Taking It Out On the Lucky Ones

I don’t tend to get pissed off very often… you know, the kind of pissed-off-rage that suddenly comes over you like a blanket, only to have this urge to hit something (or someone). That feeling or moment came over me last Sunday………………………….

I took my mom to church and although I was prepared — she wore a diaper — we still had an accident. A messy one. She had made it to the toilet, wiped, pulled up her diaper, walked out of the stall……………. and then this this look came over her face…… that look that I’m sure most young kids give when they just realized they pooped their pants — so close, yet so far.

Mom sat back down and when she pulled down her diapers there was a little mess… OK, I’m OK… my “diaper” bag was in our pew so no spare diaper… let’s just clean it up and hope for the best………………… she had a better idea, she put her finger in it. Things spiraled from there in terms of poop-gate. I eventually got her mostly cleaned up….. I think some poop splattered on my foot and a little got stuck in the nail of my thumb. I will say that it took a lot of self control to not vomit……………….. vomiting crossed my mind. I just couldn’t wipe and puke. OK. Wipe, wipe, wipe and let’s roll! Things were cool. We were cool. She was cool. I was cool. We survived mass………………….. amazing.

And I was fine. A little frazzled, but cool………………………………

I texted my boyfriend at some point to tell him about what had happened. He replied with an upside down emoticon……….. I mean, truly, what do you say?

“sucks to b u. LOL…”

Not long after the emoticon text, he texted me to tell me that he had just had lunch with a friend at Paradise and they were hanging out by the pool.

I snapped on the inside. I was pissed. I was angry. I was mad because he was doing what I would like to do……………… have lunch with a friend and hang out. As fast as it came over me, it was gone……. I would never ask or expect my boyfriend to give up his Sundays so he could go to church with us… he does enough for my family……… nor would I ever ask him to stop telling me about his day………… like any good boyfriend, he was just giving me an update……………….. but there was this flash, this flash of anger……….. jealousy. I suppose we all feel that from time to time…….. envy ………………. because we aren’t like other people; we have responsibilities and obligations…………. you show up because that’s just what you do.

Taking your problems out on those closest to you is not uncommon….. some days, life just gets under your skin…….. I am at a point now where this disease is like a phantom limb…. I know the limb is gone, but sometimes I can feel it….. I know the disease is there, it doesn’t always affect me, but every now and then, it just pisses me off…………… that, and it’s too hot out……………… and the person who is at the receiving end of my crankiness is Jon. I know it’s not fair……………… I try to sequester myself when I’m in a funk, but sometimes, my funks can last for a couple of days………………… I just feel sorry for myself. I feel angry. Resentful, bitter and filled with contempt — especially towards those in my own family who I feel judge me and my dad………………… or judge the name of this blog.

Because that’s the real problem……………………… [insert sarcasm].

Jon is kind. He is compassionate and patient. He doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t lash out. He just waits for me to come out of the fog……………………………… to get over it.

Until the next time.

My latest funk has been a bit nasty………………………… just thinking about her, poop, life, its meaning, my purpose, my dad, his health, next steps with my mom….. do we put her in a home next year? When is the time right? What if we face a similar situation like last time? When will this end?

Overthinking is rarely good for the soul.

>>Flickr pic my one of my personal faves…. Meredith Farmer

Gag Reflex

Good news. I discovered something new about myself. Poop makes me gag.

I’m OK with cat poop and I’ve never really experienced baby poop—although, I imagine that mothers have some built-in mechanism to prevent them from vomiting all over their off-spring—but my mother’s poop makes me gag.

In the last month or so, I’ve dealt with my mom pooping her pants on more than one occasion. It’s messy. Poop just gets everywhere. It smells. Seeing it caked on her underwear makes me want to run. Gag. Swallow. I hate it. Of course, I can’t. I try to help her get clean, passing along wet paper towels. Unrolling more toilet paper. She hands me back her dirty underwear and used paper towels. Gag. Swallow. She needs more paper towels. Gag. How did poop get on the wall? Gag. Swallow. She’s mostly cleaned up. I hope it didn’t get on your sleeve. That’ll have to do until we get home or I get you diapers or something. Gag. Good. You don’t smell too bad.

Oh, Shit. My car seat smells like poop.

FACT. Human poop is really hard to clean up once it soaks through.

My mom has another nasty poop-related habit. She insists on wiping with a bath towel when she’s home. This would be fine if she could flush it. Instead, she hangs the poop covered towel back on the towel rank. Gag. Swallow. I’ve tried to show her how to use toilet paper. She’s not that into it. Gag. Swallow. When she hangs her poop covered towel back on the rack, I have to wait until she’s finished to toss it in the wash. My dad does the same. Coming in after to throw the towel away or in the wash. Gag. Gag. Gag. I remember the first time I witnessed the towel in action. My dad and I were sitting on the bed talking about it. He looked tragically defeated.

Like a soldier being told that they can’t come home.

 

Flickr pic by Scott MacLeod Liddle

Oops

My mom pooped her pants.

Actually, it was a tiny accident. She can control her bowels (and her bladder too)…………….. you just have to get her to a bathroom when she has to go—cause let’s face it: When you gots to go, you gots to go. I tried. There was a line. I rushed her to another bathroom. I failed. It was a smudge. A large-ish smudge.

Although, this wasn’t a huge mess/misstep/or even a big deal……… this accident got me thinking (well, I’ve thought about it, but I try to repress it)…………. what will happen when accidents become every day occurrences?

What will happen when she can’t wipe herself?

Wiping is such a funny, mostly strange rite of passage-slash-human experience… when you’re able to wipe on your own, you’re a big kid. When you can no longer perform this act solo, you’re an invalid.

As the child of a parent who will eventually have to be wiped by another human being, I really don’t know what to make of it. I mean, I’m writing about it, but I don’t have any profound words to share nor have I made a startling realization about life and its meaning, etc, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah…….

I guess all I can say is that at that point, we’ll likely have to place my mom in a facility, and that scares the shit out of me. We’ve been down that road……. it was brutal, emotional, messy and grotesque. I sincerely hope to never have to relive that horrendous experience ever again…………………… I hope she never has to relive that again.

Right now, my mom knows where HOME is.

So while the woman may not know my name, her husband’s name, or what year it is, and she may use the phrase, “Despierta America” to describe everything from the clouds in the sky to her most favorite food in the world (french fries), my mother knows exactly where her secret (not really) stash of apple juice is hidden—on her bathroom counter (don’t ask) in her house.

 

>>Flickr pic by funkomavintage