If I were a postal employee I would be outraged by this.
If they only knew.
Or do they know?
Have we really gotten this busy?
As a full-time working mom I for one appreciate the convenience. I doubt that the post office does.
Why, you ask? What are they delivering?
They are delivering my shit.
I’m not even joking.
I recently had a physical. I’ve been having some tummy troubles, and I haven’t quite been able to figure out what to attribute it to.
- I’ve tried eliminating dairy (didn’t work)
- I quit drinking pop three months ago
- My doctor thinks it might be anxiety-related
- My stepmom thinks I eat too many raisins
- My friend thinks I’m allergic to gluten
- I actually think I might drink too much coffee
So what gives? Why do I suddenly have diarrhea on an almost daily basis? My doctor wanted to get to the bottom of it. He asked me to give a poo sample. You can imagine how comfortable I was discussing my diarrhea issues with my 60+ male physician. Well, I guess it wasn’t that bad in all honestly, I mean, I’m telling you all right?
He says that he wants me to submit a poo sample, and that I can even mail it in. (Selling point?)
What the heck?
I nodded my head as he shook my hand and said the nurse would be back with prescriptions, my blood test order and the poo pack.
Sure enough the nurse comes into the office and hands me a small cardboard box.
“You can mail this with five stamps,” She tells me. “Or you can drop it off here.”
Drop it off here? Does she think I have nothing better to do but complete my 8 ½ hour shift at work, pick up my kid, go home and make dinner, do laundry, get us all ready for the next day, i.e., pack bags, lunch, pick out outfits, etc. and that I can just make a leisurely stop at the doctor’s office (completely out of my way) to deliver my sample?
I do appreciate this convenience. I love this convenience. Five stamps, 10 stamps, I don’t care! Whatever it takes to not have to drive back to the doctor’s office.
But then I found myself having all sorts of questions, overanalyzing if you will….do the mail people know that they are picking up people’s poop? Will I tell my mail lady at work – who I talk to everyday – that she is picking up my poop?
“Well, hello there, Cindy….please be sure to be extra careful with that cardboard box. It has my shit in it. And by the way, thank you sooooo much. You’re sure making my life a lot easier by delivering my poop to my doc!”
A. W. K. W. A. R. D.
But, I actually worried that I might say that.
Luckily the day I mailed my poop she had a sub. Phew, I wasn’t going to tell the tatted dude who came in that he was picking up my crap. I simply smiled and said hello. But in my head I was all….omg, omg, that poor man has no idea that he is picking up my poo! And then I giggled.
If I don’t worry about the postal employees then am I all good here?
Because I think I actually may have scarred my 2-year-old while taking on this task. On a Saturday afternoon after drinking a large Dunkin Donuts iced coffee I was all – OK time to do this.
Git r done….I’m hearing that hillbilly guy’s voice. I despise this saying btw.
I grabbed the cardboard box and opened it to read the instructions.
Seems easy enough.
My first turd completely rolled off the piece of paper and plopped in the toilet. I started screaming. My husband ran into the bathroom carrying the Chiquita. “What is going on?”
The Chiquita is eyeing the piece of paper like wtf. She’s no dummy. She knows her mom’s a bit of a whack job.
“I can’t go #2 on a piece of paper. This is insane!”
“Well, you have to! Suck it up!”
Then does he leave? No! He stands there. Holding the Chiquita. While I attempt again to go to the bathroom on a piece of paper. This is messed up.
The Chiquita is seriously like wtf. (Poor kid)
OK, deed is done!
Now to “pierce” it. Yes, that’s what you have to do. This is why I’m not in the medical field, because are you serious right now? This is MINE and I’m completely grossed out. I can’t even imagine if it were someone else’s.
I’m standing there (naked) trying to pierce the poop sample, and I start gagging. Like major gagging. Like dry-heaving I’m going to throw up in a second gagging. I’m screaming, “I’m going to throw up!!!!!!!!!! I can’t do this!”
Husband is laughing.
The Chiquita is screaming, “Poop! Poop! Poop, Mommy, poop! Poop! Paper! Mommy, Poop, Paper.”
For two days following this “event” when the Chiquita would walk by the bathroom she would say: “Poop! Mommy Poop, Paper.”
So, I ask you this. Are we really too busy to give poop samples like we used to?