'He's got a rectum but no intestine. Just a rectum.' (I'm still puzzling over this one: why not sew it up? Otherwise things could go ... oh, I think I won't dwell on this.)
'I've got thrush on the end of my penis.'
'Oh look! There's a little bit of poo coming into the bag now!'
'No, he hasn't farted yet so he has to have soup.'
Really, there are some things that should be kept between a man and his doctor. As I'm leaving the ward I make a point of studying the floor: I don't want eye contact with Gutless Man. (Fortunately Thrushman was discharged the next day.)
Husband is much improved in that he's sitting in the chair and eating a little. I got it wrong when I said he'd had a bit of intestine removed. What happened - and I may have got this wrong too - was that the scar tissue from his appendectomy 30 years ago gradually grew, creeper-like, and entwined itself around his intestine, causing it be squeezed. The surgeon was able to remove this without cutting into the intestine itself.
I'm not entirely happy with this idea of alien life spreading thus inside Husband. It sounds altogether too Hollywood. If his head starts spinning I will not be amused.