Bathroom Fallout

Josh and I were together for about a month when he told me that he needed to undergo surgery. A routine procedure that would require rest and pain medication for about 2 weeks. He was less than excited about the prospect of being sedentary, and far less thrilled with the idea of his new girlfriend assuming the role of caretaker. Regardless of his preferences, the surgery went as planned and I did what I could to be helpful.

Nearly a week after his procedure, we were spending a sedentary evening together. I went into the restroom – the details here are unnecessary, however, I couldn’t share them if I wanted to. I woke up to Josh opening the bathroom door, saying my name – it is Baby at his house. We had not, and have not, been together long enough to share the privacy that a bathroom promises. Something was wrong. My eyes were slowly opening, my vision was blurry.

I was lying face up, my head between the toilet and the sink, my body blocking the door that Josh was desperately trying to come through. I asked him to describe to me what was happening, what had happened, while I slowly pulled my body out of the way. He reminded me not to stand as he clumsily made his way into the small space – a room that got smaller as his body gently made its way over mine. He told me that he had heard a loud noise and that I wasn’t responding. He carefully lowered himself next to me and began running his hands over me checking for injuries.

I continued to question what was happening and protest his touch. He pulled his hands away quickly – he found blood coming from the back of my head. But there was something else – a sticky brown substance smeared on his hands. In his panic, he did not even consider that I had been in the bathroom, or what I could have been doing. A look of horror came across his face and mine. Did I poop? Did my new boyfriend just get my feces on himself and then rub it on my body – in my hair?! It no longer mattered what had happened. I needed to collect myself so that I could run away. This relationship is clearly over. There is no coming back from poop fingers.

Neither of us was in a state to move quickly. The slow pace allowed time for Josh to remember that he had been eating chocolate from the care package I had created when he heard the crash. In his reaction, he had clinched his hands together, the chocolate melting and coating his hands. Chocolate in my hair is forgivable, our relationship is saved. There was still the issue of blood coming out of my head – and the issue of being on the bathroom floor. Josh, still desperate to help, offered to carry me out of the room. However, his physical condition prevented any level of lifting. He successfully guided me to the couch. I was immediately provided a heating pad and frozen chicken nuggets – neither option seeming ideal for a head injury, but I used the nuggets as a cold, crunchy pillow anyway.

Josh was pacing the floor as we reviewed the recent events. He tried to convince me to go to the Emergency Room but I was not having it. The blood from my head was minimal, the headache would go away, I don’t see very well anyway, I just needed to sit down for a while. He resorted to extreme measures – he called my mother. The phone call ended with me agreeing to go the hospital – touche. But now, we had another issue. I could not drive – the whole falling out thing, he could not drive, the whole being on pain meds thing.

We ended up calling one of my friends who graciously agreed to take me in. I should have remembered that she had a child who suffered from a seizure disorder. I spent 4 hours in the Emergency Room with a woman who was reliving all of the trauma she had experienced with her own child. I will forever be grateful to her for that. She kept my mother informed, mothered me, and asked all the questions that I did not think of. Tests were run, questions asked, the usual head injury bombardment. I was diagnosed with a mild concussion and sent home – the popknot on my head serving as a trophy.

It was agreed that I should not be on my own for the night, so my friend took me back to Josh’s house. When I stepped inside, he guided me into the kitchen where he had cooked the frozen head nuggets – made complete by a sauce buffet. Yes, I was supposed to be the caretaker but something happened to me, okay?!

Several days went by with Josh and I trying to piece together all the details of my adventure – with significantly more questions than answers. Being the detectives that we are, we finally noticed a dent in the bathroom door handle. A dent large enough to cradle an egg – or the base of my skull – the cause of my headwound. A call from the doctor revealed a B12 deficiency – the cause of my spontaneous fallout. How incredible is it that a tiny compound, or lack thereof, could provide all the entertainment a new couple could never ask for?!