The Joy of Stool

Just to keep up with the main theme that seems to run through this blog, I didn't go to work this morning.

I went to the doctor's instead. Or rather, doctors', seeing as there's more than one of them. I was fine for five weeks when I got back from Tanzania, but just in the last week or so, an old friend has returned. An old friend whose name begins with "D", who makes my tummy purr and who is very artistic on the inside of the toilet bowl.

So, after a cup of clove tea (which, I found in Tanzania, is very effective), I walked up the hill, in the rain, to the doctors'. I spoke to the receptionist and explained that I wanted to see a doctor today, and that no, I didn't think a nurse would do. I should point out at this juncture, that contrary to the general rule, no, the receptionist was not a mardy cow. We decided it was best to see the duty doctor, and she asked me if I could tell her the problem. Before I settled on the best way of phrasing my answer, she had decided it was probably personal, and didn't pursue it any further. Then I was told to go back home, and the duty doctor would ring me when she got around to it.

So, I walked back down the hill, in the rain, put a CD on (Mull Historical Society, in case you're interested), and had a bit of a lie-down. For about thirty seconds. Because the duty doctor rang me almost as soon as I got in, and told me to go back up to the health centre and pick up a small plastic tub with my name on it. Which I duly did, after putting my coat back on and walking back up the hill.

After walking back down the hill, and waiting for a short while, it became apparent that I had been a little hasty with the clove tea, and nothing seemed to be moving. And if I wanted my sample to be sent off to the lab today then I had to perform in the next hour or so. And so I forced it, and produced the most feeble miniscule sample man has laid eyes on. Never mind. In my vast experience of Kodak film cases, size is not important, as they only need a small amount anyway.

So, I wrote on my name and date of birth, as requested, and walked back up the hill. It hadn't been raining the last time, and the sun was now shining brightly against a blue sky, so I didn't bother with the coat this time. I made it about halfway to the doctors' before it got all dark rather suddenly; everyone around me started putting up their hoods and brollies and I put my sample up my jumper.

I spoke to a different receptionist this time, so she didn't know what I was there for and so looked at me expectantly when I arrived and so I said, "I've brought this." She didn't have a clue what I was on about, of course, and so I had to explain that I had brought her a small container of my very own turd. So she put it next to her keyboard, and would presumably get around to filing it away somewhere later.

And then I ended up deciding to come into work in the afternoon, and be bored and be paid for it, rather than be bored at home.