Dropping Off the Stool Sample

To deliver the stool sample, you’ll need to shit first. You head back to your room, picking up the container, and then walk over to the communal bathroom. Self-conscious, you look around, making sure that there’s nobody in the corridor to see you. You slowly push open the door to the bathroom, make sure that the coast is clear there too, and duck into a stall as quickly as you can.

You whip out your phone, and then look down at the container. How is this supposed to work? It takes a little bit of working out, but you eventually find a position and angle that makes things line up without being too uncomfortable, and you scroll through your feeds, willing yourself to crap. You’re not much into butt stuff, but you could imagine that if Janet were… well, that fantasy will have to wait for a couple more minutes, at a minimum.

It takes a couple of minutes for you to do your business. You tidy up quickly and efficiently after the fact, waiting tactically for a guy using a urinal to wash-up and depart before you leave your stall. From there, it takes a little while for you to get to the hospital.

You walk up to the front desk, telling them that you’re Alex Knight, looking for a nurse named Janet. The receptionist gives you a warm smile, although you can tell from the creases in his eyes that such a request is a bit unusual. He types down something into his system, and then shakes his head.

“Sorry Alex, but Janet isn’t working at the moment. What did you need her for? Maybe I can redirect you to the right place.”

Right, she had told you to deliver it during her shift. You feel a little disappointed that you won’t be seeing her today, but you let the receptionist know that you’re just here to drop off a stool sample.

“Strange that she told you to ask for her,” the receptionist remarks. “This is a pretty routine drop-off. You can give it to the people down by office 36 in the basement, and they’ll do some light pre-processing before sending it off to the lab.”

“Thanks,” you say. “Do you have any idea how long it’ll take for me to get my results back?”

“I think it’s usually a week or so,” the guy says, and then he gives you a thin smile that tells you the conversation is over. There’s one or two people behind you, one of them an overweight old Eastern European man who seems to have a rather persistent wet cough, and you hurriedly get out of the way, not wanting to catch anything.

It’s a little confusing to navigate the hospital floor, and the maps all seem to be incomplete or misleading, the staff too busy to give you anything more than a grunt and a point when you ask for directions, and so it takes you a little longer than anticipated to find the correct office. When you do, though, you’re met by a burly lady.

You explain your situation to her, and before you’re halfway done, she’s shoved a stack of papers in your face, telling you to fill them out. You look at it, surprised at the pile, but take it to a small desk on the side.

There’s a lot of legalese and technical medical terminology, but the gist of it seems to be reasonable enough. You balk as you see how much this lab test is going to cost, but you luckily have insurance to cover it. You end up having to look up a few details and phrases on your phone, but you think you complete the paperwork in reasonable time. Passing it back to the lady, she only nods in response, and collects your stool sample.

“You can leave now,” she says, shooing you away with a hand, and you depart from the hospital, realising that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for psychology.