About January 21st my 79 year old mother fell and broke her leg. My father, 82, has been in a wheelchair for 27 years or so. As he can no longer do everything for himself he had been very dependent on mom’s help to get dressed, undressed, get out of bed in the morning, etc. (Once up and moving he can pretty much take care of things; make lunch, get the mail and paper, fire up the 'puter, read, pay bills, and so forth.) With mom in the hospital he was pretty much SOL. Fortunately my brother lives close enough to them to get there that evening. He stayed with dad for eight or nine days then I flew out to give him a chance to get back home to take care of his business. I would have been out sooner but it was quickly realized that mom was doing remarkably well.
So far it justs sounds like the more or less sort of thing you’d expect to have happen as time moves on. Not pleasant, but the sort of thing you just have to face up to and get on with.
So I flew out the end of January. A friend picked me up at the airport and drove me to the hospital where mom was. I didn’t want to rent a car because I had no idea how long I’d be staying. Brother showed up at the hospital and after a nice visit with mom we took off. His first words when we got to the car were something to the effect of, “This job requires ass touching, butt wiping, and nutsack holding.”
Dad, being paralyzed from the waist down, has no contol over his bowls. The VA sends a nurse type person three days a week to give him an enema, check his cathater, help him with a shower and all that other good stuff. The regular enemas plus his generally watching his diet mostly takes care of the continence problem. Except when he’s upset; which he certainly was. And just for that last little touch, the touch separating the good amature painter from the true master, it comes in the form of extreme diarrhea. Think Linda Blair in, “The Exorcist.”
Dad also has, due to years of sitting in a wheel chair, bed sores on his butt. The bandages on these have to be changed every day. Also, from not being able to move his legs he’s acquired an incredibly painful looking (of course he feels nothing) rash/yeast infection in in crotch. This requires tending every morning also.
And he’s also very hard of hearing now. Without his hearing aid he’s deaf as the proverbal post. Even with them his hearing is nothing to brag about.
Mom, when she got home, was able to walk with the aid of a walker. She could get into and out of bed by herself and go to the bathroom. But due to the pain pills, etc she didn’t always make it quite fast enough. Though she could tend to herself I did have to help her start her clothes over her feet. Then I got to go wipe up the mommy-pee off the floor.
Re-reading the above it sounds like I’m saying, “Oh look at poor me. See what I had to put up with.” But I’m not. They are my parents, I owe them whatever it takes. And as unpleasant as it might have been at times for me, it was, I know, worse for them. But this sort of thing is what family is for. Sort of like the old saying that, “Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” I didn’t do these things for them simply out of duty. I love them, and trust me on this, without that love I couldn’t have done it.
Why does getting old have to rob you of dignity. Isn’t it bad enough that you’re old. No longer able to run, jump, and travel. Food isn’t as good. Your senses start to fail. Your friends and family die. Live long enough and you die alone, unnoticed, unmissed in some bed in a nursing home.
We were the nuclear family as I grew up. “Ozzie and Harriet,” come to life. Dad was a very good provider. Mom kept the house spotless; well as best she could with three boys and their friends running in and out all day. Every payday a portion went into savings for, “Their old age.” We went on family vacations, dad was home every night, never saw him drunk in my life (though he would have a beer now and then), he never punished us when he was mad, and while we got our butts smacked from time to time we always deserved it. We went hunting, fishing, and to see Cincinnati play baseball. Dad always took us early enough to watch batting practise so we’d come home with 2-3 baseballs everytime. Mom and dad had friends, activities outside the home; an all round good life. As far as I know they never had to go to anyone (outside of the banks for mortgage’s and cars) in their lives for help. But they could have. My aunts and uncles were just like them, you take care of family.
And now someone has to wipe his butt for him. Some pay-off for what was, pretty much, a life to be proud of.