It turns out that little whim of hers was pointless, considering she died pretty quickly, anyway. But on the bright side it did gave me a good idea. I too would try this intriguing treatment on some of the odd growths and obscure molds that littered my body.
The first thing I did was not bother to research the efficacy of this treatment. I also made a point of not bringing my experiment up to friends or family, knowing full well they would say the same thing they always do when I come up with one of these ideas, "I told you not to phone me. If you do it again I'm calling the police."
Urine Therapy may seem like a disgusting thing to do, but that's only because it is. Splashing pee all over your body then heading out into the world to do your grocery shopping or quail hunting is not something most people would attempt, mostly out of self-respect, which I believe is overrated. But how exactly are you going to know for sure if urine therapy does or does not work unless you give it a try?
My first day of Urine Therapy was the most exciting. Over the course of the last several weeks I had developed a large cyst on my left eyelid, which I am told arises because of an obstruction to an oil gland. Although, I'm pretty sure mine was caused by an incantation uttered by my neighbour who is still angry with me for backing over his grandmother. Either way, the cyst was large, filled with fluid, and beginning to resemble a second nose, so I thought it would be the best place to start.
Standing in my bathtub I aimed my first piddle of the morning directly at the effected eyelid and let loose with a blast of smelly yellow medicine that soaked every part of my face except the area I was aiming for. This was hardly surprising since I rarely get my stream to hit an open toilet, never mind a pus filled protuberance on my eye. I needed a new technique.
After I brewed up another batch of medicine, I filled the fluorescent green water pistol I had stolen from my nephew and pointed its barrel directly at my eye. With perfect aim I blasted the entire contents of the gun on to the target, then immediately started screaming in pain and clawing at my eye with the ferocity of a drunken bear covered in poison oak.
In my attempt to scrub the urine from my eye I inadvertently burst the putrid intruder on my eyelid, causing a long rivulet of greenish fluid to pour from its home, effectively removing the cyst. Weather or not you can credit the urine with the removal of my cyst, I don't know, but that is what I'm going to tell people anyway.
But I wasn't finished there. Being a man of science (not really) I knew I needed to perform another test in order to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that pissing all over yourself was not just fun, but good for you as well.
My next target was the fungal growth between my toes which I received from soaking my weary feet in cat litter. This may sound like a ridiculous thing to do, but I have found it to be the only way to control the moisture buildup from my overly sweaty feet. In retrospect I should have used clean litter instead of the same stuff the cat shits in, but how could I possibly have known at the time this would be a bad idea?
Aiming my stream at the target was much easer this time, and more fun. For several weeks whenever I urinated, I would drop my pants and hose down the mildew springing from my (admittedly) unattractive feet. What I should have realized though, is that pulling your pants down in public and micturating all over yourself, is not something people are keen to witness.
This silly experiment cost me my job, my dignity, several pairs of socks, and even had my cat looking at me like I was an idiot. But was it a success? No, not really.
Not only did the mold not disappear, but my daily watering of it seemed to caused the fungus to spread up and around my ankles, making me look like I was wearing a pair of fuzzy green socks, which was not entirely bad since I had ruined so many pairs by pissing on them.
It turned out whizzing on myself was not the smartest thing to do. But thanks to my stupidity and willingness to humiliate myself, I learned a valuable lesson, although I'm still not quite sure what it was.
So If you have an ailment and are contemplating urine therapy as an alternative to legitimate medicine, remember my story or you too could be standing in the mall with a face full of piss, a foot full of fuzz, and a wife that regrets not marrying your brother.