So I’ve been completely remiss in posting. I could give you a myriad of excuses. But alas, thats all they would be… excuses.
I should be one of these people who make time for things they enjoy. I happen to be one of those people who think about the things I enjoy, and am always doing the things I detest.
So, despite my lenghthy absence, I want my re-emergance to blogging to be on a low note (yes – I know it should say a “high note”, but trust me – keep reading, you’ll soon get the picture).
Let’s do some catching up first:
1) I recently recieved court ordered custody of my adorable 18 month-0ld nephew.
2) I’ve had no sleep since recieving said custody of adorable child.
3) I have been thrust into the world of figuring out how to become a foster parent (in order to legitimatize said custody of adorable child who causes me to have no sleep.)
One step in becoming a foster parent is getting a physical.
Now, if you’ve read my previous post, On Being A Weight Watchers Flunky, you know that I’m not the crowning example of physical fitness. But that aside, I had no choice – and I couldn’t imagine that a few extra pounds (okay – more that a “few”. Don’t be so judgemental – I’m working on it !) would keep me from parenting my nephew.
So, this past Monday, I walked into the doctor’s office.
I was greeted by a friendly (and good looking), male nurse (did I mention good looking). This nurse (whose name I forget), escorted me to a private room where he proceeded to do all the things you would expect a nurse to do. He took my temperature, took my blood pressure, put me on a scale (Ugh!), he hurled the usual mundane questions at me, such as:
“Are you allergic to any medication?”
“Are you taking any medications currently?”
“Have you had any major surgery in the past 6 months?”
“What’s the capital of Colombia?”
Well he didn’t ask that last one… but he should have. Because I would have answered “Bogota”, and I would have been right. And…I’m WAY off topic.
Anywho, finally, said nurse presented me with a small plastic cup, and informed me that he had to get a sample (of urine, for the unfamiliar). The friendly (and good looking), male nurse (did I mention good looking),escorted me to the restroom and left me with instructions on how to deposit my “sample” thru an innocuous little opening in the bathroom wall.
I went about getting the job done (feeling pretty proud of myself for having produced anything at all, since I’d had ZERO to drink). Seated on the toilet, I mustered a “2/3” full sample.
This is when the truly amazing happens. I mean – a rare spectacle – such as to leave one speechless… and confused… and awed.
I. spilled. the. urine. into. my. pants.
Now don’t rush – ponder this for a moment. Imagine yourself seated on a toilet, looking down… and before your eyes are your urine soaked pants. Imagine the feeling of shock, and then wonder, and then confusion – until you reach understanding (that you don’t have another pair of pants), finally giving way to HORRIFIC EMBARRASSMENT.
I must have sat there for a full minute before I could actually get my brain to tell my limbs to move. Once I’d emerged from my coma, I began to furiously rinse my pants in the sink (which of course made the thing worse). I now had about 1 1/2 cups of water soaking into my pants !
There’s no heat source in the bathroom to dry my pants. So, I hung them over one of those metal railings that are in hospital bathroom stalls. The ones that aide people who need to extricate themselves from the porcelain throne.
I’ve also realized that I have no urine sample to present to said nurse (the good looking one). So while waiting for the pants to dry (’cause I’ve got time to kill), I went about producing another sample. This, of course, is fruitless, because I JUST DIDN’T NEED TO GO any longer.
I would guesstimate that I’d been in the restroom for a good 10 to 15 minutes – more than reasonably expected for what I was asked to do. I knew that even though my pants weren’t dry, and I didn’t have any sample to turn over, I’d have to leave the bathroom (before they came looking).
So, with much discomfort, I put on the wet pants, cleaned up any visible mess, threw away the cursed plastic cup, and exited the restroom.
I was immediately confronted by said nurse (still good looking). He appeared concerned, and inquired if everything was okay (If I could have blushed I would have, but it just doesn’t happen for people with skin as dark as mine). As I clung to the wall (in an attempt to hide the fact that the back of my pants were SOAKED), I unleashed a torrent of explanations summarizing the event.
He tried to soothe me, and told me that it was okay and that we could try again in a bit. As I walked behind him down the hall, he told me that I could wait in the room for the doctor to come and complete the exam – and of course, he did the gentlemanly thing, and at the door’s entrance, held out his hand, gesturing me to to pass him and enter the room. At which point he must of received a disturbing surprise once he got a glimpse of my backside.
Once in the room, I immediately called my husband. Who found my story very funny (men never know when it’s too soon to laugh at a thing) – however, he did redeem himself by most sincerely offering to come to the doctors office with another pair of pants. I declined – I wasn’t going to be spending any more than another few minutes in that office. If I could have bolted at that moment, I would have. But you see, I needed that doctor’s letter that said I as physically fit.
Said nurse must have explained to the doctor what had happened, because my esteemed physician came in to the room trying hard to stifle a grin (he’s only human… I guess).
Anyway, I unleashed another hurricane of explanations and apologies on the dear doctor, and asked if there was any way to wrap this thing up because of my condition. He was kind and hurried through the rest of the exam, and even let me out of having to produce another sample. He explained that it was basically a formality anyway (but I secretly suspect that he was worried that I’d produce a repeat performance).
Once done, I rushed out that office like the building was on fire. Needless to say I’m never going back there. Facing the doctor (and the good looking nurse) for some reason feels like a fate worse than death… Okay – that was a bit dramatic.
But that’s me – dramatic, diaper needing Tracy.
Oh Tracy! I would have been horrifically embarrassed too. You poor thing.
Heya trace!
Sent you an email to work and decided to check out your blog…hmmmm (I did laugh, sorry. On the positive note — you probably expected me to being that i am male, and that the story is funny).
Will call you tomorrow morning (my time)…if I do not — email me and remind me.
Mike.