Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Ok, look Bitch, I’ve got a Tupperware of feces here. You get me?

WARNING- Yes, I did blog your very funny/pitiful tale of poo, un-named friend. But it's funny, don't you see? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase don't be mad at me. Life gave you lemons; but look, I made lemonade.

Last night I received a phone call from a friend (to remain nameless) who needed a favor. Apparently he has some kind of HORRIBLE illness that involves intense pain and the inability to eat solids. His doctors think it might be ecoli. In short, things are pretty much sucking for him.

He asked if we would go pick up some prescriptions from the pharmacy for him (particularly vicodin which would make life suck less). Of course we were more than happy to do that, so we rushed to his place to collect his prescriptions. When we got there, he updated us with further information. Not only did he need us to pick up his prescriptions, he also needed us to get a container for a stool sample, which had to be taken before he took his medicine and had to be delivered to a lab by no later than one hour from which it was, errr… produced. Knowing he was in no condition to deal with any of this, we grabbed the prescriptions and ran giggling.

At the pharmacy the prescriptions were quickly filled. By way of conversation we asked the pharmacist how to handle this stool thing. She made a TON of phone calls and found that the lab at Northwest Hospital would be open all night and that all we needed was some stool and the correct paperwork (which we had) and we would be in business. She also found out that we didn’t need to have a sterile container, in fact anything would do. After much pondering we chose the Gladware- after all, it provides double seal protection.

Nearly falling no less than 7 floors to our deaths trying to walk up the stairs while making poo jokes and laughing hysterically, we decided that my roommate should be the one to explain the procedure. The ins and more importantly, the outs of the operation. I would be relegated to our house to prepare dinner. Eventually, the friend showed up with a curiously light but full Gladware and some embarrassment.

I raced to the hospital, poo in hand. Well, in Gladware, in a Bartells bag, in my handbag- just like a nesting doll or Kinder Surprise. Anyway, I arrived at the hospital, wandered in circles till I found the lab and gave the nice nurse there my friend’s poo. She then asked if I was a relative. Having worked in a hospital, I knew I should have just lied and claimed to be his sister, but I was afraid that they’d catch me. I told them I was a friend. Then THAT WOMAN tried to give me his poo back. “No, no, no,” said I, “this is your poo now.” She claimed that she couldn’t take it without an authorizing signature. I told her that I had a pen and a note from the doctor and that I would sign whatever. Still, she resisted the poo. Finally I told her that I know that there some kind form for the third party delivery of specimens and that I would sign that. After rolling her eyes no less than three times she called her supervisor, took photocopies of his ID and insurance cards and I signed a form and left.

I guess that nurse ain’t taking no shit off of just anyone.

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