Monday, June 28, 2004
Third Opinion
I went to the doctor's office last Wednesday to go over the second round of blood work stemming from my little BP problem. My cholesterol is ok, but my BP is going haywire again. I've never had this problem before. My doc is baffled.
He hands me a cup for a urine sample. No big deal. I've done that before. Then he hands me a giant, plastic, one gallon container and tells me that I have to piss in it for 24 hours (no, not in a row) and keep it on ice. My first thought is, "How the hell am I going to handle taking this thing to work?". My second thought is, "I'm not going to work tomorrow.". Easy resolution to a difficult problem.
So I'm sitting at home Thursday morning when the first urge to piss strikes me. I grab the piss bucket and try to figure out the best way to position it with minimal leakage all over myself. Let me tell you, the hole in the top of this thing is small. Now I confess, I don't have a Mandingo Warrior massive cock or anything, but it was way too small for me to slide into. So I'm standing over the toilet, holding the container with my left hand, trying to line up the head of my dick right over the opening. My brain must have had a hard time adjusting to this situation and shut the pissing process off completely. I absolutely couldn't go.
Step away.
Take a deep breath.
Try again.
Finally it works. This shit feels too weird. Now I'm trying to figure out how to shake the dew off without splashing. I'll spare the details and just say I did it.
Fast forward to later that night as the beers start flowing. A couple of hours later I'm thinking this thing won't hold as much as I'm going to piss....and it's getting very heavy. There's a little handle on top but it isn't going to do me any good. I decide that's enough piss for my demented doctor, seal it up, pack it in a cooler with ice and call it a night. The next morning I go to get it and bring it to his office when I notice that the ice has melted in the cooler and is leaking on the floor. Well, it better be ice anyway. Then I remember that he also gave me a little cup for a second sample. What the fuck? He's got enough to choke a horse and he wants more in a little cup? Whatever. I start to go in the cup (I got my technique down and everything) when I notice I'm about to fill it up and I'm still going. Ever try to stop pissing in mid-stream? Don't. Once again, I'll spare you the details.
As I drive to his office, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to walk into a crowded doctor's office while holding a gallon of piss without losing my dignity. I figure I'll keep it in the cooler and not even stop at the front desk. Just walk right on through the door leading to the back and hope to God I find a nurse to take this off my hands. Sure enough, a nurse is right there.
Me: Where do I need to put this sample?
Her: Stool sample?
Me: No thanks. I just ate. (Not really, but it would have been funny.)
Me: It's a 24 hour urine sample.
Her: Just set in on the counter over there.
Me: Do you have a towel I can put it on? It's wet on the bottom.
She looks at me like I just ate her kid.
Me: No, no, no. It's wet from the ice melting.
Her: It doesn't matter. Just set it over there.
I put it down and get the fuck out of there. I'm almost at the front door when I hear her yelling at me, "Sir, did you put your name on the urine container?"
Fuck. She really didn't have to do that in the middle of the waiting room, did she? I tell her yes, my name and date of birth are on it. Kind of like a born on date like they do with Budweiser I guess. Finally I'm out of that damn place and seriously think about taking a leak on the side of the building just to make myself feel better, but there's a security guard outside and decide against it. That whole situation was fucked up. They better not tell me I'm pregnant.
The only pleasure I have is the fact that I purposely ate asparagus the night before, which always makes my piss smell to high heaven. That poor lab tech won't know what hit him.
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He hands me a cup for a urine sample. No big deal. I've done that before. Then he hands me a giant, plastic, one gallon container and tells me that I have to piss in it for 24 hours (no, not in a row) and keep it on ice. My first thought is, "How the hell am I going to handle taking this thing to work?". My second thought is, "I'm not going to work tomorrow.". Easy resolution to a difficult problem.
So I'm sitting at home Thursday morning when the first urge to piss strikes me. I grab the piss bucket and try to figure out the best way to position it with minimal leakage all over myself. Let me tell you, the hole in the top of this thing is small. Now I confess, I don't have a Mandingo Warrior massive cock or anything, but it was way too small for me to slide into. So I'm standing over the toilet, holding the container with my left hand, trying to line up the head of my dick right over the opening. My brain must have had a hard time adjusting to this situation and shut the pissing process off completely. I absolutely couldn't go.
Step away.
Take a deep breath.
Try again.
Finally it works. This shit feels too weird. Now I'm trying to figure out how to shake the dew off without splashing. I'll spare the details and just say I did it.
Fast forward to later that night as the beers start flowing. A couple of hours later I'm thinking this thing won't hold as much as I'm going to piss....and it's getting very heavy. There's a little handle on top but it isn't going to do me any good. I decide that's enough piss for my demented doctor, seal it up, pack it in a cooler with ice and call it a night. The next morning I go to get it and bring it to his office when I notice that the ice has melted in the cooler and is leaking on the floor. Well, it better be ice anyway. Then I remember that he also gave me a little cup for a second sample. What the fuck? He's got enough to choke a horse and he wants more in a little cup? Whatever. I start to go in the cup (I got my technique down and everything) when I notice I'm about to fill it up and I'm still going. Ever try to stop pissing in mid-stream? Don't. Once again, I'll spare you the details.
As I drive to his office, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to walk into a crowded doctor's office while holding a gallon of piss without losing my dignity. I figure I'll keep it in the cooler and not even stop at the front desk. Just walk right on through the door leading to the back and hope to God I find a nurse to take this off my hands. Sure enough, a nurse is right there.
Me: Where do I need to put this sample?
Her: Stool sample?
Me: No thanks. I just ate. (Not really, but it would have been funny.)
Me: It's a 24 hour urine sample.
Her: Just set in on the counter over there.
Me: Do you have a towel I can put it on? It's wet on the bottom.
She looks at me like I just ate her kid.
Me: No, no, no. It's wet from the ice melting.
Her: It doesn't matter. Just set it over there.
I put it down and get the fuck out of there. I'm almost at the front door when I hear her yelling at me, "Sir, did you put your name on the urine container?"
Fuck. She really didn't have to do that in the middle of the waiting room, did she? I tell her yes, my name and date of birth are on it. Kind of like a born on date like they do with Budweiser I guess. Finally I'm out of that damn place and seriously think about taking a leak on the side of the building just to make myself feel better, but there's a security guard outside and decide against it. That whole situation was fucked up. They better not tell me I'm pregnant.
The only pleasure I have is the fact that I purposely ate asparagus the night before, which always makes my piss smell to high heaven. That poor lab tech won't know what hit him.
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