Part of getting my physical this week includes blood work. For this, I went to a special lab today, Saturday morning (since we have a travel soccer game and a 2 hour softball practice, this was the best time), in order to draw blood. The easiest part was giving the blood. My arms are like a drug addicts dream. When someone asks me for directions, I pull out my arms and use my veins as road maps. Now for the hard part … the obligatory peeing in the cup and I do mean … cup. Not the “Urine Sample Container” that it says on the side, but its nothing more than a dixie cup without the word “dixie” on the side. (I am starting to see a pishing theme here!) Some of you may know that, yes, I am a germaphobe. Where this comes into play is when the nurse hands me my cup (did I mention its a dixie) and a magic marker and told me to write my name on the side.
Here’s where I start thinking … how many people have touched the “peeing in the cup PEN!” Don’t they have some type of label maker that can print out my name and stick it on the side? … no. Can the nurse with the surgical gloves write my name on the cup for me? … no.
What I learned about myself is that I just can’t pee on demand. No way, no how. After about 10 minutes of waiting to do my business, the sound of complete silence is interrupted by loud knocking on the door .. “Mr. Cushman, are you ok in there?” I need to say, at this point, that this lab is more like a factory. People come in, people go out … and blood and pee stay. Stay to be examined like me examining a salad and picking off the tomatoes. Since my bladder disregards my orders like my kids on the weekend, I was backing up the waiting line like human cholesterol. So, rather than taking care of business I was humiliated by given a “to-go” cup doggie bag to return to the lab later.
This can only happen to me.
