Grrrr! He growled then stopped and paused for breath, panting profusely. Christ, this isn’t easy. He wiped the sweat off his brow and cursed NEPA for not having brought the light. It was quite hot in there. He checked to see if the window was open; it was and the reason there was even a hint of light present at all. His eyes swept around the place: it was small with just enough room to move about in the process of carrying out one’s business in the least amount of time.
He bent down to check but could only see the faint hint of a head. Was he supposed to reach down and pull it out? His mind flashed to the delivery room some years back when his wife had been in labor. He probably had the same question in his eyes and demeanor as he stared at the Doctor when the baby’s head popped out because the Doctor had only smiled and mouthed: No, she’ll have to push it out. That was his answer to the dilemma he now faced; no forcing out of the head.
It did not help that it was the middle of the night. Who do I call at this time who could be of help? He mused. He laughed when he thought of people’s possible reactions should he call. He groaned. He’ll have to do this by himself. Not funny! Okay, what to do. He cast his mind back to the delivery room again. His wife and the hospital staff had thought it would be good for him to be present; amongst other things to give her the much needed support. Some good that had done him; he’d almost passed out at the sight of his wife in labor.
Push Madam, push! Yes honey push, do as the good doctor says. Push! Okay back to the present, step one’s to push; here we go. At the count of three: one, two, three push aaaarrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh, he screamed as he’d screamed alongside his wife all those years ago, only this time it was muffled. Panting he bent to check again; no difference at all. Just the silly head only. Is this even working? He had sworn to his wife to never put her through that process again; he forgot to promise himself same.
He sat up to ease the pain in his back from the bending. It was really hot. He rechecked the window and cursed NEPA again; took off his singlet and wound it around as a fan. That the window faced a wall must have something to do with the heat, he suddenly realised. He had thought being at the delivery room would give him some sort of edge but he didn’t seem to be making any headway nor did it seem like he would be getting out of there anytime soon. How long will I have to stay here? He wondered. He suddenly felt thirsty and licked his lips. He needed a drink but regretted its timing as he couldn’t leave just yet. His wife groaned. Poor woman. The things we put women through. Now I understand.
After a lone moment, he jerked awake and frowned when he realised where he still was. He wished he was someplace else; anywhere but here and with this pain would do. Thoughts of working overtime at the office began to appeal to him. Then his stomach growled. Definitely no food for you at this hour or situation anyway. It’s animalistic urges like you that have gotten me into this situation; always wanting more, a bit more. I will not be controlled by these urges any longer. He chanted repeatedly then bent to espy the situation again and it was then he thought he saw a reddening patch but he wasn’t sure. Did she have that then? He couldn’t recollect but soon concluded that it was possible with all the straining and pushing. It did feel sore though. Then he recalled something he’d once heard about how a baby can cause a tear if its too big. A Tear! Too Big! Is that why? God NO! Okay, don’t panic, what do I do? Breathe! And that was what he did when it hit him.
Oh no. Not some brilliant idea on how to perform a quick surgical operation; a smell. A stench actually, so poignant and putrid that he gasped. It stank of consumed rotten eggs ‘downed’ with cheap alcohol released by an ill-timed belch. He felt like vomiting. What am I doing wrong? I do not recall this sort of smell in the hospital. He tried to think but couldn’t work anything out. He figured he hadn’t noted the smell then because Doctors normally ‘scrubed’ in on an operation and hospitals generally stank of Izal. I am no Doctor and I am doing the best I can under the circumstances. Still he had to get out of there as the stench was stifling.
He tried pushing again and felt ‘it’ give way a bit. Relief washed over him. He readjusted his sitting position and and sucking in all his breath, pushed with all his might. Mmmmmmmmmmmm! His face underwent contortions of different forms: crossed eyes, raised and furrowed brows, a frown, a smirk even, and if it were possible, it seemed his face paled. ‘It’ gave way some more. Excited, he decided to go in for the kill, as he braced himself for the final push, he farted and out came the stench again. With realisation as to the source of the smell came laughter, but he muffled it still; no need to wake the Mrs. He still had business to finish.
With a final burst of energy, he pushed for all it was worth and for his effort: a lone, long and robust piece of excreta plopped into the toilet bowl.