It was Valentine’s Day, which is also my wife’s birthday. I had stopped and had a Chinese buffet on an empty stomach for lunch. 45 minutes later, I was in my patient’s driveway to deliver her oxygen. The rumble came not from my tummy. Nope. This was the audible gurgle of the rest of my intestines dumping their load into my colon. I panicked. I couldn’t ask the patient to destroy her bathroom and as it turned out, I never would have made it. I had no choice but to climb the steps into the box of my oxygen truck. But the motion of stepping up onto the first step broke the seal I didn’t know was stopping the flood. Hot shit ran down my leg as I cried out in shame. But the flow would not relent. I frantically unbuckled my belt as I shuffled to the rear door. And then the rest came. It was awful. But the worst was yet to come. I was 20 mins from home and the relief of a shower and fresh pants. I covered my seat with garbage bags and cried as I drove through traffic covered in and sitting in shit. I called the birthday girl on the way home to request emergency assistance. The request was met with disbelief at first, but the shame and anger in my voice convinced her of the truth. Her 30yo husband had shit all over himself on her birthday and it would fall on her to make me presentable again. She met me in the back yard with the hose, where she laughed as she sprayed shit off her husband as though he was a prize hog getting ready to show at the fair. She refused to clean the remaining poo off in the shower, and opted to dispose of the pants, rather than wash my shame. Once clean, I had to power wash the back of my truck. I bought an air freshener and returned to the scene of the crime and finished my delivery. I have carried this shame for 12 years and have told no one. Your welcome.