Wednesday morning my favorite nurse, Nurse Compassionate Concern, called me at work. The supplies for my 24-hour Pee-a-thon had arrived, and could be picked up anytime before 4:00. I enquired about the results of Monday’s test.
“Err…about that,” said Nurse CC.
It seems that Monday’s test, the one with the fasting and the vial of platinum and the blood draws one-hour apart, was ordered in error. They were very sorry. No, they couldn’t tell me the results anyway, “just for fun.” They hadn’t sent the blood out at all. Well, they disposed of it. The clinic manager would arrange to have me reimbursed for the injection. Yes, they still really wanted me to do the pee test. No, they wouldn’t “dispose of that too.”
So, Wednesday afternoon I picked up my “supplies” at the clinic—One orange vat, shaped like a gas-can, sporting a skull and crossbones on the side labeled “POISON!” and warning that it contained a boric acid capsule for “urine preservation.” Small print entreated me not to fish it out and swallow it. Nurse Compassionate Concern handed me my vat in a crinkly plastic bag from The Dairy Queen.
Class, that’s what that is.
Thanks to T’s excellent advice in my comments and via email, I took the opportunity to sternly request an RPL (Repeat Pregnancy Loss) panel to find out if I am a MoTHeRFucking Mutant, or whatnot. Nurse Compassionate Concern promised to speak to Dr. Doctor and hopefully I will have the blood for the panel drawn tomorrow when I return my urine. Yes, that’s right, I am now in hour nine of my pee-a-thon. Luckily when my Laparoscopied Boss–in the course of her inquiries about my latest round of tests–heard I would be performing my pee-a-thon today, she saved me from having to do it at work (I have eaten up all of my sick and vacation time save one day, while still managing never to have taken more than one day off consecutively) by giving me a project to do at home and letting me make up the rest of the time Saturday morning.
So, I shall collect all of my urine in a paper cup, pour it into the poisonous vat, and bring it to the clinic at 7:00 tomorrow morning so they can test it for Cortisol. I wonder when the results will be back—Monday? Tuesday? I hope the technicians will not be disconcerted to find that my urine is about 3/5 Verdejo. Mmmm. (I am off the clock now, you twits).
I quite enjoyed today’s flashback to my freelancing days—writing important email whilst wearing housepants, flagging citations whilst shimmying to “Superstitious” and eating wasabi peas. And tonight I go to see Joan Didion—I hope I don’t have to pee during the reading, because I will not have my vat with me (it does not go with my dress).
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Moon Face.
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Mutants do it better, y’know. So glad you convinced them to test you – kinda forgot to mention that they’ll take about a gallon or so of blood – just a little heads up. Good luck!
Oh and WHAT THE FUCK about the idiotic clinic? How could they order a test in error? ggrrrrrrr.
I’m laughing so hard. I feel a little bad about it though, since I’m laughing at your pain.
The wrong test? The warning on the poisonous pee vat? It’s all just too much.
So glad your boss was kind. Working at home rocks.
Damn it. I guess it’s too late for you to fish out that capsule and give it a try, huh? That would have been fun.
I heard an interview with Joan Didion recently on NPR. Sounds fascinating. Enjoy that.
But don’t drink a lot of fluids beforehand.