DIRTY DICKY

James Moston

Drip. Dribble. Drip. Drip. Dribble. Drip.
       It’d gone on like this for a year. Thinking I’m finished, tucking the junk back in and, within seconds, there’s a wet patch pressing against me. Wasn’t just when draining the main vein either. Sneezing, coughing or even sitting down a certain way squeezed a trickle out. I want to die whenever it happens.
       Why me?
       After a year of wishing it away with no luck, I swallowed the embarrassment and opened up to doctors. They’ve done many dip tests since then: all negative.
       ‘Crystal clear, Richard,’ they’d say, rolling their eyes the more I came back as the problem persisted.
       Paranoia took over as discharge seeped out of me like clear treacle. I tested for STIs repeatedly without telling Nicola.
       ‘What’ve you been up to, Dicky?’ I’d imagine her saying, accusing rather than sympathising. And that bloody nickname. Like I was some dirty old man. No wonder we hadn’t fucked for ages.
       The worst thing was dissociating. Fever dreams conjured things outside of my peripheral that weren’t there. When going for midnight drip-drops, the bathroom looked like tracking from old VHS cassettes when nothing was on them. The moonlight pouring through the window pixelated, like flashing little squares, making me question if I was awake or not.
       ‘We’ll send a sample to the lab,’ the new GP nurse suggested.
       Never did that before.
       A week later, a withheld number flashed on my iPhone, obscuring the picture of our eighteen-month-old.
       ‘The lab identified a very uncommon urinary tract infection,’ the nurse told me.
       ‘Oh,’ I responded, feeling joy knowing I finally had an answer jumbled with confusion. ‘Why uncommon?’
       ‘Well … You said you’re not sexually active with your wife, correct?’
       ‘Yes.’
       ‘The bacteria causing this infection is only found in faeces.’
       I felt her judgement floating down the line like a ghost on the wire.
       ‘Odd,’ I mumbled, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
       ‘We’ll prescribe antibiotics, but to avoid reinfection I’d suggest condoms. Or washing and urinating after intercourse to clear the urethra.’
       Johnny stays on next time. Don’t care how much he asks for it.