Rated P for Pee

I have a few questions before I get rolling with the [TMI] story of my most recent doctor’s visit.

1) Have you ever had to give a urine sample?
2) Are you female?
3) Are you plus sized?

If you answered yes to the first two questions but not the third, then you know what a hassle urine samples can be. If you answered yes to all three questions then let’s be real, plus sized ladies: it’s quite a simple task to do what needs to be done in the bathroom on a daily basis. However, throwing in a curve ball like having to hold a plastic cup in just the right spot to catch your wee is the opposite of quite simple.

Let me back up just a bit. I’ve been feeling fairly… well, crappy a lot of the time lately. I’ve been very sluggish in the afternoons, constantly lazy, digestive issues (let’s just leave it at that), etc. So it wasn’t a huge surprise when, after my annual physical, my doctor called (SIX. WEEKS. AFTER. by the way. Six weeks? Don’t get me started.) and said I needed to come in for additional blood work. I did that and scheduled an appointment to discuss the results with my doctor. At that appointment (which explained why I’ve been feeling poorly and may or may not be another blog post [as if anyone enjoys reading blog posts about health issues, ew]), my doctor said she’d like for me to also give a urine sample (UGH, fine).

My clinic is in the same building as the lab so I went downstairs and the very nice blood/urine lady (I’m sure she has a title that is not blood/urine lady) gave me my sealed little cup. Have these gotten smaller in the last few years?? I went into the bathroom and went through the opening drill: put my purse down, took off my fleece so I could have the range of movement needed for the acrobatic feat I was about to perform, took a deep breath, whipped down my skivvies, and sat.

This is where it gets TMI so if you’re pee-pee squeamish, bail out now. (This is also where I switch to present tense, because it’s how I tell stories.)

I place the cup where I think? probably? maybe? the pee is actually going to come out and I wait. Then I wait some more. My urethra has seen the cup and knows my hand is where it should not be during urination, so it’s got stage fright. I take another deep breath and try to relax. It’s just PEE, Kat. I feel something start to happen, but this awareness startles my poor urethra and it stops immediately. More deep breaths. It’s at this point I realize how long I’ve probably already been in here. It feels like 10 minutes and I can picture blood/urine lady rolling her eyes at a colleague because it’s just PEE. I try adjusting my grip on the cup so my arm isn’t pushing so forcefully up against… places and try to visualize my muscles relaxing. This time when it starts, I’m ready for it and I force myself to keep loose, don’t tense up.

Suddenly pee is everywhere – definitely in the toilet, definitely on my hand, and I assume definitely in the cup. It’s warm (like really warm) and weird and now I’m not so sure anything is going into the cup because I haven’t really gone that much and there is A LOT on my hand so how much could be left to go into the cup? So I stop. Have you ever actually tried to stop peeing in the middle? It’s pretty much awful and it tingles, not in a good way.

Then the unthinkable happens: I feel my grip loosening on account of all the pee. I try to pull the cup up quickly but instead it slips from my grip (I’m literally screaming “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” in my head), and I hear a little splash. I sit in horrified silence, hand still between me and the toilet. WHAT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD?! I’m still bad tingling and now I REALLY feel like I need to pee, to the point of almost pain.

I decide I’ll just tell the nice blood/urine lady the truth. She must hear “I dropped the cup. (with an awkward laugh, no doubt) all the time. I stand up and get situated and lift the stupid, tiny, pee-and-water-covered cup out of the toilet. But as I’m washing my hands I have a change of heart. I CANNOT TELL THE NICE BLOOD/URINE LADY THAT I DROPPED THE CUP OH EM GEE! No, no. I’ll just do it again!

So I wipe out the cup best I can (ugh) and try again. Again, pee. goes. everywhere. but I’ve got a grip on this cup so tight, the Jaws of Life couldn’t pry my hands off, so I finish peeing all the way (this gives almost no relief, by the way. If you hold your pee for too long, even the lovely sensation of emptying your bladder is taken from you.) and lift out the cup. I am not exaggerating (which I know I have a tendency to do, along with overuse commas and parentheses) when I say that there were approximately 7 drops of pee in that fucking cup.

At this point I’m so over it I could barf, so I put the lid on that stupid cup that has become the focus of every ounce of rage and hate in my body, slap it into the silver deposit box, and slam the deposit box door.

When I emerge (after God knows how long… probably 6-8 minutes [which is a long time to pee, for real] but it feels more like 6-8 hours), I approach blood/urine lady. I am certain she knows of my failures but I say quietly (too quietly, weirdly quietly), “I really didn’t have to use the bathroom; I didn’t know I was going to have to give a urine sample. So if that’s not enough, will you just call me and have me re-do it?

“Let me find out how much we need,” she says and walks over to her colleague (the one she no doubt rolled her eyes to moments ago, after my 76th minute of being in the bathroom) and asks how much is needed for the test. “One milliliter, you should be fine.” She says this with a comforting smile on her face because she has yet to see that there is no way on this beautiful green Earth I have deposited an entire milliliter into that cursed cup.

I smile and rush out before she can go to the deposit box and see what I’ve given her, which is approximately a sneeze’s worth of pee.

[/end present tense story]

I got my test results a couple of days later and they came back normal. I was relieved until I realized that they probably tested 1 part pee and 2 parts toilet water.

Now if I could just decide what it is I want…


I don’t feel like I’m at a crossroads. I don’t feel like something’s gotta give. I don’t feel like I can’t go on this way. I just feel compliant. I do things the way they’re supposed to be done because I am supposed to and for no other reason.

I’ve always had a hard time with change. I love new things but hate the process of getting into them. I hate moving, I hate switching jobs, I hate rearranging and redecorating. Once it’s done, I adjust quickly but in the meantime, I’m miserable. I’m also the world’s WORST self-motivator. I won’t motivate myself and when others try I get annoyed. I’m truly hopeless, guys.

But lately I’ve been seeing a lot of things. This video for Passion Planner, a friend’s Facebook post (pictured above), etc. I just think it’s time. It has to be. I don’t know what this change is going to be, but I know it’s got to be SOMETHING.

Goodbye, Client Services…

I got my new work laptop today, so I guess it’s official! As of June 2nd, I will be transitioning into a new role here at PSN, outside of Client Services. I’ve worked in Client Services in 4 different roles over the last 7 years, so this is definitely a leap of faith for me!

I will be a Training Specialist, who will assist new employees in their orientation and training, and I will also work within an IT Processes Team that will work with each department to help streamline processes and assist with consistent training between all employees at PSN.

It’s very daunting and I’m so nervous; I admit that I had a mini meltdown this morning when Kelly gave me my first official task. But, I do find it all so exciting! Being in the same department for 7+ years, my job offers very few challenges. This is going to be a big one but I’m so excited to work within a small, close-knit team, and I really think that training is one of the things I am best suited to do.

Could I BE Any More Obvious??

99% of the time, Kelly and I can read each other’s minds. We have just come to expect this from each other, so when one of us is having an off day and CANNOT telepathically sync up to the other, it’s a surprise (and an annoyance). This morning was one of those times.

Today is Friday. It is the first full week I’ve worked since the week of Christmas. It has felt endless. So, this morning I got up and I was all tired and out of it and like crazy-haired. And I came stomping into the kitchen where Kelly was making her breakfast (and even had a bowl and some cereal set out for me on the counter; how cute is that?!).

I FEEL LIKE AHAB,” I declared. I absolutely assumed that she would know what I meant, so that is all I said.

And she stared at me really blankly.

So I said, “And the weekend is my Moby Dick…?” like she was a total f’ing idiot.

And maybe she laughed or maybe she didn’t, I’m not sure. But I didn’t think about it again until about 2pm this afternoon. And then I laughed so hard, by myself.

I am such a loser.

Compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding…

I was recently talking with a co-worker about needing to practice more patience. She told me how she’d read an article about how patience is not what you should aim for. People who try to be patient tend to bottle things up and then blow up over something small. What you need to practice instead is compassion and understanding.

Compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding…

This has been my mantra since then, particularly today. I had a very difficult phone call with a dealer I work with frequently, and I continue to be frustrated by gun control posts on Facebook. As if posting an out-of-context quote from a past president, or an article about someone being killed by something other than a gun will change ANYTHING. As if gun control is the ONLY issue. What about mental health? What about getting the guns that are already circulating off the street? And on and on and on?

I know it isn’t right to block someone from social media (okay, let’s call a spade a spade; you know it’s Facebook) because their views differ from mine. But how many times can I see the same things posted, with the same narrow views, listed out like they are facts and not half-educated opinions?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’m the expert on gun control or any other issue for that matter. I’m half-educated on a lot of things. But that’s why I am careful what I post to Facebook. I’m careful to read thoroughly what I am sharing as well as any articles linking from that. I’m careful to consider who subscribes to my feed, and how they might be affected by what I’m posting. I try to think about who will be reading it, what they’ve previously posted, and what kind of argument or drama may ensue.

Okay, this blog post has lost its point. I can actually SEE/HEAR myself starting to sound self-righteous and that’s not what I intended. It’s the OPPOSITE, actually. I am trying to be compassionate and understanding to/of the people who are posting things that area really pissing me off.

Compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding… compassion and understanding…


Jackson & Me

Jackson & Me

I’ve never been much of a “kid person”. I know how that sounds but it’s true. I mean, kids are kids so yeah, they’re cute and funny and all of that. My mom had a daycare in our home as I was growing up, so it’s not like I’m not familiar with them. I’ve just never really ENJOYED being around kids. If I really sat and thought about it, I supposed it would be because I feel pressured around them – to be funny and likeable and fun and whatever else.

ANYWAY, this changed a bit once my friend, Sara, had her first son, Nolan. I spent a TON of time with her when she was pregnant and Nolan came out this tiny, long-fingered little angel that smelled like baby powder. As he got older, he became this adorable, silly, wise little man and I was in awe of him. Then Sara had her second son, Miles, and he is this totally crazy, cute guy with more personality in his tiny fingernail than most grown adults have.

Then, just over two years ago, my cousin Jill and her husband Paul blessed our family two two twin boys – Hudson and Jackson. I didn’t see them a whole lot their first year, but then Kelly and I started babysitting for them every now and again, and I started getting to know these absolutely adorable, smart, funny guys who were so very different from each other.

Now, almost a month to the day after their second birthday, it’s safe to say that I am completely smitten. They are still adorable, smarter than ever, hilariously funny, and still so very different from each other.

The picture above was taken on Christmas Eve, 2012. I wanted a picture with both of the boys, but H wasn’t really feeling it (okay, me) that day, so I figured one dude was better than none. The first picture is me, smiling away, with Jack sort of looking off to the side, unimpressed. Jill kept snapping pictures and the next few are of Jack pointing out my facial piercings, stating “pink” for my nose ring and “white” for my Monroe piercings. From there the pictures dissolve into completely adorable, flailing, dimple-filled (Jack, not me) chaos. The picture above is my personal favorite from the pictures Jill took.