Disgusting Housewives

My husband is the Patron Saint of Dealing with Disgusting.
He's squeamish to be sure, and stands on propriety fairly well.

Other then the gas, the mad disgusting gas of being pregnant, I try to limit, and he limits for sure, the amount of body function interaction that goes on. We pee with the door closed, I don't use the bathroom while he's in the shower, we sh*t on different floors. there's no nose picking, surreptitious of otherwise. a dutch oven would be cause for divorce.

all and all, we both like to maintain a little distance, decorum.
which is why it was particularly humiliating to require his assistance last night.

See somewhere in the postop kit I declined to take, the "Dealing With Your Loss" portfolio I blithely waived away, somewhere in that kit and likely said:

"And we recommend you take a fiber supplement or a gentle laxative post surgery."
Because prenatal vitamins and the lack of coffee combined weren't doing you any favors and the anesthesia is likely to make your shit rock solid. Causing what will cause an extraordinary amount of excruciating pain. Pain that render you in agony, rocking on your livingroom floor for several minutes whimpering before you associate the pain, not with passing a blood clot but specifically from an impacted ball of shit. A shit so dense pressing thisclosely to your cervix on the inside, that will leave you writhing and moaning on the floor.

Likely it went on to tell me that it would be akin to a labor cramp. That'd I feel a sweat on my neck and a lightheadedness heretofor associated with fainting.

I saw my husbands legs.
"What can I do?"
I think I'm going to throw up" I said.
I knew he's go for a pail, I preferred to be dragged to the bathroom.
He comes back in with a yellow little tikes Bob the Builder helmet. Ellie's. I laugh.
I'm going to throw up into her helmet.

"I think" I said. "I think actually I need to poop."
I start crawling towards the doorway. The bathroom kitchen is closest.
"I don't want you to look" I said. While I hoisted myself up.
"It hurts"

He mixes up a packet of orange Metamucil, leftover from bedrest with Ellie. When shitting was my doctors obsession. If she gave out gold stars for proactive potty, surely I would have earned enough for an xbox level treat.

"Just slide it in."
He did. Like Tom Cruise in cocktail.
"ohhhwwww" I moan loudly.
"MY GOD, MY GOD whats wrong."

"There's a bug. There's a huge huge bug in here. Please. you need to come get it. I need to to come get it. I can't relax."

Dear god, the man comes in, I'm gross, I'm crying. I'm sitting on a toilet yelping "Dont look" and he's got 1 cubic inch to crawl OVER my legs, kill the bug and pass back all the while like some delicate Houdini that Isn't Going To Look.

"Owwwwwwww." I'm still in pain. "I cannnnn't. Nothings happening. It hurts."
He's helpless. I'm humiliated.
And then I snap.
I'm going to pull that sh*t out. Literally. I'm done. I'm in pain, and I'm certain my ass can take it.

I stick - good lord with a vengeance, my finger, with its long prenatal fingernail UP my ass. SURE THAT THIS IS A GOOD IDEA. Thinking, Maybe I can SPEAR this sucker.

Wait 24 hours before making decisions, it read.
Yeh, Like engaging in ass play. Would that I took that fucking kit home.

And through the closed door he hears me say "I think maybe this wasn't a good idea."
Him: "What can I get you"
Me: "I'm not sure. But I don't think fishing for shit with fingernails was my finest solution"
I hear with every fiber of my being that man freeze on the other side of the door.
But lord love a duck, he rallies.

"Wait" He says. "Just wait"

Then footsteps traveling through the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, UP stairs, some banging and down again.
And a graceful hand opens the door.

"DON'T LOOK" I'm squealing.
"Trust me. I don't want to look"
And he passes me a bottle of lubricant. One that hasn't seen daylight, or frankly dark of night, neigh on two months.

"Good idea" I breath heavily as I reach.
And several seconds later I peer out the door.
"Um, can you get me upstairs to the shower?"

And we hobble ala the three-legged race at the fair. He turns the shower on.
"Hot" I say. "As hot as you can make it"

He sticks his head in.
"You alright?"
"He was my neighbor. And he violated me. Now I'll never end up in a fancy pie"
"Yeh, you're fine."

And I am.
I really really am.