As mothers often do; I'm about to talk about poop in great detail. You've been warned!
As a mother of 2 boys and a wife to a man; it would be challenging to really gross me out.
Let me tell you, about 3 weeks ago my little sweet lovable Griffin was producing poopy diapers that were not of this world. The brownish-greenish color, the slimy texture, the putrid smell was obviously abnormal and unhealthy. I found quickly that hourly funky diapers will cause a sever SEVER diaper rash.
Griffin was in a tummy achy, weird poopy, diaper rashy, crab crabby state when I took him to the Bremerton Naval Hospital last week. Just before the doctor arrived Griffin took an alien like poo. I was relived she could see first hand what we were dealing with here and with her ninja like doctor skills, she could immediately diagnose and treat Griffin and we could sail out to eternal normal poop bliss.
When the doctor walked in she was likely hit with a rancid smell that I had grown immune to by that point.
“Oh, you’re just in time!” I tried breaking her pinched face with a little joke.
She immediately did an about face turn, and came back with a bread bag from her office.
“Here,” she said shoving the bag at me, “just dispose of it in this.”
I took the bag disappointed in her inability to appreciate what my son had created and tossed the diaper in the trash. The doctor proceeded to explain that Griffin had diarrhea and a diaper rash and that it was no big deal and he would get over it in 6 weeks or so.
So I here I’d like to pose a question, would you like to have diarrhea and a chapped ass for 6 weeks? Me either!
I argued that this seemed more than run of the mill diarrhea and that I was very concerned. She said that if it would make me feel better that she could get some cultures from his poo to rule out some kind of virus. I agreed, and she sent me down to the lab.
I don’t know what I was expecting when I went down to the lab; but like everything else I have experienced so far in motherhood, it was awkward and uncomfortable. The lab tech gave me 6 small tubes. 5 of them were half full of liquid and the 6Th was larger than the others and was marked “FRESH STOOL.”
“Directions are on the bottles,” she said as she shoved them over the counter toward me.
My blank stare encouraged her to ask, “Want a bag?”
‘No, I’d rather try to carry all these bottles individually and risk dropping them so a strange navy guy can pick up the one that says “FRESH STOOL” for me.’ I thought to myself.
“Ummm, Yes Please a bag would be nice” I finally said.
After I got home, I spread all the bottles out on the counter and read the instructions. I was to put a sample of poo in each preservative filled bottle, I had 72 hours to get it back to the lab after each sample was collected. The larger bottle marked “FRESH STOOL” had to be full and back with in the hour of collection.
Just then a familiar stench hit my nose; Griffin had pooped. I was actually a little anxious to get that poo in my little bottle. I quickly got the diaper off Griffin and over to the counter. I took the lid off the first bottle which has a little spatula attached to scoop the poo into the container. I went to scoop the poop and knocked the damn bottle over, spilling the preservative all over the damn place. As I reacted to the spilled bottle, I got poo on my hand. So mission poop scoop #1 was scrapped due to turbulence.
Later that day, I successfully got 2 bottles filled with a sample. The next morning I took my 2 samples to the lab. I knocked on the closed lab door and a 7 foot young man comes to the door. We say nothing to each other. I hand him my ID and the brown bag. He turns and shuts the door. I waited.
He came back quickly and asks with a furrowed brow, “Who sent you here? Where did you get these bottles?”
“I got the bottles here. The doctor sent me.” If you know me, you know I instantly turned red in he face.
His lips pursed together, he crossed his arms, squinted his eyes and tilted his head down. I could tell he didn’t believe me! He thought I was lying!
“There are no orders for you on our computer, Ma’ma.” He said accusingly.
I realized he thought that poop was mine, and thought I had some sort of mental condition that caused me to steal medical supplies to recieve lab testing.
I said, “That’s not MY poop, it's my son's!” In which Griffin and Roman start to giggle and repeat “POOOP! POOOOP!”
The lab tech and I were both red faced now. I was relieved a little to know that he now knew that that was NOT MY poop. He went back into his secret laboratory and got it straitened out in his computer and came back to return my ID; we avoided eye contact.
For each subsequent ‘drops’ I made sure to announce that the samples were indeed for Griffin.
Editing in to let you all know I just dropped the last 'sample' off yesterday morning, so I still don't know what the problem is with Grif's belly troubles. But I assure you, I am determinded to get Griffin the proper care.
Labels: parenting funny
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