So he sent me to the lab for a stool sample kit, which consists of a clear plastic baggie and three wooden coffee stirrers. I was expecting something more like a margarine tub. I mean, this is diarrhea we're talking about here — the really watery kind. (Sorry.)
The Lab Guy (that's what the receptionist called him, the Lab Guy) wasn't as helpful as I might have hoped. I guess I shouldn't have expected detailed instructions, and I suppose I can figure it out for myself. I just hope I do it right, because I'd hate to add this to the list of things I failed at.
Anyway, nothing was resolved today, but at least the doctor didn't tell me I should decide who gets all my St. Elsewhere videos, or to shred all my sensitive documents, or not to bother trying to score World Series tickets in October.
He didn't even tell me not to eat chili. (But I'm not tempted — yet.)