24 hours of pure elegance

One thing that I didn't mention when I was talking about my new endocrinologist is that he was concerned by elevated levels of calcium in my blood and thinks I may have hyperparathyroidism, which essentially means that one of my parathyroid glands (which regulate calcium) is overactive, which can lead to osteoporosis. I'm fairly certain that this is what I have, because it turns out that my dad had the same thing and it can be genetic.

If I do have it, I'll need to have surgery on throat at my some point to remove the offending gland. I am not happy about this at all, because I love my neck and don't want to have a scar on it, and also don't like the idea of surgery under general anesthesia. But I like that idea better than I like the idea of osteoporosis, and also the doctor told me I don't need to have the surgery before my wedding, meaning I won't have a still-healing scar in the photos, so that made me feel better.

Anyway, the next step in figuring out if I do have this condition is a 24-hour urine test, which means that every drop that I pee over a 24-hour period has to be collected in a jug. Charming, right? And yes, the jug does have to be stored in the refrigerator with the food. That we eat.

So, I did the test this past Sunday, and decided to blog the process step by step:

Saturday, 11:00 p.m.: Try to figure out what sort of receptacle would be best to pee in. Jug is way too large to fit below me in the toilet. Need something deep enough to avoid splashing, wide enough to catch everything (as instructions are very firm about not missing anything), small enough to fit below me in toilet, and large enough to hold a first-thing-in-the-morning pee. Among items that are considered: a vase, a mixing bowl, and a pitcher. All are rejected on the grounds that we will never want to use them again after I've peed in them. Finally have stroke of genius and remember large plastic cups purchased for Super Bowl party last month.

11:20 p.m.: Set up big stack of cups in bathroom, along with trash bag for used cups. Practice peeing into cup. Have some aim issues. Figure out where to hold cup so that aiming is not an issue. Feel relieved that I thought to practice before it mattered so that I won't lose any precious drops.

Sunday, 6:56 a.m.: Alarm goes off at the same time that it will go off tomorrow, signaling the start of the 24-hour period. Stumble out of bed and pee into the toilet as per instructions. Collapse back into bed.

11:00 a.m.: Wake up, desperately needing to pee. Discover fiance in bathroom. Try not to pee all over the floor while waiting for him to vacate. Grab plastic cup from pre-prepared stack and collapse gratefully on toilet. Discover that despite intense need to pee, is very difficult to actually force yourself to pee in cup, especially with strict instructions to include every drop of pee hanging over head. Take over five minutes to pee; this must be a new record.

12:40 p.m.: Realize need to pee again. Express said need to fiance. Fiance has visions of another marathon pee session and runs off to use bathroom first.

12:42 p.m.: Go pee. Take only two minutes this time. Feel proud of accomplishment.

1:10 p.m.: Decide to go for a walk with fiance. Develop visions of needing to pee halfway through and not being able to. Spend five minutes in bathroom to force out remaining three drops of pee to prevent that from happening.

3:00 p.m.: Home from walk. Sort of need to pee. Decide to wait until the need feels more urgent to increase the odds of being able to do it quickly.

3:10 p.m.: Need to pee becomes more urgent. Head to bathroom Take only one minute but worry about small amount of pee in cup; seems surprising given urgency of desire to pee. Decide not to worry about it.

11:00 p.m.: Need to pee and do so in cup with total ease. Declare self bona fide cup-peeing expert.

11:30 p.m.: Bedtime. Attempt to do final nighttime pee before bed. Discover that previous declaration of expert status was premature. Can muster only three drops of pee. Dutifully retrieve jug from refrigerator to transfer aforementioned three drops; after all, instructions say in bold letters, "Skip no specimens."

Monday, 3:20 a.m.: Wonder why I am awake and needing to pee so early. Blame it on stunted pre-bedtime pee.

6:56 a.m.: Alarm goes off. Stumble into bathroom. Pee into cup. Am surprised that there is not more pee; had expected to fill cup entirely. Remember middle-of-the-night pee; feel better.

7:45 a.m.: Can't face idea of long Metro ride while carrying giant orange jug full of pee. Take cab to doctor's office instead.

9:00 a.m.: Arrive at office. Pee in toilet like normal person. Feel enormous sense of relief.