The title says it all. I am not shitting you. It's this ridiculous mess that has inspired me to write in the first place. Pooping in a take out box. I had to mull over whether I was going to write about this for a little while, so you much forgive me for back posting from the past few days. I assure you, the memories are fresh.
Let's start with the why. As in Why did I get into a predicament where my doctor requested that I poop in a take out box?
This last summer, I spent a month in a foreign free clinic working with a population who had basically been discarded by their society. It was a wonderful, learning experience. Naturally, I was exposed to a variety of disease, some expected and some not. The parasites were expected. The tuberculosis, not so much, though I should have known better.
When we were done and it was time to leave the country, we couldn't ignore that the pharmacies would prescribe you just about anything you requested. It just made sense to purchase your albendazole, a parasite medication, right up front, and then take it as it would be prescribed once you got to the states. It certainly was cheaper and saved a considerable amount of time. We've certainly heard enough stories of so and so coming back from X mission trip with a worm that was X inches long. These things need to be addressed.
I hate taking medications and I will not take them if I don't have to. Trust me, I took enough as a child. While on this trip, I looked a doctor nun straight in the eye and nodded my head when she said I had to take ibuprophen for a fever I developed. Then I took it once and never took it again. I LIED TO A NUN. Which seems like a horrible thing to do even though I wasn't raised Catholic.
Let's just say my aversion to needless meds is pretty strong. Saving myself a trip to the doctor was pretty tempting, but it wasn't enough. And I'll admit it, a large part of me felt that it wasn't the right thing to do.
Fast forward to another month later, when I've given my phantom worms some time to develop. I'm not feeling any different, but for my sanity, I need to go to the doctor, and I can't put it off much longer. The truth is, I have lost weight this summer and it wasn't on purpose. The school year is starting, and after some running around I get myself an appointment for a week out. I figure I might as well check in on my cholesterol and thyroid levels too. Family history things. I'm trying to be good this year.
The appointment at the student clinic goes well. The nurse offers me condoms and we have a good laugh that I'm too picky about brands to take them. The doctor comes in and is concerned that I've fasted for 12 hours, which I was told I needed to do if I wanted cholesterol testing by the registrar the day before. Can't make an appointment when there's class, so I fasted all day. I fill her in on all the details since she last saw me. 3 years ago.
It's decided that I need to take 9 stool samples over the course of 3 days. 6 for potential parasites, and three for occult blood. The parasite ones are tubes and the occult blood ones are these little paper cards.
Now I'm only a second year medical student. We're still in the basic science courses. I have never learned how to officially give a stool samples. This is what I was told.
1. Don't poop in the toilet.
2. Don't get urine on your poop.
3. Don't eat rare meat.
4. You are going to need to take samples from the front end and the back end.
5. Please read the directions, because it's really complicated and I know I'm missing something.
6. You might need to put this in the refrigerator but please read the directions to check on that.
7. Here's some extra Popsicle sticks to help you.
Honesty is always good. I like this woman. Though she never said the word poop. I have paraphrased.
So I'm sitting there, getting my arm wrapped up for my blood draw, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to put my poop in. I think I heard the word cup. A cup? A container? What container is going to be big enough for this and my high fiber diet?! How am I supposed to dispose of that damn thing properly without completely grossing out my roommates? I'm still getting to know one of them. I'm not sure if I want to bring this into our relationship people. It's time to break the silence.
"So uh...I'm just trying to figure out what um...I can put that in. With out...making a mess."
Because my ideas are all out. I have some disposable syrofoam cups and dessert plates from a orientation event I helped out with, but I'm pretty sure those cups will runeth over if I attempt this. And let's say I do manage to make a dainty little lady poop that fits nicely. HOW am I supposed to get to samples from both ends?
My health care provider thinks on this and perks up a little. She's having some kind of eureka moment.
"Do you have take out boxes? You could get some takeout food boxes and go in there".
What. I'm pretty sure my face has done all the talking it needs to. So she continues.
"Yeah! They would work great! Split them in half and catch it in there."
Catch. That word really bothers me for some reason. "Um ok then. I'll figure it out".
Now I really wish I just said screw it, and bought drugs from a third world country. If it wasn't for my damn pride and inherent guilt to do the right thing. I really do want to do the right thing though. If I'm above collecting my poop for medicine, then how can I expect patients to do the same?
So here's the quest.
1. Pick three pooping days in the next week.
2. Find something to poop on: Do I order crappy Chinese takeout just to poop in the box? Or should I just walk in and ask for empty take out boxes because I need to poop in them? Dare I try the styrofoam plates?
3. Figure out how to poop on it: I'm not sure exactly how this is going to work, because I can't poop in the toilet, and I certainly can't put my hands in there to hold a friggen TAKE OUT BOX if the seat is occupied by my butt. I guess I'm going to have to squat. And squatting toilets suck. Do you know how hard it is to squat and poop at the same time? I do. I became very familiar with this over the summer in a country where half the toilets don't have seats. Or maybe it's the weight lifting training, but my body doesn't relax in the position of peak strain.
4. Store the poop (from both ends!) in the specified containers: Easy enough. They gave me a brown paper bag to cover that up too. And I LEFT that damn bag at the hospital when I got distracted by an acquaintance. They had to call me and tell me I had a bag of meds left behind. So I got to choose between letting them think I'm on 6 different types of medications or give them the visual image that I need to poop in take out boxes. Figured the truth was easier. It makes much less interesting gossip.
5. Return poop to hospital. Final step!
I think...that I don't care if this is for my physical health. This is a challenge of mental resilience ALL the way, baby.
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