I just got back from a visit to my urologist. It's a sad comment on my past health woes that I actually have a urologist at my age, but thems the breaks. Let me state, first of all, that everything is fine - I don't appear to have another kidney stone, I'm not going to lose any more vital body parts, and whatever ills I did have appear to have gone away with the help of some antibiotics. So you can stop worrying about me, Mom.
Now, the funny thing about the urologist is the cup. It doesn't matter why you are seeing the doctor - the second you enter the office, the receptionist hands you a cup to fill. If you are just accompanying a friend, you still get a cup. When the mailman comes to deliver those special four month old magazines, they hand him a cup. It's quite democratic, really.
I am always concerned that they'll get my cup mixed up with someone else's, and then I'll be scheduled for some painful procedures or perhaps operations to remove the aforementioned vital body parts. The other thing I worry about is that the sample will get contaminated by some other sloppy patient. I can just hear it now: "James, your sample appears to have a high percentage of motor oil and iron filings in it. We're going to have to schedule some painful procedures and possibly some surgery. That'll be a $15 co-pay, please."
I've always thought it would be funny to put some food coloring in the sample, but I seem to be pretty adept at producing a wide range of colors on my own. I have a small measure of pride when my deep amber hues are placed against other people's wan, pale, essentially pathetic efforts. Of course, when that color is caused by microscopic amounts of blood, I'm a little less proud, but one has to take comfort where one can find it.
So I have a clean bill of health for the nonce. I hope it'll be another nine years before I have to see my friendly urologist again. I'll fill a cup at my primary care physician visit, but it just won't be the same.
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