Nothing is More Humbling than Peeing in a Cup

When you take out a mortgage the bank will do two things: First, congratulate you on your new home and second, start talking life insurance. Bottom line: We don’t care what happens to you as long as we get our money, bitch(es). Being that I’m in the insurance business I just happen to know what a scam the bank life insurance is. Naturally, since I get a fancy staff discount on individual life insurance through work we opted to take the bank insurance temporarily until our applications were approved through Canada Life. This involves having a blood profile and vitals done on each of us. The nurse calls us up to set up an appointment to come out to our home and take the samples we are required to submit for medical underwriting (basically to ensure that you’re not a high risk for them to insure). Anyway, I have really pale skin and teeny tiny veins. She pokes me twice, once in each arm and there’s not a drop to be had. I start to feel nauseous and she hasn’t even drawn anything. She tells me that I’ll have to go to a lab on my own where they have butterfly needles; her needle is too wide for my wimpy veins. Two weeks pass by and I still haven’t gone to a lab.


This is my humbling story (Not for the squeamish).

Today I found the time. I drank a ton of water and didn’t go pee all morning in preparation. I decide to wander over to the lab that happens to be down the street from my office. I weave in and out of the foot traffic on Scarth Street. Christmas shoppers and pan handlers litter the downtown street mall. It’s cold out. Great, there are protesters on Scarth and they manage stop me to tell me all about a rally that’s going on in Victoria Park. I care not. But alas I smile and take the flyer the nice girl hands me. I politely fold then tuck it in my coat pocket rather than crumple it up and throw it away while she watches helplessly.

I arrive at the Cornwall Professional building. In the elevator, third floor. This elevator is dreadfully slow. Should have taken the stairs. My stomach reminds me that I’m slightly nervous. The last time I had blood taken I was 12 and it took them 6 tries. I also blacked out when I got my nose pierced. Elevator finally gets to the third floor. I step out into the hallway. Oh look, a directional plaque tells me which office is which. I don’t understand the medial gibberish so I guess instead. Go right. This looks like a lab…I go to the desk. I pull out my Lab One kit the nurse left at my place. I place it on the counter. “Um…Hi. I need blood work done for my insurance application. The nurse tried when she came out a few weeks ago but she couldn’t get anything. I drank a lot of water.” Why did I say that? She stares at me then at the kit. Who walks around with a blood/urine collection kit? Imagine if I had been mugged.

I am escorted in to a small private room. The nurse leaves to get her supplies in order. I am left to take off my coat and long sleeved shirt. My stomach is even more upset now. I may not make it back to work. What a wimp. Betsy (the nurse) comes back in and ties that little pinchy elastic around my bare arm. Clenching of the fist commences. I’m going to pass out. She hasn’t even touched me yet. “I feel a something here…we’ll give it try.” I close my eyes AND look away. I really, really don’t want to see it. “We’re in business, we have blood!” Why is she so excited? I sure hope I didn’t get hepatitis when I got my tattoo in Edmonton five years ago. That would suck. “All done.” Now, I’ll let you go to the bathroom.” She hands me the cup that looks like a pill bottle.
I stand up, a little shaky but not nearly as bad as I had anticipated. I’ve never peed in a cup before. Is there a technique for women? Hmmm how far back is the urethra? Do angles matter? I must say I kind of wish I was a man. Way easier feat hands down. I grab some paper towels to hold the cup. I start the process. I may have missed. Replace “may” with did. Yep, totally peed on my hand. Classy. Don’t judge me, I’m trying to line up a tiny hole that resides in a dark crevice with a tiny cup. They should really put a mirror in the bottom of those things. There we go. Oh, oh no not enough cup, too much pee. The cup-ith have run-ith over. Frown. My hand is shaking pretty bad. I grab more paper towel to try and dry off my over flowing specimen. I’m 24 and I can’t even pee in a cup. There’s more pee? I guess I did drink a lot of water…I could have filled three of those cups. My pee was 33 degrees Celsius (93.6 Fahrenheit). Don’t ask if that’s good or bad. I have no idea.