I’ll keep things short and sweet, as this subject probably isn’t one to discuss at a breakfast table, although there is much significance to it. Each year, when my annual medical physical comes up, Dr. Angelo Ong-Veloso hands me a sample collection kit.
The unusual medical name for this kit is: Immunochemical Fecal Occult Blood Test. Without going into detail, the sample needed comes from my bottom. Savvy readers should be able to figure things out at this point.
This is an important test for those of us over 50 because colorectal cancer is a major killer amongst men and women. My Grandfather Hankins died from this disease after it metastasized into his stomach. Early prevention is the key to beating things here.
The IFOB test detects blood in the stool, which indicates there could be major problems. Rather than refuse to take it as some ignorant men do, I’m a firm believer that going through with the test could be a real lifesaver.
After collecting my tiny sample, I put it into a sealed container and then slid it inside a sealed medical bag. To add a bit more safety, I placed that small puncture-proof bag into a zipper-style Glad sandwich bag. Headed out the door, I decided one more bag wouldn’t hurt.
An empty Walmart sack just happened to be sitting on my toolbox. Tossing everything inside of it, a knot was then tied just to make sure the contents couldn’t escape.
Walking into Dr. Ong-Veloso’s waiting room on Friday morning, I held my Wal-Mart bag up to the receptionist’s window. She asked with a curious tone, “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Dr. Ong-Veloso wanted me to bring this stool sample in.”
The surprised look in the woman’s eyes immediately caught my attention. They were as large as saucers. It took a few seconds for me to realize what she was thinking. Undoubtedly, my Walmart sack was reminiscent of ones she’d seen people use to pick up after their dogs. Realizing this, I offered a quick explanation.
“Uh, this is just an extra bag the other one is in!” That seemed to ease her concern.
Walking back to my truck, I couldn’t help but chuckle. I’m guessing she did the same. Sometimes, humor just happens and isn’t planned. Sunday morning newspaper stories often occur in the same fashion!
I like to write junk... 