A life changing diagnosis like kidney cancer isn’t just one big dramatic moment. It is also weird and humiliating little moments all pilled together to create one unbelievably absurd story.

I think I have over my lifetime peed in about 100 different cups. I guess I don’t have any advice on how to get the pee into the cup. I’m just pointing out that the cup is offensively small and somehow it always ends up on your hands. Somehow, I still make it work. I wipe off the cup and securely tighten the lid because on the other side, I’ve also had to collect patient urine samples at work. Usually, the cup is wet, somehow still warm, and the lid is never fully screwed on. So, to every lab tech who has ever received my sample: You’re welcome. Then there is the beloved 24-hour urine collection. This one is fun because you get to store your pee in the fridge next to the milk and leftovers. We will get into that later; this story is about the tiny cups.

A few days ago, I had to give another urine sample. The problem was, there was only one bathroom. When the MA noticed the bathroom was occupied, he quickly stated, “You think for a urology clinic they would have a few more”. He said it so naturally that it was obvious this sentence is one he says all day long. Him and I stood outside the bathroom for what felt like five full minutes while a man absolutely destroyed the inside of it.

“I think he’s almost done” the MA said for the third time.

Every splash and aggressive pull of toilet paper echoed through the halls. There’s a specific kind of silence that happens when both people can hear what’s going on but are pretending they can’t. We started making forced small talk about hiking trails while violent bathroom noises echoed through the clinic hallway. I didn’t want to be standing outside the bathroom when the gentleman came out because I would have to give a fake smile to make him feel more comfortable, like I didn’t just unwillingly witness the very traumatic and personal experience he just went through. I told the MA I could wait in the lobby for 5 minutes and maybe we can try again later.

Once I was finally able to go into the bathroom, which was surprisingly still standing, I dropped the urine cup into the toilet mid-pee. Much like dropping your phone into the toilet, there’s a brief moment where you consider whether life would simply be easier if you just left it there. Unfortunately, unlike an iPhone, the lab still expects the urine sample. So, with absolutely no dignity left, I plunged my hand into the yellow toilet water while trying to convince myself that technically this is still sterile.

Nobody tells you that living with kidney cancer means spending an unbelievable amount of your life waiting outside bathrooms holding tiny plastic cups. Chronic illness is strange like that. Some days change your life forever, and some days you’re just trying not to pee on your hand in a clinic bathroom.