November 14, 2014. Ridgeland, MS. My Sample.

The instructions given to me were precise and stern. I was to take this round bottle into the bathroom, use the wipe to clean myself and in mid flow, fill the bottle full to the top. The nurse giving me instructions had lived all her life in Mississippi so it was difficult for me to understand her words. It took me three times for me to figure out what I was supposed to do with the little bottle. Finally, I gave up and figured out I would just leave it in the bathroom on the sink. She thought I was demented but I thought it was funny. Now this nurse was pleasant but she was also over six feet tall and weighed about 225 pounds. She was not one to mess with, especially by an elderly lady wearing sneakers and jeans. I knew what to do. The problem was with the execution. It had been three hours since a bathroom break for me. I needed to urinate. What with the opened bottle in my one hand and the wipe in the other hand while trying to pull down my jeans, and trying to fill the bottle mid stream, my hand slipped and the sample bottle fell into the toilet. I knew this was not good but I started to giggle, which made things worse. I rescued the bottle, filled it partly to the top, placed it carefully in the metal cabinet, and crept out. I did not breathe a word to the efficient nurse. I can not imagine what those results will be like, when my urine is mixed with water from the toilet bowl. But I will never tell a soul, until I am required to confess. Then I will probably be told to repeat the whole process, except now I know the drill. Perhaps I will perform better.