Friday, February 6, 2015 

Mom’s quintet of trips to the bathroom continues, but this time, not only in the evening, but also in the morning. Who knows; this might pass. Mom has, at least temporarily, become aware of soiling her nightgown and was worried last night and again this morning that she had. I assured her that every day we do several loads of laundry and that soiling hardly matters anymore. Sort of. The routine is to take her clothing and bedding down to the basement (or throw it down, using the stairs as my laundry chute), don my heavy rubber gloves, wash off feces and bodily fluids in the basement sink, load the machine, add Lysol concentrate and detergent, and get on with it. That’s the first load. Same for each load. There was a song in the 60s that went something like that: Second verse, same as the first. I’m Henry the Eighth I am, Henry the Eight I am, I am… And another: Laundry, laundry, bo-baundry, bo-nanafana, fo faundry, fee, fie, mo maundry, laundry! Oh well.

At least I can entertain myself this morning. Mom is back in bed (it being too early). The routine will begin again in another hour or two or three. Depends. Yes, Depends.