Kevin Buckman -- "The Diarrhea Song" (1989)

When you're sitting in your Chevy

And your shorts are feeling heavy

Let's begin with something that a woman I knew liked to say to her grandson:  "If I could buy you for what you are worth, and sell you for what you think you're worth, I could make a lot of money."  (Think about it.)

That woman was my grandmother, boys and girls.  

I am telling that story to you now not because it has any relevance to this post -- because it doesn't -- but because I'm at the age where I might forget it tomorrow.  Or I might die before I get around to sharing it.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, we can move on.    

"TMI" is an expression that the kids use a lot.  It stands for "too much information" -- meaning (in the words of the invaluable Urban Dictionary) "way more than you want to know about someone."

You are about to get a MAJOR dose of TMI about me.  Unless, of course, you choose to navigate away to a different website as fast as your little fingers can type.  (I wouldn't blame you a bit for doing exactly that.)

For over two weeks, I've been suffering from an unpleasant digestive disorder.  (Its name begins with the letter "D-" and ends with the letter "-IARRHEA.")

I recently dropped in my friendly neighborhood gastroenterologist's office and spent a few delightful minutes discussing the particulars of my condition (e.g., "Is it muddy-colored, or is it black?") with a nurse practitioner.

There's no obvious explanation for my persistent illness.  I haven't changed my diet, and I'm not taking any new medications.

One possible cause of my condition is an infection of the intestines due to a virus, bacteria, or . . . a parasite.  (Gross me out a thousand times!)  Such infections are usually acquired from food or water that has been contaminated by fecal matter, or directly from a previously infected person -- neither of which is a scenario I care to dwell on at length.

To determine whether I have an infection of some sort or not, I need to provide a sample of . . . well, let's call it UGH, shall we?

When I left the doctor's office, I was given a small white plastic cup -- I estimate it would hold about eight ounces of liquid -- and no fewer than SIX small plastic vials.  Two of the containers had a pink top, and two had a gray top.  One had an orange top, and the final one had a white top.

I'm supposed to put UGH in all six of them?

The pink- and gray-topped vials were partially filled with a clear liquid.  The orange-topped vial was partially filled with a bright red liquid.  The white-topped vial contained no liquid.

Here's what the instruction sheet that came with the vials said (in English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Laotian, Cambodian, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Chinese -- in that order):

UGH COLLECTION INSTRUCTIONS

1.  UGH movement goes directly into the white cup.

2.  Using the spoon-like attachment on the lid of the vials, transfer enough UGH into vials to raise the liquid up to the red line.

The "spoon-like attachment," I presume

3.  The vial with the white top has no liquid.  You just need enough UGH to fill it to the red line.

4.  After completion you can discard the white cup.  [NOTE: You can bet you sweet life I will!]

5.  Place the vials into the biohazard bag with the lab slip and drop it off to [sic] the lab.

The following was printed on the bottom half of the instruction sheet:

STORAGE REQUIREMENTS

Pink & gray top -- room temperature -- get to the lab within 5 days.

Orange top -- room temperature -- get to the lab within 72 hours.

White top -- refrigerate -- get to the lab within 24 hours. 

I think I'm just going to ride this thing out for another week -- lay off the dairy, start taking some probiotics, and stock up on the ol' Pepto-Bismol.  Maybe my problem will go away before I'm forced to use those "spoon-like attachments "to fill those SIX vials up to the red line with my UGH.

[Note:  My problem didn't go away, and I had to do unspeakable things with those "spoon-like attachments."]  

As the movie Parenthood (1989) begins, the nine-year-old Kevin Buckman (played by Jasen Fisher) is singing "The Diarrhea Song" in the back seat of the family station, much to the dismay of his parents (played by Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen) but much to the delight of his younger sister:

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