You Probably Don't Want to Read This Post

This is not a political blog post.

This is not a rant about stupid legislation.

This is a post about poop. (Believe me, if you want to stop reading now, I'm totally fine with that.)

So...one does not qualify for a colonoscopy until one is 50 years old. But there's a fancy new product out there called Cologuard, which allows you to screen at home under the age of 50. And, because of a few personal factors (obesity, early-onset menopause), my doctor decided it was a smart move for me to test early. And, since I've watched friends fight colon cancer and hope to never have to face that myself, I was eagerly on board with this idea.

Amy Reed on Unsplash

Until the box arrived. 

Sam saw it first.

"Hey, isn't that a box you have to poop in?"

I was like, "WHAT? How do you know anything about that?!"

And he said, "Jeesh, Mom, there are ads for it all the time on YouTube. Everyone knows what that symbol on the box means. It's a poop box."

Helena chimed in. "Oh, yeah, that's the poop box. I've seen it on YouTube."

I wasn't mortified, yet. Not until representatives from the company started calling me. In the middle of class. And texting me. Daily. "URGENT REMINDER! Complete and ship your kit ASAP!"

The kit sat on the kitchen table for two weeks. We all pretended like we didn't know it was there. Waiting for me. We moved it so that we could eat. We put it back on the table.

But I couldn't do it. There was no way. I have the worst gag reflex in the world. And, although I can handle blood like a champ, bodily fluids —especially bodily fluids that smell— put me right over the edge. There was one time back in the day when I was pregnant with Sam and changing Helena's diaper, and I vomited ON her. And then I had to clean that up, too. And vomited on her again. There was another time when I gagged so hard because of the smell of someone's greasy hair that I threw out my back. But I digress.

The kit sat on the table for two weeks, while text messages continued to blow up my phone. "URGENT! Send us your shit!"

So, this morning, I took a deep breath, and I did it.

I read the kit directions and got everything all set out. The bucket you poop in. The probe (PROBE!!) that you have to rub around in the poop and put in a little test tube. The "Preserving Liquid" (DO NOT DRINK!) ready to go. The bracket that you suspend the poop bucket in, so that you can safely do your business. I set it all up. I was ready. The directions said that you have to poop enough, but not too much. Don't worry if your poop doesn't look like the poop in the sample photos. This was a lot of pressure. Literally.

I took a deep breath and got down to business. I focused in on the muscles. Poop, don't pee. Poop on demand, into a bucket suspended from the toilet seat, and clench but don't clench. You got this. You can do this.

So, I did it. I did the deed and was done. I got up, ready to rub the probe around in the pile of poop and OH MY GOD there was a LOT there. So much. Also, corn. I forgot that I had eaten corn yesterday. #mortified. But there's no going back. I can't start over. It's gonna have to be corn-poop. I want to die.

And then I start to gag. 

I gag and I gag. I have to rub the probe in the poop. Oh god. And seal it back up. I gag.

I have to pour the "Preserving Liquid" (DO NOT DRINK!) over the poop. It says that all the poop must be submerged. I peek into the bucket. I kegel for all I'm worth, trying not to pee while I gag.

You guys. There's too much poop. I have to scoop some of the poop out. They don't provide a poop scooper in the kit, so I have to run to the kitchen, tears streaming out of my eyes, nose running, gagging, trying not to pee my pants, to get a spoon.

Helena is all like, "Mom, are you okay? Are you sick?"

And I tell her that I'm doing the poop thing and there's too much poop and she's like, "GOD MOM. TMI!!"

So I get a spoon, and I re-engage. And I scoop and I look, and I gag, and I repeat, and my Fitbit buzzes excitedly. "You're earning Zone minutes! Keep up the good work!"

I'm not going to go into details about the process, but suffice it to say, I am never, ever, going to be able to get that image out of my head. Or eat corn ever again. Or use that spoon.

Finally, I was done. The probe was in its probe-holder, the poop bucket lid was tightened (MAKE SURE IT DOESN'T LEAK), the labels were on, the box was sealed. All I had to do was drive it to a UPS Store and ship it back to the company. 

And after standing in line for 20 minutes at the UPS Store, holding my (clearly labeled) box of poop, and then handing it to the twenty-year-old boy behind the counter, I was done.  That's it. I can just sit back and wait for the results.

And there ya have it, folks. A blog post about poop.

I can't wait to do this shit again next year.