The Collection

WARNING – Do not read this if you are yet to eat your breakfast or if you have expressed your disgust at the subject matter of some of my posts.

Last Wednesday I was given a large bag by the Medically Trained People, that was accompanied by an apology. The bag looked like this:


When I looked inside the bag, I understood the apology. The contents of the bag looked like this:


The contents of the bag, told me that I had to do a 24 hour urine sample.* Thus, yesterday I was housebound yet again, as I was required to collect all my pee for the 24 hour period. Some people, may think that this should not have stop me from leaving my flat, but I have my limits and carrying a water bottle full of my pee is one of them.

So, on discovering on Wednesday what I had to do four days later, I immediately apologised to Housemate for the fact that a 3 litre bottle of piss was going to have to sit next to our toilet for a 24 hour period.

Fortunately, I have had to do this before. Unfortunately, I was in hospital when I was last given this arduous task. There is something that is not quite right about peeing into a jug in your own home. A hospital toilet is fine. On the bright side, I am far more agile than I was back then, so at least I did not need to get somebody to fit a cardboard potty into the toilet bowl and then collect my pee for me. That was embarrassing. This time, it was all me. Literally.

Now, this may be too graphic for some of you, but I just can’t help myself. I have never measured my urine before, I do not know why a person would want to, but I was quite surprised that the first session of the day came in at just over a litre. That is a lot of liquid. It was touch and go for most of the day whether the three litre bottle would be sufficient. Ever the fan of preparation, I had to hand some water bottles just in case.

Some of you may think that I share too much, specifically when it comes to my bodily functions and my naked form. There is nothing I can do about this. What I experience is the reality of having cancer and it is a side of cancer that not a lot of people talk about. I have to not be embarrassed by it and neither should you. I do not care about decorum in this instance. I never anticipated having to collect this amount of urine, and I never anticipated being so constipated that I sweated through all my clothes and cried. It is a reality of having cancer. My Myeloma has taken away some of my ability to complete everyday functions that people take for granted and if I can find a little humour in talking about it, then so be it.

Shit, fart, wee wee and tattooed fajita.💩💩💩💩

With that in mind, the picture below is the fruits of my labour, all three litres of it:


If only I knew how I was going to physically be able to carry this, my electrical goods and walking stick at the same time, when I leave my flat. I do not think the Medically Trained People thought about this. I have ensured that the lid is firmly fastened, so that there is not a little accident in the ambulance. That would be unfortunate.

* Medical Fact!
My urine is being collected to test for something called the Bence Jones protein. This test is required to see how well my treatment is doing in the battle against My Myeloma. Let us all hope that we are winning.

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