The dreaded pee cup

When the time came for my first prenatal appointment, I was so excited and nervous all at the same time.

You see, I had just moved to Atlanta in the summer of 2010 and though it was nearing the time for my yearly pap, I was yet to find an OB/GYN in my new city. (That’s a scary thought when you consider the fact that you’ve never met the person that will be your confidant for the next nine months.) After extensive research, I was able to select an excellent doctor with superb credentials that was part of an all female staff at a hospital only a few blocks from my home. Perfection.

When I arrived at the office, I was a little unsure of what to expect. Once there, I was relieved to see lots of pregnant women. Some were obviously much more pregnant than I, while others must have also been attending one of their very first appointments. It was comforting to see so many different women because I was hitting this appointment solo, as my husband’s job had him out of town for the first two months of my pregnancy. (Great timing, I know.) I filled out the necessary paperwork and was given a folder to take to the ultrasound room.

As I sat waiting for my name to be called, I got strangely nervous. I felt a little like throwing up (nerves or nausea? Who’s to say?) and I definitely had to pee. The nice ultrasound nurse came to get me and asked if I needed to “release my bladder.” I confirmed with gusto, relieved my bladder and made it into the chair for my first ultrasound. “We’re looking for a little peanut with a heartbeat today,” the sweet lady said. And sure enough, there it was on the screen. A little peanut—my little peanut, with a tiny heart that I could see beating. It was so beautiful and so surreal and I, of course, immediately teared up. The heartbeat was the best sound I had ever heard and everything with the baby looked great.

After my ultrasound, I had to head back to my doctor’s office to meet my OB/GYN for the first time. Upon returning, the front desk attendant, informed me that I had to pee in a cup. “Oh no!” I thought. “I don’t have to go anymore.” Sheer panic almost set in as I walked around the bathroom in circles. “How on earth was I going to pee?” I tried to think calm thoughts, excited thoughts, thoughts about the ocean, but nothing seemed to work. I paced a few minutes more, drank some water from the sink (I used a cup of course—classy, I know!) and finally tried to go. The results were not good. One little glistening tinkle was all I could give. I knew it wouldn’t be enough and I had to confess.

Out in the hall, the nurse let me drink some more water and wait in the waiting room until I could go. I was super embarrassed as I sat there waiting on my bladder to get its act together. Finally, the time to go was upon me. I ran to the bathroom, “released my bladder” and proudly sported my filled cup into the hallway, thinking I needed to drop it off at the lab. A desk attendant, never missing a beat, informed me that there was no need to carry my pee cup around because there is a drop box right in the bathroom. “Duh.” was what she probably wanted to say. “Oh my gosh, I felt even a little more embarrassed as I carried the cup back to the bathroom and put it in the metal door that connects to the lab. How could I have forgotten such an important detail? Pregnancy brain, I guess. Needless to say, I hate peeing in a cup.

It’s not all bad, though and this story does have a happy ending.

My qualms were instantly eased when I met my doctor. Her credentials came complete with a kind persona and a laid-back style. She was my perfect match and I was so excited that she would be with me through this important time in my life.

As for peeing in a cup?

I have learned a lot from my previous mishaps and at every appointment since, I have “released my bladder” in the correct room and placed it in the metal door. It’s turned out to be a real time saver.