Picture it. My house. 2024.
A no-longer-quite-so-young-girl is sitting in her bedroom, staring at an offending box on the floor. It mocks her with just its title. She sighs, having successfully avoided this box for a few months now, but finding herself unable to anymore because her doctor is likely wondering why she won’t open it.
That girl was me, and that box was my Cologuard.
Excuse me, but when did colonoscopies become part of my yearly physical conversation? What happened to discussions of my cycles around my pregnancies, or young motherhood, or anything that might remotely make me feel like I’m still in the early part of my adult years? I couldn’t decide if I was offended, hurt, or if perhaps my doctor thought she had the wrong patient when she started the discussion.
Let’s go with wrong patient, shall we?
The conversation went roughly like this:
Doctor: “It is now suggested that routine colonoscopies begin at age 45.”
Me: “LALALALALALA” *fingers in ears*
Doctor: “Where would you like me to send the order?”
Me: “I CAN’T HEAR YOU” *fingers still in ears*
Doctor: “We could discuss the Cologuard as an alternative.”
Me: “Ok, maybe I could hear you. I guess I’ll do that.” *pouting*
There may have been more details between those sentences, but I gave you the Reader’s Digest version of this discussion. My kids tell me that this is now called the TL;DR version (too long, didn’t read). You’re welcome.
I left that day and immediately pushed the Cologuard discussion to the back of my mind, having decided I wouldn’t have to give it any attention for awhile. I have never seen a package come so fast in my life. We were outside having a BBQ approximately 12 hours later when the box was delivered. Why does Cologuard have to loudly proclaim all over their box what will soon be inside? I don’t really want to announce to the world that I’m receiving a box that will hold my poop.
I brought that box inside my house like an unruly toddler, and relegated it to the corner of my bedroom on the floor. I felt like it deserved to be there after committing the offense of reminding me that I might not be 25. Every day I would pass that box and glare at it. I might have even kicked it a few times, just for existing and belonging to me – ESPECIALLY for belonging to me.
A few months passed, and after the 293rd email from Cologuard asking me to send them my poop, I realized my doctor must be wondering what had become of my test. I resigned myself to completing this wholly insulting and altogether awful task. No one told me that getting (a little bit) older meant that I had to poop in a box. And Cologuard really ought to look into perhaps disguising their boxes with some cleverly placed emojis to hide their logo, and name, and basically every word on the box.
This is where it got fun.
I finally decided to get this over with on a Saturday morning. The saving grace in my mind was that you could go to a special web address and order a UPS pickup just for your box of poop. I would not have to go to a UPS store and hand my box to the UPS employee, who would undoubtedly look at the very conspicuous logo and name on the box and just give me the LOOK. You know, the look of someone who knows they just took possession of your poop.
After all was done, I packed up my box, put the label on, and went to the web address. It was then that I discovered to my horror that the special UPS pickup is only available on weekdays. I had to go to the UPS store! My only other option was to do this all over again with a new kit on a weekday. I resigned myself to the embarrassment, and was about to get ready to go, when I heard a box get dropped on my front steps.
It was UPS!
I ran outside, as quickly as one can when you’re almost 50 on a Saturday morning at home. (Explanation for those of you who haven’t reached a certain age yet: the bra is *off* from the moment I get home from work until I have to leave again. But it’s not comfortable or cute to run like that, so I had to move carefully yet quickly. I’m a nonstop Rollercoaster of Fun.) I “ran” outside to ask the driver if she could take a pre-labeled box. She could! Success! I didn’t have to go to the UPS store!
I came back out and handed her my box of poop. She looked at it. She looked at me. Yup, THE LOOK. It was mostly worth it to not have to drive it anywhere. She started to walk away. I started to go in. I decided to turn around to get the box she had dropped off.
THIS WAS MY CRITICAL MISTAKE.
My dog ran between my legs, ecstatic to finally catch the UPS driver. It happened so fast, and before I knew it she was right behind the driver, who was still holding my poop. I yelled “She’s friendly!” (She really is. She’s a lab, and about the dorkiest ball of love you’ve ever met. But she also snarls when she’s excited and this tends to confuse people.) The poor UPS driver threw her arms up in the air – complete with my box of poop – and screamed “AAAAHHH!” I kept saying “She’s friendly!” and this quickly became clear as my boneheaded lab sat there wagging her tail, having now decided that she was shy and waited to be told she was a good girl by the poor terrified UPS driver.
To her credit, this woman then asked my dog if she would like a treat. Well, this pup has known the word treat – including how to spell it – since she was about 3 months old. She followed the driver right to the truck to get her treat. The driver placed my box of poop down, and went for the dog treats. The whole encounter took about 30 seconds, with me repeating “I’m so sorry!” from my front steps, not wanting to come closer with my no-bra situation. As the dog came back inside, I tossed out one more “I’m so sorry!” and shut the door to be alone with my humiliation.
If the Cologuard box had still been here, I would have kicked it once more.
*DISCLAIMER* Nothing in this post is medical advice, and please discuss all medical decisions with your doctor, preferably without your fingers in your ears *DISCLAIMER*