Home » Just Another Typical Day: Handling A Stranger’s Urine

Just Another Typical Day: Handling A Stranger’s Urine

Yesterday afternoon I had a prenatal check up.  We’re closing in on 33 weeks and I’m amazed at how good things have been going.  This pregnancy is much better than the first.  I didn’t really expect any surprises or problems at this appointment. . .

I should know better.

I arrived at said appointment on time.  This was a miracle in itself after spending an inordinate amount of time attempting to get a snotty toddler to nap way earlier than regularly scheduled so Chris wouldn’t have to take on that challenge when he arrived home.

Upon arrival at the Doctor’s Office, the first thing the receptionist does is give you a little label you can stick to your urine sample.  It’s like self-serve urine testing.  If you have to go before the nurse actually calls your name, you can just waddle to the restroom, makes the tinkles into the little cup, slap on your label and leave it in that ridiculous little two-way cabinet thing they have above the toilet in the restroom.

Yesterday afternoon I was behind on my Twitter feed so I plopped myself down in the waiting room instead of promptly peeing.  So when the nurse called my name, she took my blood pressure and weight and then it was time for me to offer up some urine so they can test it for gawd-only-knows-what.

The set up is a little stupid.  The scale and blood pressure chair are right outside the one-person restroom.  And the ultrasound and nurses’ area are right next door.  It’s a high traffic area.  Not the kind of place that’s conducive to a relaxing blood pressure check OR pee-break.

The nurse walked away as soon as I entered the restroom.  They were busy and I could tell she was in a hurry to get on to the next task err patient.

So I shut the restroom door and grabbed a little cup from the stack.  I placed my label on the edge of the sink and was mentally preparing myself to hover above a 2 inch diameter cup. . .”Don’t pee on your hand.  Don’t pee on the seat.  You can do THIS, Grrrrrrrl.”

And that’s when I noticed IT.


In the toilet was one of those bedpan type containers.  And it was full of URINE.

Gawd, why does this shit always happen to me?!  

What to do?  What to do?  

I could try hovering above it.  I’m a pretty neat hover-er.

Yeah.  Hover above it.  What’s the big deal?  

I quickly realized what the big deal was:  I was about to pee into a sample cup – a sample cup that was way too small to hold everything my bladder was about to offer up – which meant some of it had to go IN the toilet.

I turned back towards the door.  I knew the nurse was long gone.  And I could see someone jiggling the handle.  Another poor knocked up idiot needed to pee.  I was holding up the works!

Panicked, I surveyed the situation again.  I examined the toilet from several angles.  There was no way I could access the toilet bowl with that pan tray thing in the way.  Even if I sat on the toilet SIDEWAYS. . .Yes.  I tried.

Who the fuck would leave this thing in the toilet?  I was becoming all kinds of indignant.  Why do I always have to clean up someone else’s mess?  I can’t even take a piss in peace.  

I glared at the pan full of urine.

I could see it was wedged between the porcelain bowl part of the toilet and the toilet seat.

Again, I head someone jiggle the restroom door handle.

I could feel sweat forming on my upper lip. . .

YOU are going to have to remove that pan.  FAST.

What if I spill it?  

Who cares if you spill it?!  This shouldn’t be your problem.  Just remove the damned thing! For all you know the line for the restroom is six pregnant women deep at this point!  

Ok.  Okay.  Deep breath.  You’re a Mom.  You deal with pee ALL THE TIME.  This ain’t no big thing.  Just very carefully, lift up the lid while keeping your hand on this sucker. . .

Oh, the edge is wet.  That’s nice.  You’re touching a stranger’s urine!  

That’s what soap is for. . .Relax, Deni.  Steady.  Almost got it!  

I successfully got the pan out of the toilet!

But my victory was short-lived.  I soon realized I had no idea what the hell to do with it.

Way to go Deni.  Where did you plan to put this monstrosity exactly now that you’ve freed it from the toilet?  

It was way too big to fit in the little two-way cabinet thingy.


I tried placing it on the sink.  No way.  Too big.  

Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle on the door knob.


So I did.  I put a pan of someone else’s pee on the floor!

As I exited the restroom I wondered if perhaps I should tell the women waiting in line that the tray-full of piss on the bathroom floor wasn’t actually MINE?

I decided I had already done them a favor by removing that sucker from the toilet.

Besides, if they can’t handle the sight of a pan of piss on the floor, Motherhood is going to be a very rocky road. . .