“Random Stool Collection.” It sounds like something that’d be found wedged into a back bedroom on the show “Hoarders.”
“Well, we knew Aunt Betsy had a problem when we pried open the door of the guest room and her random stool collection came tumbling out: step stools, barstools, toadstools – if it was a stool, it was in there.”
Of course, that’s not the kind of random stool collection we’re dealing with, now is it? No, I’m talking about the Genova Diagnostics Random Stool Collection prescribed to me by my new alterna-doctor at the “Center for Integrative Medicine.” Now before I get all technical and start discussing the various apparati and the complex procedures for said stool collection and storage, I’ll try to sum it all up for you: it’s three days of shitting into a glorified margarine tub. Things start out simple enough on day one.
Step One: Pass urine into the toilet if necessary. Pass stool into one of the collection tubs provided in the kit. Do not let urine or water from toilet touch the stool specimen.
Well, that doesn’t sound too difficult. They even provide a special holder “to suspend the collection tub over toilet.” Unfortunately, my special holder didn’t fit on my special toilet, so I had to resort to the “crouch and hold collection tub under ass with left hand whilst shitting into it and trying to desperately divert pee from tub with right hand without spraying all over the toilet seat” method. I’ve never been much of a juggler, but I imagine the process is akin to juggling a bowling pin, an apple and a sousaphone while riding atop a unicycle… and shitting.
Once I finished “collecting,” I had to untangle myself, put the full collection tub on the floor and quickly snap the cover over it before vomiting. Next I had to wipe my fanny, flush the toilet, pull up my pants and then immediately crouch on the floor to frantically scan the informational pamphlet for my next stool collection directive. I was five minutes into the process and the bathroom already smelled like the inside of a Porta-Potty on the last day of the Bonnaroo Music Festival (minus the patchouli). Just the freshest shit smell you could possibly imagine. In fact, I’ll wager that you’d have to actually be riding the shit straight out of my asshole to experience a fresher shit smell.
And whoever suggested breathing through one’s mouth when smelling something repulsive has obviously never participated in a Random Stool Collection. If I breathed through my nose, well, it just smelled like I was somehow inside my own ass. If I breathed through my mouth, however, it was closer to what I’d imagine eating a turd was like. The smell was so fucking thick, it was coating my tongue like a turd comforter on a crisp, February morn. I imagine it was a lot like being in the room during the filming of “Two Girls, One Cup.” Yep, breathing through my mouth was just a bad, bad, bad idea.
Tomorrow: "Step Two"