The Peep Doctor

Paul is 5, Tom is 4, David is 3)

 November 22, 1974

 

Tom has had his appointment with "the peep doctor" and another great trip can be recorded in the annals of "trips to Kaiser I have made." David and Paul fell asleep on the ride to Sacramento. Paul woke up right when we stopped, but David was just dead weight, so I carried his limp body around with me. We got to Urology and I plopped snoring David onto a couch and registered Tom. The nurse told me to go and have Tom give a urine specimen. I told Paul to stay with David (the bathrooms were in the waiting room, but naturally behind doors). I went into the bathroom with Tom and remembered that I left my purse outside, so leaned out to get it before getting the cup for Tom's specimen...in the meantime, Tom is peeing into the toilet, very proud of himself! I screamed "STOP!" and hurried to get a cup to catch any residue, but we were too late. We talked water for a long while and Tom finally produced about 1/8" in the bottom of the cup and called it quits.

 Tom and I came out of the ladies' room and Paul decided he wanted to go into the men's room. The room at this point was virtually empty except for an old lady who had a shortwave radio and was trying to tune into the TV channels so she could hear her favorite soap opera. By now it was after 1, so office hours were starting again and people began coming, each one with their little slips of paper waiting in line for Paul to get out of the bathroom. I could hear him singing and talking to himself, but I pretended I didn't know who he was. Then he started yelling to Tom... "Tom? You out there?" "Tom? Is Mommy there too?" "Tom? Did Mommy leave yet?" (to which a man standing in line shouted, "No, she didn't!") Then, "Tom? I'll be out as soon as I get the poop out of my bottom." (All this SHOUTED across a now-crowded waiting room!) When he yelled, "Ooops, I need more toilet paper for all this poop, Tom." I decided I had to admit he was mine, and I knocked on the door. When he opened it up, I marched in (to the men's room) and pulled up his pants and tried to gracefully usher him past the long line of men with their little slips of paper in their hands. He started crying, "But there's still poop in my bottom" and refused to sit in a chair. He would only writhe on the floor and scream, "I can't stand all this poop in my bottom!" At that point, I was ready to flush both of us down the nearest toilet, but there were still too many people waiting in line to get in!

 Through all of this, David still snored peacefully, though by now we were occupying three chairs (David's body) and a good portion of the floor, since both Tom and Paul were now lying on it and writhing. They finally took pity on us and called us for our appointment. David, still limp, was carried into the examination room and I put him on the examining table along with Tom.


 
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