putting the GI in gibberish, part ii…

[I don’t know that this post needs a trigger warning, unless you’re triggered by stool, but it definitely needs a grossness warning. So, grossness ahead. Proceed at your own risk.]

So as I discussed in a previous post, due to some abdominal pain and nausea my new GI nurse practitioner ordered an abdominal ultrasound and stool tests so we could get a better idea of how my digestive organs are functioning.

The Tests

First up was a bunch of blood tests. No big whoop. Next was the stool test. Thankfully, the test could be conducted at home. Once the sample was obtained, I could either run it to the lab immediately, or stick in my freezer for a bit. My poor husband has had to see my saliva, blood, and urine in our freezer at different times throughout our relationship. I’m not a divorce lawyer, but I’m pretty sure adding shit to that list is immediate grounds for divorce, or at the very least requires that I buy him a new freezer.

Taking my sample to the lab on the same day of the ultrasound seemed like the easiest option with fewest trips to the clinic. So, I planned to obtain the sample at home that morning, assuming things were working normally.

A few days earlier, a lab tech handed me the “take your shit at home” stook kit, but it didn’t include any instructions. Apparently it’s some unwritten rule that anytime I’m having any kind of embarrassing procedure or situation, like itchy scarlet fever rash on my very very very upper thighs or a stool test, all of the average looking doctors and techs are home sick that day and I have to get the David Beckham of doctors/techs.

I waivered on enduring the mortification for several moments but ended up deciding that I only want to go through this shit (haha) once, so better to ask. Handsome Chris, the lab tech, said that it’s pretty self explanatory – poop in the plastic tub, use the popsicle stick to scoop some out (why is it always a fucking popsicle stick??? Ruined Fudgsicles for me for life), and put it in the two containers.

Two???

Yes, Handsome Chris said, since we’re testing pancreatic enzymes, fat, and H.Pylori (it’s a bacteria).

Back to the plastic tub for a moment – if you’ve ever had to do an at-home urine test, like the 24-hour tryptase test for MCAS – you were probably given a big white plastic bowl with a long rim that you can set on top of the toilet bowl, then lower the seat on top of it so it stays in place, hands-free, while you pee. It looks like a white plastic sombrero, and when you’re done you can flip it over, grab some maracas, and have a fiesta.

This looked nothing like that. It was a kidney-shaped tub that fit in the palm of my hand. Clearly it wasn’t designed to rest on the toilet seat, so I was having difficulty imaging how, logistically, this was supposed to work. I asked Handsome Chris if he had any tips.

“Yeah, wear gloves.” Not exactly the pep talk I was hoping for.

So, on the morning of the ultrasound, I laid out my two specimen containers, kidney-shaped collection tub, and Fudgsicle sticks, and donned my gloves. The nice thing about the pee pee sombrero is that it doesn’t require a lot of aim on my part. The bowl is wide enough that my entire ass could probably fit in there, so certainly a little urine is bound to find its way in. Not as certain with the poop tub. I spent a couple moments debating the proper collection position – do you go in from the front or the back? How will I know if I’m properly lined up? What if I’m too far to the right?

Fortunately, pooping in small containers turned out to be one of my rare but formidable talents, and should probably be added to my resume. Nothing but net. I’ll spare you the details about the rest of the collection and will just confirm that it is probably one of the grossest things I have ever done in my life. I get up early to take the dog out, so my poor dog witnessed the whole thing. We haven’t made eye contact since.

My poop-at-home kit came with a paper bag in which to return the specimen. I buckled the bag into my front passenger seat, determined not to have shit all of my car in the event of an unlikely accident or emergency braking, and headed to the lab.

The Drop-off

The specimen containers in the bag had labels with my name and medical ID #. I had also written my name and ID on the paper bag with the specific intention of being able to accomplish a discrete drop off at the lab. The waiting room at the lab was full when I arrived, so I handed the paper bag to the receptionist and told her I was dropping off a sample.

“NAME?” She shouted. I whispered that it was written on the bag and on the collection containers inside the bag. “NAME?” she asked again. So, I quietly told her. Apparently in addition to getting the attractive doctors when I have to perform disgusting tests, I also get the hard-of-hearing drop off lab workers. So this time she demanded that I tell her my name louder. Then she asked what was in the containers.

At this point everyone in the waiting room is staring at me because what the fuck else is there to do at 6:25 a.m. on a Thursday at the lab clinic when their wifi sign-on wasn’t working, and the crimson shade of embarrassment coloring my face was the most entertaining thing in the room. I tried to quietly tell receptionist that I’m dropping off a stool sample, but again, she didn’t catch that.

“IT’S A WHAT?” she shouted.

Me, hushed: It’s a stool sample.

“A WHAT?”

Me, a little louder, but still quiet: It’s my stool sample.

“IT’S A WHAT SAMPLE?”

Me, now frustrated and shouting: IT’S A GODDAMN STOOL SAMPLE, DOLORES. MY NAME IS LINDSAY ________ AND I’M DROPPING OFF A GODDAMN STOOL SAMPLE.

At this point I’m mortified and imagining that this some kind of prank where some outdated actor will step out from behind a conveniently-placed curtain in the corner that I somehow didn’t notice and announce that I have just been Prank’d or Jok’d or whatever the latest show is where we laugh hysterically at other people’s misfortune. But at least I imagine it can’t get any worse.

Then hard-of-hearing Dolores pulls both specimen containers out of the bag, holds them both up to the light, and announces to Katie at the desk behind her that LINDSAY _________ HAS JUST DROPPED OFF TWO VERY LARGE STOOL SAMPLES while holding them up for the entire waiting room to see.

I’m a pretty simple gal. I don’t have a lot of goals in life. Maybe just to be happy and retire at a reasonable age. But not ever having another human being see my shit is pretty close to the top of the list. At this point, I’m not only questioning whether life really is worth living, but also the decision to drop off the sample on the same day I have my ultrasound, because now I get to repeatedly run into patients from the waiting room throughout the rest of my appointments that day. The sweet grandmotherly lady with glasses that I would have otherwise sat next to in the ultrasound waiting room gave me a dirty look and bathed in hand sanitizer when she saw me coming, so I spent the next 20 minutes in the dark corner of the ultrasound waiting room desperately trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

Ultrasound

The ultrasound was rather uneventful, which was a nice change after my eventful stool sample delivery. I was expecting I might need to take off my top, since it’s an abdominal ultrasound, so I wore a loose-fitting top with a sports bra and yoga pants. To my surprise, the ultrasound tech told me I could leave my shirt on but would need to pull down my pants.

Now, friends, I know no one cares to read about the process of an ultrasound. They’re all the same, right? Squirt a little ultrasound goo, lie still, hold your breath for three fucking minutes then breath rapidly for three minutes with your arm over your head while falling off the table backwards – it’s pretty routine. But I’m going to give you some important advice for your next ultrasound. I’m not exaggerating when I say this might be the single most important piece of advice I ever give you.

When you go for your next ultrasound, wear underwear.

I know, I know – I’m not exactly dropping bombs with that revelation, but when your pants are pulled down to mid-thigh and your naked hoo-hoo is staring the ultrasound tech in the face while the rest of you is fully clothed, you’ll wish you heeded my advice. I get that they see 100s of hoo-hoos per day, but my lady garden (as my friend, Jak, calls it) isn’t really suitable for viewing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the exam room.

Results

Because I am super slow in posting this, I have received results from all of the tests back. I knew (and hoped) the ultrasound would be normal – I have no reason to suspect something is structurally wrong with my organs. However, I did expect at least one test to come back abnormal, but other than a few blood tests which are always off, all results were perfectly normal. I’m shocked, when there are visible signs that something is off, but perhaps my symptoms can just be attributed to the GI side of POTS, which thus far I have been mostly able to avoid.

Regardless, with the husband STILL unemployed, I’m not spending any more money on this for now. If you have any suggestions on what helps with bloating and a constant mild sense of nausea and difficulty with fat digestion, I’d love to hear them.

It’s a messy business being alive. – Claire Vaye Watkins

Smell ya later.
– Linds