Death Pool

 

Our backyard in Tinley Park, 1970.

Yesterday, late in the day after all the doctors had gone home, I went into the bathroom and urinated. Something was very wrong. My urine was dark, very dark. As a cancer survivor, I of course panicked. Bladder cancer? Kidneys failing? Every known bit of my inner plumbing came under scrutiny. I had a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. Could the cheese have had orange food dye in it? Seriously, I started thinking that whoever had me in the family death pool was going to win. I knew that I would have to call my doctor first thing when he opened in the morning. Then I remembered the new modern way to figure out such emergencies. Google! I would Google 'Dark Urine', which I did. Talk about scary shit. There were all sorts of horrendous possibilities that could kill me if I didn't run to the doctor right away. Some of the possibilities weren't curable. I was in a sweat and a bit scared. Then I saw it. Down at the bottom of the 'What to do if your urine is dark' page that I had Googled, it mentioned a laxative. It said that sometimes when you take a certain laxative, your urine will turn dark the next day. I had taken a laxative the night before, for that gentle overnight relief they advertise. When I Googled the brand of laxative I had used with the added words, 'Dark Urine', Google came back with what I wanted to see. Yes, that brand does turn your urine dark. I am not going to die. I will live another day, maybe another year. "May turn your urine dark" should be printed in giant letters on the front of the package. Finally, as for the family death pool, it doesn't really exist. But it might not be such a bad idea. Eleven siblings, all of us aging rapidly, it might take the sting out of losing a loved one.