Something a little different for you today, luvvies. I refuse to take a picture of my own loo. It’s pretty abysmal in there, beard clippings all about, tumbleweeds of graying curls. But, today (because I’m feeling especially sardonic), I thought I’d share what went on in my restroom all day. Yup, that definitely isn’t orange juice to the left of the gallon of water that we just fill over and over from the tap.
It’s pee. Nearly 24 hours of pee. It’s mixed with an acid so volatile that it must be refrigerated so it doesn’t combust or something ridiculous like that.
Why must I collect all of this kidney juice? What it comes down to…and I’m only whining a bit (don’t want to turn away new readers with some real damned feelings. oops.), my doctors have thrown nearly everything but the sink at my abdominal pain and various gut issues. My main GI, who’s like my 15th or so lifetime, says “Perhaps it’s some rare disease called Porphyria. Collect your urine for 24 hours, bring it in and we’ll have a look. After that, I’m not sure what else I can do for your case.”
I won’t get in to how that makes me feel. This isn’t that type of blog.
Showing you this picture reminds me to remind you to pay attention to what goes on in the loo for me and you. We often don’t think about it until we must collect a specimen. Then, our leavings become some strange Magic 8 Ball, foretelling our medical future (or insisting that it looks cloudy and we may have to ask later).
So, while I love to snap a pic or two of the public john and pop them up on Instagram #notorangejuice, even I get a little weary of staring at the towel rack. You should’ve caught me for colonoscopy prep last week! Whew! That was a 7-hour adventure that goes well beyond this rather respectable post.
Until next time, DON’T drink from the bright orange bottle. I’d also like to do a book plug here. Should you get a chance, read GULP by Mary Roach. The book travels all up and down the alimentary tract. You’ll never look at mastication the same way again.