UNPLEASANT DAY

GENERAL FEELING:
I want to go home. I don't want to do this anymore. 
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I don't know how many of you have cleaned up your father's shit, literally, but I've just spent over an hour in the bathroom by the front door where Odd let loose without coming anywhere near the toilet. Walls, pictures, handles, toilet brush holder, plunger, everywhere, everything covered. I stopped him, naked from the waist down, from sitting down  on his clean sheets, just in time. Found a Depends, dragged it (them?) on, trying not to breathe or let him touch me. I know he hasn't washed his hands. He never does. Got him settled. Thought he was down for the night. Came in here and soaked my hands in Lysol and poured myself an iced tea pitcher full of wine. Ten minutes later---voila. He's up! He's up! 

Christ. You can't fucking win here.

We brought Peg home for a visit, via the Urologist in Pittsfield for her catheter change. Sue, the catheter-changer, the only one Peg will allow to do this, was appalled by Peg's two bed sores, which either the nursing home people have been negligent about or Peg won't let them near her. I know which one my money'd be on. Today when Bonnie and I arrived to collect her she had three aides clustered around her all trying to persuade her to take her pills. These are pills she's been taking for years, nothing new, suddenly she's acting like she's never seen them before and we're all trying to disguise strychnine in chocolate pudding. Then I find out she hasn't been showered which pissed me off since I'd sorted it all out with them the day before. Turns out she refused when they came to get her this morning. Too cold. Too early. Wrong robe. Continental Drift. An "R" in the month. So off she goes to the urologist, unshowered for two weeks and me quietly apologizing to Sue behind Peg's back with hand gestures. 

Then we head back to Laurel Lake to get MY car, Bonnie and Peg head off to Friendly's to pick up the Lunch For Five order I'd phoned in, Peg's favorite (hot dog and chocolate milk shake...the big treat) while I race off to Lee Outlets to find Peg regular cotton underpants at Hanes because she should NOT be wearing Depends it turns out, especially not with bed sores, they won't get any air and so on.

Once home, the dog, who Peg can't wait to see and has been dreaming about, pays zero attention to her, in fact runs out to the pen as soon as it sees her and refuses to come in, even when tempted by pieces of Friendly hot dog. All Peg wanted to talk about, besides this lunatic dog, was who said what when about showers over at Laurel Lake and managed to ignore my what I thought exciting news that Sirius XM Radio was going to start playing her shows on May 11th, Mother's Day.

"Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Well--isn't that great, Mother? Aren't you pleased?"  
"Gina. Her name was Gina. I made her write it on the board and then she never showed up! They're crazy over there, they really are."

So I ended up showering her in the laundry room, thank you Gina, which was all warmed up from the Hospice Home Health Aide showering Odd twenty minutes earlier. 

Bonnie drove Peg home about 4:00 PM, just after Odd had his first Unable To Breathe attack, during which Peg offered him asparagus soup. About ten minutes after they'd left I had to tell him again where "Peggy" was. I could probably say "Paris, Daddy. The Sorbonne. But she'll be back tomorrow!" and be fine. At least it might have nicer connotations for him than, say, "LAUREL LAKE NURSING HOME FOR FUCK'S SAKE I JUST TOLD YOU TWENTY SECONDS AGO JESUS CHRIST!" 

I am very very close to snapping in half.
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It's now 9:30 PM and Odd is once again in distress. Panting for breath. Gasping. Moaning. Grimacing. Coughing. Panicking. Have called Hospice twice. They can do no more except what I'm doing--nebulizer, Maalox, Ativan--except possibly morphine under the tongue and quite frankly I am loathe to make the nurse trek way the hell out here, weather is disgusting, plus I keep thinking Odd is going to be fine any minute, the way he normally bounces back. What makes tonight's episode slightly different from your normal everyday breathing attacks is that tonight he decided, mid nebulizer (it's this plastic pipe you breathe from connected to a machine with some capsule of something I can't remember emptied into it), that he needed to go to the bathroom. And, well, I guess I just figured he meant "toilet", not the room itself. Wine, I need more wine.
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STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie:  10 - 6
Bob:  8 - 2. He fixed the kitchen floor swell with plywood and put the cheap rug Peg had over it. Looks fine. Actually it doesn't but I don't care, it'll do for the moment. It's a floor.

I just rang Tory. She was at work. Berkshire something.  Place for patients who are never going to leave (unlike me). There's a name for them but can't remember. People on ventilators and machines, general no-hopers. Many of them children. Tory's a nurse. She cleans tubes and changes diapers and administers meds. I burst into tears when she rang me back. Thank God for friends. And latex gloves. 

Now I'm crying because I feel guilty for being pissed off at my parents, both of whose bottoms I have seen naked today.

I am not a saint. And I am sure the fuck not going to heaven unless there's Staff On Call and ensuite loos and a private balcony and a fully stocked mini-bar. In fact make it a maxi one.