Tag Archives: tragedy

Gag Reflex

Posted on by

1

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

World Alzheimer’s Day or Memories of Mom

Posted on by

0

It’s September 21 OR World Alzheimer’s Day……….It’s also a day that I just tend to think back on things; where my life is today and how the fuck this all happened…………………………………………..

Unfortunately, as Alzheimer’s Disease progresses, the family often bears a heavy burden. I only wish there was some way I could spare Nancy from this painful experience. When the time comes I am confident that with your help she will face it with faith and courage. ~ President Ronald Reagan

I vaguely remember the day I thought my mom could actually have Alzheimer’s disease…… At the time, I didn’t realize there were other forms of dementia. I was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a sample box of Aricept and I was reading the list of warning signs…………….. “Oh shit… no. Maybe? No. Absolutely not. No. No. No. No.” Her doctor never said she had the disease, he just thought it might help with memory issues……………. you don’t think about the overall implications or the logic of giving your mom Aricept and what that actually entails………….. I remember thinking about Ronald Reagan, his son Ron—we worked together briefly at ABC in NYC…………………………. and then I thought about how long and messy this could potentially be: YEARS.

And then I thought about actually having to wipe my own mom.

Like a normal person, I ventured into denial, convincing myself that she was depressed. She had just retired and frankly, sitting at home all day is really rather depressing. “Mom, get a part-time job at Dillards,” I remember saying to her. “Want to go shopping?”

I said this to her in English.

Time passed. Denial set in. Mom’s just a flake. She’s getting older. She’s depressed. Maybe a trip to Ecuador will help….. Then, the little behaviors began to appear.

She would refuse to throw out old food. She once ate an “aged” burrito from God knows when only to vomit everywhere—repeatedly………. that was an especially fun afternoon.

She stopped cleaning. The house became a dusty sty. I would make her clean with me. She just wanted to watch TV all day.

She stopped paying attention to the road, telling me instead that God would protect her. God is not a good Co-Pilot by the way.

You get good at making excuses for these grotesque behaviors.

You know on some level what you’re likely dealing with, but the reality of this disease is simply too much to absorb.

Coping is not really possible at the beginning of this long, drawn out disease.

2010………………………………..We’re at the half way mark I suppose.

I knew something was horribly wrong in 2004.

She was diagnosed in 2006.

I came to terms with her disease in 2009.