Saturday, December 25, 2004
Merry Christmas Christ Almighty
Today's been a good day right up to the end. Then it turned sour. I swear, it looks like I'm going to have to start making sure Mom doesn't enjoy herself too much, as she did today.
After lunch we watched a Christmas movie, her choice, Love Actually. She couldn't remember seeing it but remembered the other two we have, the old standards: Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. She really enjoyed that movie, as though she'd never seen it, so I was satisfied. A couple of times, as I usually do, I paused the movie to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom. Nope, she didn't. I didn't think anything of it. She's been controlling her bladder pretty well during the day for quite awhile.
It's a long movie. When it was over I decided that we should check her underwear just in case it needed changing. Not only did it need changing, Mom had peed through it and through the fairly sturdy cushion right the seat of her rocking chair. Not a big deal, though. This happens occasionally, especially if she's drinking lots of liquids on her own, which she did today: Coffee sipping and good times go together for her. I also racked the leakage up to her bout of CHF and decided that maybe her body just decided to release a lot of fluid all at once, which is good. This means that this bout is winding down or maybe it's over. Good time to get her moving, again.
She remained in the mood for Christmas movies but wanted to watch "something different", so I switched to television. TCM was hosting a back-to-back run of Christmas classics, all of which are right up Mom's alley, so I tuned in and let Robert Osborne handle Mom while I got some chores out of the way and fixed dinner. This time, though, instead of leaving urination to chance, I asked her repeatedly if she had to go to the bathroom; to, I guess, the point of her distraction. I also suggested between two movies that we check her underwear just in case.
She snapped, "I don't have to go to the bathroom! When I need to go, I'll go!"
I understood and honored her annoyance (how would I like to be harrassed about my urinary habits, I thought, especially during a particularly enjoyable day) but continued my strategy, just a bit more subtly. I didn't force her, though. Considering how much fluid she lost during the first movie I figured that even if she is putting off going to the bathroom to pee, there's no way she's going to leak as much as she did earlier.
Wrong again. At 2330 we both decided to turn in; unusual for me but I've been dragging this evening, mainly, I think, because I've been going to bed very late for the last couple of nights and setting the alarm in order to start my day in time to make it to the pharmacy first thing. Yesterday the meds I was to pick up "hadn't made it in on the truck" the evening before so I had to repeat the pharmacy trip this morning. I herded her into the bathroom to begin our "getting ready for bed" ritual, closing up the house, turning off lights and turning on the dishwasher on my way. As we undressed her I noticed that, once again, her second-pair-of-the-day flannel pants were wet: She'd leaked through again. This concerned me, especially since I'd been so meticulous after the first accident about quizzing her about her need to urinate and she'd been adamantly denying any need.
I checked the substitute cushion and, sure enough, it and the chair seat were soaked. Well, I decided, I guess I'm not going to bed as early as I thought. If I want to keep my work load to a low roar tomorrow I'd better wash this cushion tonight, too, which means waiting for the first cushion to dry enough so I can put the second cushion in the dryer before I go to bed. I was weary and a touch disappointed but not upset, although genuinely worried about what could be causing this sudden, copious, day leakage. Such is the life of a caregiver to an Ancient One, I figured.
When I returned to the bathroom I said, "I don't know, Mom. I think either this bout of CHF is settling in for the long haul or you're developing another UTI. You really let go this evening and since you didn't feel as though you had to pee, something is obviously not quite right."
"Oh," she said, a little indignant, "I knew I had to pee."
It took me a few seconds to digest this. "You mean, every time I asked you if you had to go to the bathroom you actually did but you said no?"
"Not every time," she huffed.
I exploded. "Well, obviously not every time! You peed in your pants between urges! Why did you allow yourself to do that?!? I must have asked you if you had to go a million times!"
"I was enjoying the movies," she righteously defended. "I didn't want to miss anything."
"Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson! Now, I get to stay up well past the time I actually wanted to go to bed because you were enjoying the evening too damned much to go to the bathroom! Unacceptable! I am not here so you can pee on cushions all day long at your leisure! I don't care how irritated you get when I ask you repeatedly if you have to pee! I only do this when it's necessary and I don't do it just for your convenience, I do it for mine, too! I'm tired, tonight! I am not interested in staying up any longer, but, guess what. Because you couldn't be bothered with going to the bathroom tonight I pay the price!"
"You don't have to do the laundry tonight. Nothing's stopping you from going to bed."
"Oh, great idea! Leave this wash till tomorrow so I can do an extra wash and add that to all my regular chores and making the Christmas dinner we'd planned! Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do! You know what, I don't care. I'm soooo tired tonight. And I'm disgusted that I can't go to bed when I want because you didn't want to be bothered with going to the bathroom this evening. It doesn't matter when I do that cushion, I'm thinking I'm not interested in doing Christmas dinner tomorrow. It looks like I've already got a schedule that involves keeping a really close eye on you so I don't have to wash more cushions tomorrow; or I suppose I can just give up and wash cushions. Either choice adds more than enough chores to my regular schedule. I can't see any reason to pile what it takes to make a tomato sausage biscuit pie onto that."
She didn't have anything to say after this.
I super-cleaned her groin area for the third time today, silent and simmering.
When I steered her into her bedroom I was upset with myself, not for scolding her but for having exploded while I was doing it. I made a sincere but guarded apology. I didn't want her going to bed hurt because I'd overreacted out of tiredness and annoyance but I also didn't want her to think that she could forget about the evening and pull the peeing stunt again. I hate these kinds of apologies. It's always easier when I'm clearly in the wrong.
I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like. I don't know if I'm even going to bother to acknowledge Christmas. I'm beginning to feel as though I shouldn't have softened a week or so ago...I should have stuck to my original No Holiday Holiday plan. Well, I'll keep that in mind for next year, I guess. What a fucking hell of a year. I'm glad it's almost over.
Thank god, I just heard the dryer stop from the first cushion. I can load the second one, which is now washed, and go to bed.
Merry Christmas my (dragging) ass.
After lunch we watched a Christmas movie, her choice, Love Actually. She couldn't remember seeing it but remembered the other two we have, the old standards: Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. She really enjoyed that movie, as though she'd never seen it, so I was satisfied. A couple of times, as I usually do, I paused the movie to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom. Nope, she didn't. I didn't think anything of it. She's been controlling her bladder pretty well during the day for quite awhile.
It's a long movie. When it was over I decided that we should check her underwear just in case it needed changing. Not only did it need changing, Mom had peed through it and through the fairly sturdy cushion right the seat of her rocking chair. Not a big deal, though. This happens occasionally, especially if she's drinking lots of liquids on her own, which she did today: Coffee sipping and good times go together for her. I also racked the leakage up to her bout of CHF and decided that maybe her body just decided to release a lot of fluid all at once, which is good. This means that this bout is winding down or maybe it's over. Good time to get her moving, again.
She remained in the mood for Christmas movies but wanted to watch "something different", so I switched to television. TCM was hosting a back-to-back run of Christmas classics, all of which are right up Mom's alley, so I tuned in and let Robert Osborne handle Mom while I got some chores out of the way and fixed dinner. This time, though, instead of leaving urination to chance, I asked her repeatedly if she had to go to the bathroom; to, I guess, the point of her distraction. I also suggested between two movies that we check her underwear just in case.
She snapped, "I don't have to go to the bathroom! When I need to go, I'll go!"
I understood and honored her annoyance (how would I like to be harrassed about my urinary habits, I thought, especially during a particularly enjoyable day) but continued my strategy, just a bit more subtly. I didn't force her, though. Considering how much fluid she lost during the first movie I figured that even if she is putting off going to the bathroom to pee, there's no way she's going to leak as much as she did earlier.
Wrong again. At 2330 we both decided to turn in; unusual for me but I've been dragging this evening, mainly, I think, because I've been going to bed very late for the last couple of nights and setting the alarm in order to start my day in time to make it to the pharmacy first thing. Yesterday the meds I was to pick up "hadn't made it in on the truck" the evening before so I had to repeat the pharmacy trip this morning. I herded her into the bathroom to begin our "getting ready for bed" ritual, closing up the house, turning off lights and turning on the dishwasher on my way. As we undressed her I noticed that, once again, her second-pair-of-the-day flannel pants were wet: She'd leaked through again. This concerned me, especially since I'd been so meticulous after the first accident about quizzing her about her need to urinate and she'd been adamantly denying any need.
I checked the substitute cushion and, sure enough, it and the chair seat were soaked. Well, I decided, I guess I'm not going to bed as early as I thought. If I want to keep my work load to a low roar tomorrow I'd better wash this cushion tonight, too, which means waiting for the first cushion to dry enough so I can put the second cushion in the dryer before I go to bed. I was weary and a touch disappointed but not upset, although genuinely worried about what could be causing this sudden, copious, day leakage. Such is the life of a caregiver to an Ancient One, I figured.
When I returned to the bathroom I said, "I don't know, Mom. I think either this bout of CHF is settling in for the long haul or you're developing another UTI. You really let go this evening and since you didn't feel as though you had to pee, something is obviously not quite right."
"Oh," she said, a little indignant, "I knew I had to pee."
It took me a few seconds to digest this. "You mean, every time I asked you if you had to go to the bathroom you actually did but you said no?"
"Not every time," she huffed.
I exploded. "Well, obviously not every time! You peed in your pants between urges! Why did you allow yourself to do that?!? I must have asked you if you had to go a million times!"
"I was enjoying the movies," she righteously defended. "I didn't want to miss anything."
"Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson! Now, I get to stay up well past the time I actually wanted to go to bed because you were enjoying the evening too damned much to go to the bathroom! Unacceptable! I am not here so you can pee on cushions all day long at your leisure! I don't care how irritated you get when I ask you repeatedly if you have to pee! I only do this when it's necessary and I don't do it just for your convenience, I do it for mine, too! I'm tired, tonight! I am not interested in staying up any longer, but, guess what. Because you couldn't be bothered with going to the bathroom tonight I pay the price!"
"You don't have to do the laundry tonight. Nothing's stopping you from going to bed."
"Oh, great idea! Leave this wash till tomorrow so I can do an extra wash and add that to all my regular chores and making the Christmas dinner we'd planned! Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do! You know what, I don't care. I'm soooo tired tonight. And I'm disgusted that I can't go to bed when I want because you didn't want to be bothered with going to the bathroom this evening. It doesn't matter when I do that cushion, I'm thinking I'm not interested in doing Christmas dinner tomorrow. It looks like I've already got a schedule that involves keeping a really close eye on you so I don't have to wash more cushions tomorrow; or I suppose I can just give up and wash cushions. Either choice adds more than enough chores to my regular schedule. I can't see any reason to pile what it takes to make a tomato sausage biscuit pie onto that."
She didn't have anything to say after this.
I super-cleaned her groin area for the third time today, silent and simmering.
When I steered her into her bedroom I was upset with myself, not for scolding her but for having exploded while I was doing it. I made a sincere but guarded apology. I didn't want her going to bed hurt because I'd overreacted out of tiredness and annoyance but I also didn't want her to think that she could forget about the evening and pull the peeing stunt again. I hate these kinds of apologies. It's always easier when I'm clearly in the wrong.
I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like. I don't know if I'm even going to bother to acknowledge Christmas. I'm beginning to feel as though I shouldn't have softened a week or so ago...I should have stuck to my original No Holiday Holiday plan. Well, I'll keep that in mind for next year, I guess. What a fucking hell of a year. I'm glad it's almost over.
Thank god, I just heard the dryer stop from the first cushion. I can load the second one, which is now washed, and go to bed.
Merry Christmas my (dragging) ass.
