Monday, February 15, 2010
I don't do pooh
I have to start someplace so "I don't do pooh" seems a place to start. This blog is supposed to be about caring for my mom but really it's about what I've learned in the last few years about elderly people and the way things are toward the end of their life, for them and for those who love and care for them. " I don't do pooh!" I yelled these words while standing there holding my dad's coveralls out as far away from me as possible in the middle of his yard with a water hose, hosing them down after a "pooh" incident. My dad died last year of Luekemia. He was a wonderful father and a minister. The best father any girl could ever be blessed with. He was almost to the end of his life at the time of the pooh incident, ravaged by the cancer treatments at his age, standing there nude and as skinny as a man can get. It surprised me that he could even stand being so exposed because he had always been so very modest in his healthier days. He was not the kind of guy that walked around at home in undies or without a shirt on. I like to run around my house nude now days because while growing up, he was always telling me to "go and put some clothes on." As most preacher's daughter's, I dismiss all personality disorders or rebellous behavior on the fact that I was raised in a fish bowl. At the time of the pooh incident, I didn't live near my parents. I was just visiting and taking care of Dad for a few days We decided to go see my mother. She had been in a nursing home in the small town of Rayville Louisiana for 2 years. She suffered a stroke and needed 24 hour nursing care. Dad couldn't care for her in his condition but went to see her everyday. This particular day, dad wanted to stop and eat chicken at Popeyes on the way.This is the last time Dad ever took me out to eat. He took me out to eat every year on a date for my birthday until I got married. This was not my birthday but I knew what he was thinking. Let's face it, we both knew there just were not going to be any more birthday dates. I wish I could say this ended better but as it happened, he didn't quite make it to the bathroom in time. So that's the story, my father skinny as a rail being undressed by his squeemish daughter "Dad if you are going to be doing this, you are going to have to wear a diaper! I don't do pooh!"