Someday my prince will come, but Daddy will always be King!

Someday my prince will come, but Daddy will always be King!
Daddy's Girl

Welcome

Welcome to my Blog.

Life greatly changed as Darren and I welcomed Greta Claire to the family. I started this blog 5 weeks pre-parenthood; I thought I would learn to Blog as a hobby and to occupy my time when I was awaiting baby and tried my best to continue through her first year of life to document some of the ups and downs, funny moments, scary moments, etc. While I greatly enjoy sharing our adventures, it has been hard to stay committed to regular posts, but I certainly will do my best as our little girl is now 6 years old and full of comic relief, bright ideas and the most amazing quotes! So, enjoy the adventures of Gail and Greta, I somehow seem to find the most interesting things each day, so this is the truth blog, how things really are, what I'm really thinking and feeling....it could be interesting!



Friday, August 9, 2013

SHHH, no one wants to hear about this....."The Sample"

This post is dedicated to my dear co-worker and friend Kayla - not because she needs to worry about the topic I am about to enlighten you on, but because we both had an amazing laugh while strangely enough discussing the topic...So Kayla, hope you enjoy!

Do you know what topic has been discussed the most on my blog? I wish I could add a survey or multiple choice question to see who has been paying attention, but here are a few hints - it isn't shopping (I know hard to believe), it isn't how cute Greta is, it isn't even about my fear of motherhood and children...no friends... it is SHIT!  Now, looking back and reading through old blog posts, I have to admit, my experiences with Code Browns were quite plentiful, and traumatic, but I assure you, what I am about to educate you on, and embarrassingly tell you about will make child birth look the most dignified experience of your life (my apologies for anyone who didn't feel a bit of your dignity was shed while giving birth, between that and having the nurses accompany you to the washroom and/or to the shower I have to say, I understand why mothers before me said, you have to leave your dignity at the hospital doors).

So, here we go, lets talk about shit.....Today we had to take Greta to the clinic, and thankfully had a very competent and kind Dr that I was extremely impressed with, he didn't push pills or a quick fix, he listened, very much took his time, was wonderful with Greta and while we don't really have any true answers, I very much appreciated the respect he showed to a hypochondriac freak like me.  Poor little Greta has had a lot of "bathroom issues" going back for a good year now, she was quite fearful of going "number 2" and would hold it for days and days and days, not good as it would then lead to a dreadful experience for all of us.  However the past week + since our visit to NB & the Zoo, she has gone the complete opposite...well, I'm not going to hold back, she has been in the bathroom more than her crohn's suffering mama (and that isn't good for a 25lb little girl who is afraid to go "number 2"), it has been hell.  The poor little thing is so scared at times she is screaming, and diarrhea to a little one is very scary.  While Daddy-O of course thought it was just a little bug or something she ate, I of course was worried...does she have crohns, colitis, oh my goodness, google searches tell me she has cancer.  Needless to say, I was very, very worried, so finally called the Dr today, as we were up half the night in the bathroom with the poor little thing.  Unfortunately our Dr was booked in the AM, so Darren headed to the place I hate almost as much as the ER - the Island medical walk in clinics.  He left at 8am to register her and I met him with Greta at 9:15, the time they told us we would be seen...10:30, I am getting a tad impatient, but finally we get in, and as already mentioned, what a relief, a great Dr, with kids of his own.  Like I said, he didn't prescribe anything, but because of the "history" he is referring her to a pediatrician and ordered STOOL SAMPLES!   AHHHH, stool samples...Now, Greta doesn't know the difference so she won't be embarrassed that I am sharing such stories, but this is when I leave her for a moment and I bravely will offer up what is quite possibly the most embarrassing experience of my life to date (I said quite possibly, as I typed that line I thought of a few other doosies that I just can't quite share), but since I already talked about Squishville (aka, the mammogram) what is a little shit education between friends (oh, and the general public who read my blog - because thanks to some stranger, my blog posts make it to an Island website under bloggers to watch...ha).

So, deep breath, here is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth!

I am pretty confident people don't really anticipate hearing those words, we need a stool sample...I sadly have heard it one to many times. Having the shit disease (oh, I mean crohns) is traumatic enough, but to then be told you have to give a "sample", well lets just say it may quite possibly be the most dreaded experience of my life.  The most traumatic however came around this time last year, I was on a downward spiral, I was starting to lose weight, I was fighting having to return to prednisone to control my crohns and I had to break down and admit to the specialist that I couldn't live the way I was anymore, I was spending half of my day in a bathroom, I couldn't drink a sip of water without landing in the bathroom, and lets just say, it wasn't pleasant...well, who would have thought I would rather have that pleasant experience back compared to what they "made me do".  My sweet Dr, who is very much ready to retire and has had a life / career full of shit, said very non-chalantly and matter of fact that Karen at the front desk would do up the paper work and set me up for my stool samples.  I was mortified, not only did he state this close to the front desk in front of a packed waiting room, but what, paper work, samples (with an S)....I walked out of the office door and made my way to the desk, where she said it would take a few minutes to write out the instructions and get the labels (again, plural) ready so I could have a seat...lord, kill me now!  I felt as if each person in that room were starring at me, thinking, I know what she is doing tonight, I sat quietly with my head down, unable to make eye contact.  Karen is then ready for me, she calls me by my first name and with her regular voice (not a whisper like I was doing) explains sample #1, as she hands me the jar.  Lets just say they give you a tiny sample jar, it looks like a small pill bottle and what is that in it, a spoon attached to the lid, please, let me die.  I couldn't hold back my horror, how is the hell do you shit in to a pill bottle, and what is the scoop for...oh my lord, it is hitting me, I have to scoop shit, with that tiny little spoon in to the jar, in my house...I want to cry.  Then comes jar two, same size, but this one has some pink solution in it, same little spoon, Karen explains the amount that has to make it's way in to this jar and demonstrates how I have to shake it, and "mix it really well with the solution"...seriously, a packed room and I KNOW THEY ARE ALL LISTENING!  Okay I say, please let this hell be over, but no, oh no, what is coming my way...are you kidding me...it's a bucket.  Perhaps they give out ice cream to make you go the bathroom...oh no, seriously, you have a bucket with a hazardous waste symbol on it and you are handing it to me...kill me now, just remove my bowel, I can't handle any more!

But alas, I now sit, at the counter (a very, very small counter I may add, with other patients within reach of me, and I have two pill bottle sample jars and now an damn bucket in front of me.  I honestly was not prepared for the instructions that came next.  "You have to collect all feces in this bucket for the next 24 hours"....I almost pass out, I am weak at the knees and I am not sure if it was just complete discomfort or myself trying to make a little bit of fun out of this hell, I said, "Karen, you know, I am in the midst of a crohns flare up, I am in the bathroom every 10 minutes, you better given me 10 buckets"...she laughed and said this would be fine.  I should add, this is no little pint size ice cream container, this is a bucket that is to hold a crohn's patients shit for 24 hours!  

Pause for a fact -
Why do Doctors and Nurses and Medical Receptionists say feces? Is there a class at medical school called ‘You can’t say shit or pooh to a Patient’? 

Back to my horror - I want to go home, I want to run, but how, I have a purse with me and there is no friggin way I am walking though a building or down an elevator or stair case with a bucket meant for shit under my arm...Perhaps the 2nd story window is a good option, maybe show me the roof and I will just leap to the truck from there.  I stayed at the desk, I wouldn't move, somewhat trying to hide my new found "friends" for the next 24 hours, I whispered, do you have a brown bag?  She said, she probably has a plastic bag, I hesitantly said that will do.  She packs up my goods and hands me the paper work, gives me instructions on the importance of ensuring the time and dates are recorded and then informs me I have to return it to the specimen collection at the hospital.  I then whispered, how do you collect this (thinking, surely you don't sit on an ice cream bucket), she said, oh, you will need to pick up a hat at the pharmacy.  A hat, what in the hell, what are we talking about, a cowboy hat, baseball hat, she sees my puzzled scared face and says it's a collection hat just to ask for it (more to come on that in a moment)...Now, if you didn't think this was traumatic enough, and you are all thanking your lucky stars you have a fine working colon and no issues with crohns or colitis, it does get worse...oh my, SO MUCH WORSE.

What feels like a lifetime at this counter, my last instruction is still the most shocking, horrifying, kill my dignity please experience - EVER.  I am told the bucket of shit and jars have to be kept in the fridge.  Now, I'm not sure about you, but I have one fridge in my house, didn't realize I would need a Feces Fridge and didn't spring for two.  I said "absolutely not"...she said it must, or I would have to re-do the tests, it had to be refrigerated.  Okay, I have brought a fair amount of interesting things home and can explain a fair amount, but I'm pretty sure having a bucket of shit next to the milk will be an issue in my house.  Perhaps this is the norm in other homes, but NO WAY!  

So, I leave...happily, but with my head down, no eye contact to anyone in the waiting room and rush to the car, I have tears in my eyes by the time I get in the front seat.  I just need to breath before the next task - I need to go find a HAT.  Well, I searched and searched, I am ready for the mental ward, I am NOT ASKING WHERE I CAN FIND A HAT FOR SHIT....but alas, I have to.  Of course, the staff are wonderful, again, like I am just buying a pack of gum, I walk out with my $3 plastic hat....but wait, I need a new fridge!  

Now, while I thought of going to buy a fridge for one time use, I headed to the store for a Styrofoam cooler and bags of ice, no doubt the young guy at the store thought I was off to a fun party - oh boy, was he wrong!  

I get home and have to call Darren - I mean, I don't want him seeing a cooler on the deck and think I stocked it with beer!  Can you imagine that shock.  Let me tell you, there are things you really shouldn't have to talk to your spouse about, top of my list, my need to fill a bucket up with shit!  And then it hits me, I am suppose to be at work, but obviously I am not taking my bucket to work, so I have to call in to my adored boss who was so concerned about me and my health, to inform him that, "I am really sorry, but I have to undergo some testing for the next 24 hours and I won't be in until noon the following day".  As always, he said no problem, hope you feel better!  Lordy I miss him!  Anyway, so, out of work for the day (what a waste of a sick day), and well, lets just say, I did what I was told...as traumatic as it was, I got through it...

BUT, there is more!  Can you believe I am sharing this - because lord knows I can't...but if it helps just one person, then I have succeeded...and I can tell you now (a year later), I can laugh about it!  Therapy helped too!

Now, if the above was not shameful enough, this shit has to be delivered ... to a hospital, on a small island, where history has proven you run in to at least one, if not two people every time you go to the hospital. I package up my "samples", I wrap them in plastic, I check the paper work, as I was warned if it was not recorded properly and the labels and the paper work don't match, it won't be accepted ( you would think my life depended on this quality assurance, but I sure as hell wasn't doing this again).  So, off I go, my bucket o'shit wrapped pretty much in a birthday present style wrap to conceal what was truly in the bag, I park the car and I make that long, long walk to the front door of the hospital, and it hits me, oh my God, I have a friend, who works in the lab, will she have to test my shit.  I am overwhelmed, I want to die, but I can't, because then I will be found with a bag full of crap and my name is on it, I can't die and be talked about the way Islanders do, "did you hear there was this girl, she was delivering shit and passed out and now the hospital is calling her the Shitter".  RIP!  I turn the corner, thank god the specimen collection is now on the first floor, immediately to your right as you walk in the doors...I look at the room, it is packed, this is also where they take blood, all these kind souls waiting for blood tests and I have a bag, I come up to the desk and whisper, I have to drop off a sample, and then it happens....while not yelling, it was loud enough and stern enough to have everyone in the room pay attention, "Hold up, I have one more sample for you to take to the lab"....completely mortified I raise up my bag, a very large shopping bag and the technician hands it over to the person leaving with all the other samples...and there it goes, my crap, in a bucket, along with two little jars leaves my sight.....While I am starving and desperately want to grab a drink and a cinnamon roll, I leave, I think faster than I have ever walked before.  I am so traumatized I call in and take the rest of the day, that was too much.    But it is over and as my mother said, as awful as it was for me, someone has the job to test it....

So, please hug a lab tech today, please don't feel guilty about laughing as I can now share my horror in hopes it will help just one person understand the hell you will go through, but I can write and say you will survive and well...just a little insight in to my day with Greta tomorrow....thankfully no bucket, but we have the "hat" on the toilet and one jar is filled, one more to go.  I will have my plastic gloves on, bathroom covered in plastic, gagging all the way, but we will see what, if anything,is wrong with our little gal.  

I bet this will make you think twice before saying you had a shitty day - at least I can truly say i have (and survived).

Toodles!


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