Thanks a lot, Children. You managed to get me sick again. Aren't you happy with yourself? I hope you are. Jerks. Then again, I can't blame you. You're cute, cuddly, and easy to entertain if you like being held upside down from your ankles.
Luckily it was only an over-night fever that knocked me unconscious, but after being unemployed for several weeks and having my food stamps on hold for some reason, I thought I already had enough sick days to relax and managed to get out of bed long enough to drop off another web design application.
My sweet wife meanwhile has been feeling down and out lately after also getting sick from said children and suffering from chest pain and headaches. She made it out to visit the doctor last week who quickly ordered tests of all sorts, including blood samples, an EKG, an X-Ray, and, most dreadful of all, a stool sample. Considering that I pass-out from any sort of blood loss, I was thankfully not there to witness any of these. I did however have the task of delivering the stool samples to the doctors office.
Now, I'm not sure if you've ever taken a stool sample before. Lord knows I haven't. But I'm fairly certain you've never taken someone else's stool sample to turn in to the doctor for them. Since I was going out anyway to job hunt I figured I could knock out two birds with one stone and spare my wife the embarrassment of saying "Here is my poop" to some nurse.
As I carried the sample into the office I thought that on some not-too-distant level it was basically the same as leaving a paper bag of flaming dog poo on someone's front porch in the middle of the night. Except in this case it's the middle of the day, the person is right there to take it, it's your poo, and they actually thank you for it afterwards. In some ways it was kind of the greatest prank of all.
(This image was all I could find when Igoogle image searched "Flaming bag poop." It makes me think that Martha Stewart is one sick lady.)
I brought the samples to the nurse in a plastic grocery bag, since the idea of walking into a room with two test tubes of poop in each hand just didn't seem right to me. What I didn't expect was the nurse to be accompanied by another woman who was in the process of having her blood taken.
In fear of passing out, I quickly placed the test tubes onto the counter and ran away.
At least I knew that the drop-off was complete. Am I a good husband? Maybe. I probably lose some points for writing about it online. But I tried. And now if you'll excuse me, I have to delete this story from my Facebook newsfeed.