The Junk Drawer

I have a bone to pick with the people who write up instructions you’re supposed to follow before having a medical test. What’s that bone?

Be more specific than you think you need to be.

A few years ago I was scheduled for an ultrasound and was given a leaflet with instructions on what to do beforehand. The only real requirement was this:

Drink plenty of water.

OK. I can do plenty. Hmmm, but what’s plenty? Most normal people might call the office and ask how much is plenty, but not me. I prefer to wonder and guess and be stupid, and for that I almost drowned myself.

For two hours leading up to the test, I guzzled an entire gallon of water (3.8 liters). I did wonder if all that water could fit in my bladder, but I’m nothing if not compliant. I was always a good student. Do as I’m told. Don’t question the teacher. Drink.

And drink and drink and drink I did.

By the time I got to the doctor’s office, I was a little queasy. No problem. They’ll call me soon. They can get the test done and I can go empty out.

Um. No.

I waited five minutes, then ten. My eyes began to cross and tear up and the pain in my lower region was indescribable. My toes curled in agony.

I stopped fidgeting in my seat because fidgeting was likely to break the dam. I did not want to trigger the mighty Hoover.

At the fifteen minute mark, I started to see little green men. I’ve heard of water intoxication and I’m pretty sure this was the start of it. Mercifully, the nurse called my name and I mustered all my strength to stand and not empty my bladder on my shoes.

I immediately notified the nurse of my predicament and to my horror, she scolded me. Me! The good student who follows instructions!

She said "You shouldn’t have done that. You can’t have a full bladder for this test. You have to empty….."

and this is the part that made me want to scream if I didn’t think screaming would trigger a flood

"… only some of your bladder. We need it about half full."

Eep!

Do you know how hard it is to stop midstream when your bladder wants desperately to do what it does every other time? Emptying is what it does best. Stopping short of empty is not in the manual.

My confused bladder and I did our best to estimate half full. I apologized to my bladder numerous times and promised it that as soon as the test was over, we’d scurry back to finish the job.

Only half-satisfied, I waddled out to the exam room, had the test, found out it was fine and then off my bladder and I went to enjoy the other half of my cruelly-truncated ahhhhhh moment.

And so, as a Junk Drawer public service announcement, in the context of vague medical instructions plenty of water means a lot less than a gallon. You’re welcome.

My husband Dave loves him a good horror movie. Bring on the gross, the gory and the gruesome.

But what makes him run screaming from the room whenever I take it out and use it?

This.

I’ll spare you any pictures of my dead foot skin. But I will tell you that it looks exactly like finely grated parmagean cheese. Buon appetito!

The fact is the thing works and I’m on my way to smoother, sandal-wearing feet. My piddies are probably the least cared-for part of my body, until now. Hey, if it takes a cheese grater to do it, it’s all good.

Have you eaten breakfast yet? Are you eating it now? Sorry.

OK, boys and girls. Put your thinking caps on. Today we have a What’s That? item for you to mull over.

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins either 500 Entrecard credits or a Junk Drawer magnet, your choice.

Go!

What the heck is that?

UPDATE: CONTEST CLOSED

OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Who has pencil sharpeners like this anymore? You guys really surprised me. I don’t even use regular pencils. They make ones you can click like a pen, you know. And the last sharpener I used was electric. So how old are you people?

For the record, this sharpener came from my childhood home. It was mounted on a half wall in the kitchen. The day my parents moved out of their house, I unscrewed that baby, still full of shavings, and stuck it in a bag, where it remained until today when I got the idea for a post.

Congratulations, Anne! I’ll contact you shortly about your prize.

If I can find another object today, I’ll put up another one. A harder one. Geesh.

Seriously. We’re gonna do this now?

We had wind gusts over 60mph today. Three more bags joined Windy and New Guy (look on the left for the brown bag that’s a bit hard to see).

I’m out of my mind at this point. I never thought we’d have more than Windy to look at. I cannot bear to watch five bags hanging onto branches for months to come.

As for the poll to name the new bag, I hope you won’t be too mad if forego the poll and pick a favorite right now. Ben Barden knocked it out of the park with "Gusty." I think a lot of you liked that name, too.

Thank you for all your fun suggestions. I especially liked that many of you were happy for Windy because she got a date for Valentine’s Day. Now she has a posse.

As for naming the others, let’s just call them "The Others," mmm-k?

How weird would it be if I called our Facilities Services department and asked them to get the four they can reach out of the trees, leaving only Windy behind? Do you dare me?

I’m still in shock. Another bag flew up into a tree at my building.

All fresh and new and STUCK.

So which one of you put it there? I know you’re all trying to make me insane. You know this means war.

At least our Windy has a friend now. FOREVER.

I’m serious. If I find out one of you put it there, I’ll hunt you down and make you climb up and get it out. And I don’t care if you break all your bones when you fall out.

You know what this means now? New bag needs a name. Drop your suggestion in the drawer and I’ll run a poll after I’ve picked a bunch that I like.

I wouldn’t have believed this if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. Windy got a mate.