He has a condition

Many years ago, Ron and I went out.  I had a sudden, urgent, need to use the toilet.  We had to disembark the bus and hunt around a tiny bedroom community, late at night, to find a place I could use (a bowling alley).  Ron was furious.  He wasn't very nice about it and made unkind comments about me "Needing to learn to control my bowels". 

Now, of course that has come to bite him, hard.  He doesn't remember parts of our lives before the accident, including this incident.  If he did he would say "I was an asshole, and I'm sorry". 

Ron, I've been an asshole, and I'm sorry. 

His problems began with frequency, and urgency.  It always seemed he needed to use the toilet, right now, and I always battled a cruel urge to remind him to control his bowels.  When he went, he took forever. 

I thought nothing of it. 

I had a variation of a conversion disorder; everyone told me I was "fine" mentally, so my symptoms would manifest as horrible, cramping, abdominal pain.  One time I think I had a gallstone, the others, "psychosomatic". 

I'd go to the emergency room and they'd tell me I wasn't going to die, please go away and leave them alone.  I wasn't a frequent flyer but it did happen about 3 times.  Six if you count gallstone issues. 

After my diagnosis (and my acceptance of same), I've never had a problem.  Never. 

My problems were all in my head; but I thought they were in my gut.  Ron's problems were in his gut, but neither of us saw it. 

"I need to eat more fiber" he'd gasp, as he exited the bathroom, finally.  He began spending more time in the stall, and more often. 

Lately, at work, I resentfully thought he was spending half our "work" time on the toilet, why can't he control his bowels?  Take better care of himself? 

Then I started seeing the blood.  It was easy to blow that off as hemorrhoids, although the surgeon said his are minimal.  More blood.  Still in denial; taking forever in the bathroom and going an awful lot. 

Another issue was added, one I won't discuss.  It's private.  We both found that horrifying, but I hear it is pretty common with colitis. 

Then I found the blood clots in the toilet.  "It was only a fart" he'd say, as he exited.  "I don't need to flush".  Uh, Ron, there's a one inch blood clot in the toilet and I'm not having my period.  Then one day I looked from the clot; to the bathroom trashcan, filled with his bloody tissues; to Ron, clutching his abdomen 'cause he needed to go, again - and I dragged him to the doctor. 

A few weeks later, we know: He has a condition.  Colitis.  Very manageable, I read, with lifestyle and perhaps medication.  He has pancolitis, the most severe form, although his inflammation is "moderate".  So, I suppose he is moderately severe. 

I just know he's still bleeding.  Not as much, not as often, but I really find it disturbing.  He seems to be improving; and swears up and down he is done with hard liquor.  I hope so. 

I think he is in for a horrid flare if he slips.  Sometimes God has to use the stick; or allow natural consequences. 

In the meantime, I've resolved to be more supportive.  No one wants to have this problem.  No one.  He's not doing it to aggravate me, seek attention, or get out of work; although I've felt that way. 

I'll work on being supportive.  He needs some supplies, easy enough to bring them in my bag.  He may need some dietary changes.  I'm fine with that.  I bought some supplements but Doc said not yet, until we find out the final details. 

Ron and I agree we'd be "idiots" and "stupid" if we didn't follow orders.  "He's the professional" I said, as Ron nodded. 

So, I have to throw out the whole "What, again?" attitude as he staggers off to the toilet, and say "I'll be here." 

No one likes a bitch. 

Me, most of all.  I want to see myself as an awesome wife.