This morning, I pooped in a box and mailed it to Madison, Wisconsin.
If you’d like to know why, read on. If you’re thinking, Ew, she said poop, I suggest you click away now.
I felt pretty confident going into my physical last month. I knew I’d be referred for a mammogram, but I got my first one last year and learned it wasn’t as big a deal as I’d feared. The next unpleasant scan I’d have to face – the dreaded colonoscopy – wouldn’t be an issue until I hit 50. Or so I believed.
My doctor ran through the regular rigamarole while I sat on the table in a stiff paper gown, swinging my legs without a care in the world. Then, to my horror, I heard the words: “Colon screenings are now recommended beginning at age 45.”
All was not lost, however, as she went on to describe a possible alternative to the traditional colonoscopy: independently collecting a stool sample and sending it to a lab. Since that sounded way better than giving myself a bunch of enemas, then having a camera shoved up my butt (that is what happens, right?), I asked her to sign me up for the stool sample option.
The box arrived at my home yesterday. Inside, I found a few pieces of equipment and a 30-page booklet that should have been titled: “Poop Collection For Dummies.” The instructions included helpful hints like: “If you cannot remove the stick from the tube, pull harder,” and: “Do not drink the preservative liquid.” One page featured this lovely drawing and reassuring tip:
As I read the endless instructions, all I could think of was the fact that actual people doing actual things had led to the creation of this booklet. Someone made the decision to drink a bottle of preservative fluid that arrived in a box from a medical lab. Someone looked at their poop and thought, What the hell just came out of me?? It’s obviously not poop! It looks nothing like that drawing!
Somehow, I managed to get through the complicated set of tasks, sealed up the box, and drove on over to UPS to send it on its way. Happily, I was not asked what was in the box when I dropped it off, although I had an answer at the ready: “It is literally full of crap.”
Getting older is a mixed bag. I appreciate the increased sense of calm, awareness, and understanding. I’m far less stoked about getting my boobs squished into a machine by a stranger and having to poop in a box. But I suppose I should count my lucky stars. At least I’m not employed as a box opener at that lab in Wisconsin.
4 thoughts on “The Joy of Aging”
Ayyyy… I can only imagine what travels in the mail! Is it better to sample poop than blood? I’m clueless 😆. I had to send saliva for my 23 and me DNA report. That’s the only bodily fluid I had to mail ever. Good to know about this option…. Hummm. I dislike the mammogram a lot, it hurts like hell… Probably because mine are tiny 😆
A friend of mine keeps saying this every time is his birthday. Getting old is a privilege not everyone has. Hugs Mija!
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Ha! I did this last week and feel the same. Ugh. And I fainted at my mammogram, then got to do a ct scan test too since I fell so hard.
Oh, no! That was a traumatic mammogram!
Aging is not for the faint of heart! 🤣🤣 Congratulations on doing all these grown-up things, and yes, sending poop in a box is way preferable to having a colonoscopy. 😁
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