Poop

Advisory: This post deals with bathroom issues. Please read no further if you have a weak stomach or are easily grossed out. Proceed at your own risk.

Poop occupies a lot of time and energy around here. Since her colo-rectal cancer surgery and radiation twenty years ago, Mom has had little bowel control. As a result, she used to just run to the bathroom all the time, and her bag of supplies was a constant companion. Now she cannot run to the bathroom, or even walk, plus she is not always aware of her bowel movements, so toileting herself is not an option. On a good day, when Mom doesn't have diarrhea, she needs a diaper change every couple of hours. Without doubt, it is the ultimate indignity for Mom, so I work hard to make it as painless, emotionally and physically, as possible.

When I first started changing Mom, she declared that wipes hurt her bottom and she only wanted to be cleaned with a tub of hot water and paper towels. Yes, ma'am. As the skin began to deteriorate, Mom requested the spray cleaner from hospice instead of hot water. Actually, she hinted for days and days ("Carissa just uses that spray." "That spray is cold, but Ceturah just tells me, 'I'm gonna spray you.'"), then finally asked me to use the spray. Yes, ma'am. Next, Mom admitted that the paper towels were too rough. I didn't have any cloth diapers left from baby days, so I cut up some of Dave's old cotton undershirts to use for wipes. Finally, as Mom's skin has broken open the last few days, she told me yesterday the spray stings.

Last night after Mom went to bed, Meg and I ran to HEB to gather supplies for homemade wipe solution. I looked up a lot of recipes and settled on water, pure aloe vera gel, eucerin aquaphor baby wash, and baby oil. Back home, I mixed it up and put the solution in a tupperware-type tub with the undershirt wipes. Good to go! Maybe that's why it really got under my skin this morning, when at Mom's third change of the day she said:

Mom: [peevishly] Ugh! Has there ever been a hole more scrubbed???

Gwen: [stunned silence]

Mom: Gwen, that might sound like complaining. [pause] And it might be.

Gwen: I believe it is! [continues cleaning]

Mom: Ugh!

Gwen: Would you like me to stop?

Mom: Not until it's clean!

Gwen: [continues cleaning]

Mom: Ugh!

Gwen: I'll tell you what. You quit pooping, and I'll quit scrubbing.

Mom: Now that's a deal!

Someday, I'm sure I will read this and laugh. Today, not so funny.

Happily, soon after this exchange the wonderful Catherine Davis arrived, delivering both Nate the Great and homemade buttermilk pie. Just what we needed.