He had been working real hard and spending a lot of time away lately and over the past couple of days had been extra grouchy. Between him being so tired and also being in a bad mood, she hadn’t even approached him about sex all week, but had been waiting for the week end when they could relax and enjoy each other. He had fallen into bed each night exhausted and she didn’t have the heart to demand his attentions. Today was Saturday and he didn’t have to work the next day so she was not going to let him off the hook. She finished tossing the last load of laundry into the drier and headed to the front door to meet him.
She was standing there smiling at him when he opened the door, “Hey, hon, how was your day?”
He pushed past her, ignoring her puckered lips, and kissed her on the check as he dropped his briefcase and papers on the side table.
“It was a bitch of a day,” he mumbled over his shoulder, as he kept going down the hall in the direction of their bedroom.
She just stood there a little stunned by his less then warm greeting. He was usually a friendly and playful mate but lately had almost ignored her and the past couple of days he had been almost rude to her on several occasions. All kinds of things flashed through her mind in a brief span.
She did a quick question and answer thing in her mind: Was he cheating on her? Lord knows their sex life over the past few weeks had been almost non-existent. Was something wrong at work? He had been under a lot of stress, lately. Had she done something to upset him? If so she couldn’t think of anything. She stomped her foot mentally and decided this guessing game was not going to work, she had questions and he was the one with the answers.
She decided to beard the lion in his den, so to speak, and went to the bedroom looking for him. She saw his clothes tossed on the chair but he wasn’t in sight. The door to the master bath was shut so she approached it quietly wondering what he was doing. He didn’t usually shut the door and normally took his shower right before bed at night. It was only 5 p.m. and she didn’t hear any water running. When she heard a low moan, she forgot all about being upset and became concerned.
“Honey,” she called out, while trying the handle to the door and finding it locked. She almost panicked, rattling the door knob, and calling even louder, “Honey, are you alright?”
“Yeah, I am OK,” he muttered, “can’t a guy take a shit in peace around here?” and he quickly flushed the toilet to drown out any further conversation she might want to instigate.
“Sorry,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the toilet flushing.
She felt a little embarrassed to have cornered him in this way and hurriedly backed off the door after hearing the toilet flush. She didn’t want him to think she was hovering but still felt concern for him. She was determined to see what was wrong and knew she had heard him moan a few minutes ago. She also knew he had something to hide besides a bowel movement because he didn’t usually even shut the door, much less care if she was around when he took care of his bodily functions. They had always been very open with each other and neither seemed to be prudish about their bodies or natural functions that some people seemed to feel should be private.
She sat on the edge of the bed and waited while she heard him running water in the sink and washing his hands.
He was miserable as he washed and dried his hands and was trying to formulate answers to the questions, he knew he was going to be bombarded with when he went out the door and had to face her. He was stalling for time as his brain raced, looking for ways to get out of going to the doctor, yet knowing she would insist if she knew how miserable he was. He had suffered in silence for several days now, but he was getting to the point where he couldn’t hide it any more. Good God, if he could only shit, he thought, as he straightened up to hang the towel back on the rack. Another moan escaped his lips. Damn, his stomach hurt, and he sure didn’t feel like getting the third degree. Finally he shuffled to the door, trying to stay hunched over a bit to relieve the pain in his lower bowels, and unlocked it, praying she had gone to the other room.
He looked out cautiously as he swung the door back but there she was sitting on the bed with her hands folded in her lap, looking like a stern mother hen ready to run rough shod over a reluctant chick.
She met his reluctant gaze and plainly stated, “I know something is wrong. Are you going to tell me what it is or do I have to guess?”
Sighing deeply, he slowly headed to the bed, where he gingerly laid down, before answering her.
“Don’t fuss at me,” he started, cutting his eyes over to where she still sat, “I just feel crumby and need a bit of peace and quiet.”
She knew he hated doctors and was an awful baby when he was sick, so she resigned her self to the upcoming ordeal.
“I can see and hear you are not feeling well, would you care to tell me what the problem is,” she questioned.
Mentally, she was bracing herself for the worst, knowing he had been getting grumpier the last few days, not eating well, going to sleep early, and a few other things she now recalled after reflection. She had attributed this to stress, and over work, but apparently there was more to it then what she had thought.
While he was trying to formulate an answer that would make her leave him alone without her nagging him to about going to the doctors, she was still mentally ticking things off in her head: she knew he wasn’t feverish, she hadn’t heard him throwing up, he wasn’t complaining of any pain, yet she distinctly heard him moan in the bathroom a little while ago, and he was walking a bit strange, now that she thought about it. What the hell could be wrong she wondered?
She looked him straight in the eyes and waited for him to answer.
Not meeting her eyes, he finally mumbled something about going to the bathroom.
“What,” she quickly asked.
He decided to tell her, hoping she would go away and leave him alone to suffer in peace. “I can’t go to the bathroom.” “I haven’t been able to go for three days now and I am miserable,” he finished in a rush.
Oh God, she thought, he has kidney stones or worse, thinking of colon cancer or prostate cancer, or any number of awful things.
Trying to sound calm, she asked, “What do you mean, you haven’t been to the bathroom in three days?”