one of my issues. This week, however, I had to put my big girl panties on and deal with poop. One of my children has been quite ill for over a month, and in the process of discovering what is wrong, we have had to undergo multiple tests. After our last visit to the doctor, I was sent off with the "home stool sample kit." I knew when the lab tech handed it to me that I was going to have to dig deep, but, of course, I would do what I had to do. The frustration at seeing my baby going through so much pain, discomfort, and stress overrode any silly aversions.
I started out poorly. They give you these little bottles with little spoons attached and you have to scoop and store the stuff in a bottle with the special solution. My body reacted to the situation even though I had toilet paper stuffed up my nose and I was chanting in my head. I would scoop, gag, move the collection bin to the side so I could throw up in the toilet, and repeat. In doing so, my arm jerked and I spilled some of the solution. So I had to go to the kitchen and get some spatulas so I could corral the solution and drip it back in the bottle. Needless to say, the process took some time.
I finished the job and headed off to the lab with a freezer bag full of fun. I knew the route by heart and marched straight up to the lab door to find it locked. They were on their break for lunch for another 30 minutes. As I stood there, trying to decide what to do, a courier came up and knocked on the door. The nurse opened it, let the courier in, looked at me and my bag, and closed the door. I heard the lock click and knew we would never be friends.
Another tech came out to get herself some Reeses cups, assuring me it would be just a few more minutes. People were walking past and the bag was starting to smell - I could tell they thought it was me. When they finally decided their precious break was over, I walked in, handed over the goods, and told the friendlier tech that I was just dropping off. She held the bag up in the air, looked at it, and then looked at me. It's a stool sample, I explained, to which she made a "that's nasty" face and grunted. I was apologetic and slunk out of the room. But very indignant when I got back in my car.
Sigh. I guess I don't care, because I need to know what's going on with my child. We do what we have to do. Plus, I believe in karma, and I know the lab tech will encounter poop again, in a more unwelcome way. Perhaps it will be via a surprise handshake, or in a special cheer.
In that spirit, I give you my favorite Olivia Lee video, which is completely inappropriate and offensive.
Until next time, keep crowin' and doing what you have to do!