Bluddeanous Part 3

WARNING, this post is not intended for those who are easily queasy. In case you have not been following the details of the Deuce Era or its Bluddeanous Period, let me catch you up to speed. I had been having plenty of poop problems, but I hadn't realized there was something abnormally wrong with me until my bowels exploded to form a sea of red around the brown mound in the bowl. This warning sign was literally bright enough for me to take heed.

So I headed to the doctor. This was my first mistake. As I explained to the doctor the discovery of blood in the toilet, he became visibly worried. He did what no doctor should do. He would make concerned faces and interject with statements like "that's not good." He then became doctorly and explained the things that it could be. It could be colon cancer, colon polyps, a peptic ulcer, Crohn's disease or other serious issues. Of course he concluded by telling me that I shouldn't worry. Right. The first step was to make sure that I did in fact have blood in the stool. Apparently a bowl full of red isn't good enough. So I was put through the completely degrading, uncomfortable, and clearly unnecessary task of getting laboratory-certified proof that my rectum was bleeding. This was the first in a series of unnecessary and humiliating circumstances that a little blood in the anus caused.

I was sent to the lab where I was given further instructions. I was given a brown paper bag. No problem. I was given a piece of paper. Everything still seems okay. I was given several 6 inch popsicle sticks. A little weird. Then came the instructions. I needed to collect three samples....of my dump. Not cool, but it got worse. The samples couldn't be from the same dump. The samples couldn't be from the beginning of the dump or the end of the dump. I was to collect them with the popsicle sticks and smear them on the piece of paper. I was to write the date of specimen collection next to each smear. And I was to save the poop smeared paper until I had collected all three. Oh yeah, and I couldn't collect the sample after it had touched the bowl.

So here I am doing a circus act in the bathroom. My craps had to be lengthy enough to have something to catch between the first and last squirt. It had to be soft enough to leave a deposit on the popsicle stick. And I had to aim carefully to get it on the stick with no splashback or dispersion onto my hands or the toilet seat. So imagine, if you a will, a poor Deuces Wild who had already known there was blood in his stool, doing a squat above the toilet with sticks in hand, trying to administer the excrement at the appropriate time and stabbing at them like Ralph Macchio with chop sticks. The worst thing was that a few deuces failed to produce a consistency that could be grabbed with the popsicle sticks in mid air. With two down and a paper smeared with brown, smelly crud, the third catch proved elusive. I broke down and had to violate one of the doctor's orders. I was either going to get a sample from the bowl or it was not going to be a specimen from the middle of one of my sessions. Having a roommate at the time, I didn't want to get a weird diagnosis by scraping the tainted dung. So I went for the remnants. I failed to catch a hearty deuce in midair. In haste, I did what no man should have to do. Before I wiped with toilet paper, I used the end of the popsicle stick to extract some "hanging chads" surrounding my anus. Triumphantly, I smeared them on the paper, wrote down the date and brought my work back to the lab. Now it was time to wait for them to tell me what I already knew.

One would think that this would be the lowest of the low. The darkest depths of despair that could ever be reached in a Bluddeanous Period. But no. It got worse. Not much worse. That wouldn't be possible. But worse it got indeed.

To be continued.....