This is the latest in a series of posts on my experience
with Salmonella that starts here.
The Doctor told me that the next step would involve me using
a special toilet. Actually, it was more like a small storage container that fit
over the bowl of the toilet that I would poop in. He explained that I would
make a deuce in the apparatus and use a small scoop to transfer the feces into
a tube for testing. It sounded kind of gross, but simple enough. At this point
I was willing to try anything to figure out what was wrong with me.
I went into the bathroom after being scowled at by a
receptionist for asking for a “special magazine.” I don’t think she appreciated
my sense of humor. I was given the bowl and was told that I would find the tube
and spoon in a little door to the right of the seat. I dropped trou and took a
seat on the stool. Hmmm, I racked my brain trying to come up with a better
stool joke, but what actually happened I think will be more entertaining so I
will move on.
I opened the door and found the supplies. There were two
tubes and I would have to get some in both of them. As I’ve mentioned before, I
was not able to produce much more than a tablespoon at a time during this
sickness. I got out what I could, and stood up and retrieved the dish. I sat
back down and prepared myself for the task at hand. I opened up one tube and
grabbed the little spoon. When I say little, I mean this thing was tiny. I jabbed
at the mucus-like feces and tried to pick it up. It slid off. I tried again,
this time from another angle, and I got it up about an inch before my hand
started trembling and it flopped down again. I imagined myself in the little
electric vehicles in Jurassic Park when the T-Rex was coming. Every time I thought
I had it, the giant dinosaur would take a step and everything would jiggle and
fall down.
I don’t know if I was shaking and sweating from alcohol withdrawal
or from severe desiccation or both, but I became agitated, frustrated, and I
thought I was going to lose my mind in that little room. I used a common
profanity that rhymes with fuck and I came up with a plan. I would make a
simple funnel out of the paperwork that I had signed for all of the services I’d
received so far. I had only one shot at making it into two small glass tubes. I
rolled it up, made a crease so I could stop the flow, and I dumped in the poop.
It worked. It fucking worked! I was so proud of myself I could have shit, if I
could have shit.
I cleaned up and put everything in the little door for
analysis. I would be given four more tubes to bring home to fill up later. That
was the end of the day at the hospital. I had told them from the get-go that I
had no insurance so we should only do what was absolutely necessary for
diagnosis which is why I was not admitted overnight or until an official
diagnosis was given.
The next day was Thanksgiving and I spent most of it alone.
My awesome friends Curt and Sara brought me a turkey dinner which was more than
I had eaten in over a week. I really wanted a beer but they would not let me
have one. It’s good to have friends. The day after that, I had filled my tubes
with feces and my even better friend offered to bring a paper bag full of my
samples to the clinic a few miles away to be analyzed. I was really grateful
for that and all of the support they gave me while I was sick.
The day after that, I started feeling better. I mean all of
the crippling pain was just gone when I woke up and I made something very
special in my toilet that had been building up for weeks. Then the Doctor
called me and informed me that I had Salmonella and there wasn’t anything they
could really do about it. I nodded, I don’t think he heard me.
I spent the next few days answering questions from the
Department of Health because I worked in a restaurant, but we eventually
determined that I got sick from the shitty goat that I just had to pet. Lesson
learned.
