Monthly Archives: March 2016

Every Drop

This is probably the first blog post you’ve ever read about pee. It is definitely the first blog post that I have ever written about it. But this blog is about Finding Funny and collecting a 24 hour urine sample is funny.

I should go ahead and warn you, that this post is going to say the word “pee” a lot. I do know other words for it. I know a lot of other verbs for peeing, such as urinating, micturating, passing water. But I work in pediatrics. The three P’s of pediatrics are: peein’, poopin’, and pukin’.  These are words we use in a professional setting. So if that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to stop reading now.

I was having some mystery pain.  The multiple tests involved in trying to find the source of the pain was like starring in an episode of House M.D. One of those tests is called a 24 hour urine. The name pretty much says it all. You collect every drop of your urine for 24 hours. I’ve heard of this test and know it’s purpose, but I had never had to collect one as patient or nurse. So I listened as the nurse explained what I would do.

She handed me a bucket and told me to collect all of my urine for 24 hours and bring it to the office the next morning. I was thinking to myself that I would have to keep this bucket under my desk at work. I would probably have to keep it in a bag of some sort since I would be toting it back-and-forth to the bathroom all day at work.

The nurse continued to explain when to start and stop the test, I’m waiting for her to hand me what we call a “nun’s hat.”  This is basically a big measuring cup with winged edges that hangs on the toilet seat. It looks like the hat that Sally Field wore in The Flying Nun.  If you’re under 50, you’ve probably never seen The Flying Nun. I remember in college once, a boy stopped me when I was walking across campus, to tell me that I look like Sally Field. And I was fine with that because Sally Field was cute. She still is.

 

The nurse did not hand me a nun’s hat. So I asked her how am I supposed to get it in that bucket? I’m not going to tell you about her suggestions but let’s just say peeing in a cup at the doctors office usually results in a small sample in the cup and a large sample on my hand. So her suggestion was not going to work. I don’t know what kind of relationship other people have with their urine stream, but I don’t have a relationship with mine. It does not obey commands. It is its own separate entity with its own agenda, which apparently does not involve straight lines into buckets or cups.

Then came the last part of the instructions… “And you keep this in the refrigerator.”  [Sound of screeching brakes.] “Wait, what? I keep it where?”  I get a visual image of my big bucket of pee in the refrigerator at work with all of my coworkers’ lunches. This is when it occurs to me that I can’t do this test at work.  I check my calendar for the best date possible to spend 24 hours collecting urine and turning it into the doctor the next morning. This means it has to be done on a Sunday.

I spent all week knowing that this test will be coming up on Sunday. My mantra for the week was “don’t pee at church, don’t pee at church, don’t pee at church.”  I don’t know what happens if one accidentally goes while out in public and does not put it in the bucket in the fridge. I assume an alarm sounds at the doctors office.

I go to church with my grandmother. She often asks if we like to come over for lunch after church. I told her that I couldn’t and explained why. And she laughed at me. Because it’s funny.

Since I had no nun’s hat, I went to the dollar store and bought a large measuring cup with a handle. This was as close as I could get to a nun’s hat and it serve me well for 24 hours. Then I threw it away, in case you were wondering.

The bucket was gallon sized, or 4 liters to be more specific. Mine was less than half full after 24 hours. Generally, the amount of fluids that we take in is exactly the amount we put out, and I didn’t take in or put out much that day. Since I was at church all morning, I didn’t drink anything. So, it turned out that not peeing at church wasn’t an issue after all. I avoided the temptation to collect more than 24 hours’ worth or add water to make it look better. I turned in my piddly puddle of piddle with pride.

 

Who Writes This Stuff?

Memes are all over the internet these days. Before I get into this post, let me answer a couple of questions about memes. It’s pronounced “meem,” it rhymes with seem and deem. It does not sound like MiMi, your grandmother, or Mimi on The Drew Carey Show, or Mimi Rogers, Tom Cruise’s first wife. If you don’t know what a meme is, the dictionary is not helpful… “a cultural item in the form of an image that is spread via the internet and altered in a humorous way.” If you didn’t already know what a meme is, that surely didn’t turn on any light bulbs. However, by the time we finished here, you’ll know what a meme is, because that’s what this post is all about.

It seems that there’s an unwritten rule that those who make memes must be unable to form a grammatically correct sentence and/or must use poor spelling. I’ve collected just a few of the hundreds of bad examples to show you why I never share them. Sometimes, I may agree with the message, but refuse to perpetuate the bad English they exhibit.

Speaking of bad English, the meme below is my absolute favorite meme to hate. I wouldn’t share this one even if it was grammatically correct, but the irony just kills me. It attempts to insult those who don’t speak English, while using poor grammar in the process!

Then there’s this one. What you’re missing is an apostrophe and the letter e.

Perhaps this is where the missing apostrophe from the last one ended up.

While this meme brings back great childhood memories, “layed” is not a word.

It’s hard out there for linguaphiles and logophiles. Our obsession with proper language and spelling prevents us from joining in on this simple pleasure. If you see any well written memes, let me know!

Vacation Aftermath

Let’s face it, traveling is stressful. Sure, when our friends go on vacation we beg them to take us along. We comment “Jealous!” on their photos. We count down the weeks until it’s our turn to be the one that everyone envies. But, when vacation time finally arrives, we’re reminded of how much work it really is… Planning, packing, arranging for house sitters and dog sitters, airport security, rude flight attendants, babies crying throughout the entire flight. Despite my overpacking, I’ll still discover that I forgot something important.

I always find myself wishing I had a week off to recover from vacation. I didn’t take a whole extra week this time, but I did take off one extra day to recover, do laundry, etc. When we arrived home, we threw our suitcases down and said we’ll deal with unpacking tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’d been experiencing a nagging pain since before our vacation began. I didn’t have time to have it checked before we left, so I took advantage of the day off and scheduled an appointment. Luckily, they had an opening.

So, I’m getting ready for my appointment, stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in a towel and pulled open my underwear drawer.  [Tangent: I hope you’re okay with the word “underwear” for women. I’ve never really understood why we have to have different words than men. Panties vs. underwear. Blouse vs. shirt. I wear underwear. So now, back to the story…]  I open the drawer and find a big empty space where undies should be. I had packed them all.

There was no time to do a load of laundry before my appointment. I had a couple of options. One was to go without. Then I remembered, they’re going to put me in a gown with a wide open back. You know the gown I’m talking about. The one they make you wear so that you don’t forget who is the superior one in the doctor/patient relationship. The one who literally wears the pants.

My only other option is to drag out the stuff that has been relegated to the back of the drawer. The stuff that hasn’t been worn in years. That’s right… the sexy stuff. The first pair I pulled out were tiny. When did these ever fit me?! Next, I found some that looked like they would cover the most surface area. When I stretched out the waistband to step in them, I heard the unmistakable crackle of disintegrated elastic. Yes, they’ve been back there a long time.

I finally found a lacy pair that fit and hadn’t died of old age and neglect. I finished getting dressed and headed to the doctor’s office. After all of that, they didn’t make me put on a gown! I could’ve gone commando after all. If there’s a moral to this story, I suppose it’s that I should avoid overpacking for vacation, and leave one pair of emergency underwear in the drawer.

In case you’re wondering, they didn’t find the source of my pain that day, but they did give me some lovely pain medication to help out until it I can see a specialist. I’m writing to you now through the fog of Percocet. I anticipate your comments to determine if it enhances or hinders my writing abilities.

This is me, not wearing a gown.

[Post note: It turned out to be an ulcer. No surgery necessary. Just one pill a day.]