And who, amongst us, hasn’t had one? (Please understand that if you cannot even begin to “get” where I am coming from, I really don’t want to hear how you resent being subjected to poop stories…)
Ever heard anyone say they have had a shitty day? I bet you have and I also bet you have immediately pictured them running late for work or getting chewed out by a boss or customer or them spilling coffee on their clean white shirt. But, did it ever occur to you that they might mean shitty day? There are those of us who are not in the septic tank business that deal with a good deal of it. Shit, that is. Some people are paid to deal with it, as in hospital orderlies, and some of us just get stuck with it. Sometimes there is a lot of it. Henrietta has a Miralax habit that borders on addiction. She cannot do a poo without it. And if the stars are not aligned exactly right she may be gonna be plugged up even with it. She doesn’t usually go too long like this and isn’t too terribly uncomfortable. But, after not going for three days, Katy bar the door. We are trucking back and forth to the bedpan over and over, with false alarms. She is working fervently at it and will not stay in bed to do it. So I am stuck hauling her in and out of the wheelchair and bed over and over and picking her lower half up over and over and am out of breath all day. There is always an implied urgency with this whole operation that suggests that there will be a shit explosion if I don’t hurry fast enough. Though, to be fair, there has been. Well, virtually.
The other day John came in and we were doing all the running back and forth and he began to feel badly for me and wanted to know if he could do anything. This was toward the end of the waiting period and close to payload time. I was flustered and tired and I whipped open the door to H’s bedroom and shouted down the hall for him and asked him to come and get the bedpan and empty it. Now understand that no one on earth is as squeamish as John. He started down the hall towards me and stopped abruptly and looked horrified and said, “It smells like shit in the hall!” At this point I was walking toward him with the bedpan and I said, “If you don’t take this from me right now, I WILL dump it over your head.”. I think he realized I meant business and he pulled his tee shirt up over his nose, grabbed the bedpan and ran for the bathroom.
I got flowers the next day.
6 comments
Comment by Law Student Hot Mama on April 29, 2008 at 8:57 pm
Ok, first off, thanks for visiting my blog . . . it just makes my tranny head swell up with happiness when I get a new reader. I’ll be back to visit YOUR blog, too!
Now onto your post . . . so . . . I looked at your profile. I can’t believe you and H get along. I can assure you if I were H’s caregiver, no matter HOW nice she is, we wouldn’t get along. Also, nobody who is immobile should be allowed to use Miralax. It’s just not right.
Comment by Susan on April 30, 2008 at 10:09 am
LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. AMEN! ( I was so thinking that about the Miralax deal ….. but sh*t who am I to tell you how to be a care provider) You really are an ANGEL! But that tightwad hubby of yours needs to pony up a transatlantic plane ticket. Sh*t I could buy you freaking flowers!
Comment by Krissa on April 30, 2008 at 10:17 am
Yeah! Tell me about it! I am thinking if I just had a nickel for every pot of crap I’ve bounded down the hall with, I could buy the ticket myself! Who needs his squeamish ass?
Comment by Candy on April 30, 2008 at 1:10 pm
Holy hell woman! You’re a saint.
Comment by Susan on April 30, 2008 at 1:59 pm
Candy’s right! You are a saint. And where is a perfect place for a saint? Why I think they have lots of special places here in Italy for them!
Comment by Krissa on April 30, 2008 at 2:07 pm
OH STOP TEMPTING ME LIKE THIS, WOMAN! I would LOVE to get away to sunny Italy. I would ditch this place in a heartbeat if only several things would fall magically in line.
Still waiting for the magic…..
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