sanitizing

So, What Else Can Go Wrong?

Tuesday, January 20, 2015 

Whatever it is, I still have it. Feeling wiped out at this point. Went to the chiropractor last night to see about the pain in my left arm. So far, pretty good. Dr. B. regaled me, as he usually does, with stories—this time, about his mother. He and his five siblings will be pitching in and rotating care for their mother. She sounds like a pistol. One sister suggested putting notes everyplace to help her navigate. The woman apparently rips off the notes and then loses them. So one sibling used packing tape to keep it on the counter. Unfortunately, she found her mother trying to remove the note and the tape from her beautiful quartz countertop with a pizza cutter. The mother, whose memory is intact, has become quite mean and often (willingly or thoughtlessly?) packs whatever she can in her suitcase. So the family must distract her and go through her belongings before she is shipped out again and search for remote controls, cutlery, curling irons, coins… anything moveable and within reach. I wonder if she is protesting in part being shipped out hither and yon. Heck of a way to live. However, the family is trying to do their part for a very difficult woman, who seems to be getting progressively more difficult as time goes by. Unfortunately, like mom, she is not eligible for assisted living. But this woman is also not available for the dementia ward, since she—unlike mom—still has an intact memory.

Rob and I are spared this brand of horror, but we are surely living in our own horror show of shows.

Went out briefly this afternoon for a haircut. (Val was groomed on Monday. I “was groomed” today. We work things out together!) Anyhow, I returned just in time for the nightly cleanup. Rob had already cleaned the bathroom twice (or was it three times). By the time I accompanied mom to the bathroom, it was time to give her a shower. She protested, as usual, but it never works. She is clean. The bathroom is as clean as it will get. But even with the exhaust fan, the aromatherapy, the Lysol, the bleach, it’s all about living with the smells. I showered mom, changed her “underpants,” and am doing the laundry. Our water bill must rival that of the local laundromat. I also trimmed her nails and am soaking the nail clipper and cuticle device in hydrogen peroxide.

I think I will now go upstairs and veg out with the TV. Readers know that I rarely watch TV, but I think I’ll watch something relaxing, such as “Untold Stories of the ER”!

Oops, relaxation postponed. Mom’s in for the fourth time, but who’s counting.

Sanitizing

Sunday, January 10, 2015

Your first trip to the bathroom in the morning requires work. Before you relieve yourself, there is a checklist you must first follow. Pull several Lysol wipes from the container and get to work cleaning the:

  • toilet seat
  • toilet handle
  • floor around the toilet
  • stainless toilet paper cover, which I bought to eliminate soiling the TP, but which ended up being something else to clean
  • sink and lavatory
  • faucet
  • soap dispenser
  • ledge of the tub, where mom holds onto when she rises from the toilet
  • towel rack
  • light switch plate
  • walls and woodwork on mom’s path to and from the bathroom

Later, I wash the handle of mom’s cane, check her nightgown, and replace her face towel. If there is hair in the sink, I clean it out and sanitize the cabinet and cabinet knob where her brush is stored. We keep our toilet paper in the cabinet beneath the sink and in a plastic bag so that mom won’t identify it too easily. One night mom apparently used up all of her TP and searched for something to use. She tore (literally) into my cotton face pads and contaminated the lot. She since learned that we store our TP under the sink and has torn into it from time to time. So now, we keep it wrapped in a plastic bag, hoping to thwart her using it.

Nothing is easy any more. But mom remains cheerful. She can afford to be: she’s the princess and all of her demands are catered to. Alas, she has no friends, no one to talk to–except Rob and me. And we are often too busy working, cleaning, shopping, taking care of Valentino to spend much time with her. Besides, a normal conversation is not possible. “The woman” told her to get up this morning. “The man in the tree” waved to her all night. “The people on the TV” wave to her and know her. “The cat” watches her eat breakfast. Entering this world is not advisable. You cannot add characters. You cannot describe them. They are hers and hers alone. And so, she remains alone.