A childhood belief about weeing and pooing

When I was a kid, my big sister once told me that, if ever I touched my own poop, I would die. Boy, was I careful not to do that! But then one day, when I'd done a messier doodoo than I realized, some had gotten out beyond the reach of toilet paper. So in wiping, I felt something squooshy on my bare hand. I looked and, horror of horrors, a little dookey had gotten on my hand. Boy, was I patrified! It must have been ages before I got over a fear of dropping dead from that. To try to survive, or at least eradicate any evidence of the cause of my impending death, I must have washed that spot on my hand a thousand times. Then I'd smell it to try to see if I'd gotten it clean. But I found poopy smell is persistent! No matter how much I washed, that spot on my hand would still seem to smell like poopy. Finally years later, I became sure my sister had duped me. I finally thought to realize, since my poopoo always touches my anus, why doesn't it kill me from that? I realized I must have been really silly to believe my sister's words of doom. Finally one day, I had to prove things once and for all, so I dared to purposely catch a turd in my hand as it came out. I washed my hands really good afterwards, this time not caring how long there might be a tiny residual poop smell. Well, that's been several years ago and I haven't died yet!