full circle?

What do you do when your mother can't tell (or refuses to acknowledge) that your father's "diaper" needs changing? And she blows her stack when you try to intervene...

Back to Basics

Ok, now we have no visitors, so Hunk and Bitchy can interact more naturally again. To wit, after two hours of imbibing their usual concoction of crappy Vodka and soda, Bitchy comes grumblin in to ask if I will make them dinner. Which I do (except for the hamburger) and then she proceeds to eat but three or four bites before heading off to bed.

She doesn't even wait to help her sweet husband into his pj bottoms or so much as say goodnight to him or me.

Basically she passes out on the bed and leaves it to him (and me) to get his water pik used properly, teeth brushed, and nightclothes on (flashlight in pocket and wallet on dresser).

I wish she could see how that alcohol changes her temperament and stamina and ultimately makes her a worse person.

Into the Trash

So, the next morning was a little chilly from Bitchy, though I got up early to give them their meds, around 7. They were still sleeping, which was unusual, but I follow the maxim: Never wake a sleeping octogenarian!

Spying some activity around 8:30 I finally gave their morning pills and she said, "Make your father an egg, I went back to sleep!"

Also unusual, as she takes charge of his eating and normally makes him a slice of some bakery bread and tea. But I said "Sure" and set to it. He tottered out to the dining room to eat, leaving her to stay in bed doing the newspaper puzzle, as usual.

Throughout that day and those following I just did what has become expected of me. Mostly in relative silence, but with a "pleasant" expression on my face. Feed them meds morning, noon, and night. Make their bed when they get up. Pick up newspapers, scattered clothes, dirty dishes and teacups, tv remotes, dad's electric shaver, and copious crumpled, used Kleenex tissues from underneath pillows and sheets, on the floor, on nearly every visible surface and more. This day I took in a tub of laundry to my bathroom (where the double-decker unit is) and was mildly pleased to find nearly no pee-stained underpants!

My other chores I'll mention another time, but that afternoon Bitchy brought out Hunk's tiny bathroom wastebasket and declared that it should be lined hereafter with a plastic bag, to accommodate the disposal of his used Depends. "Great idea," I praised, thinking I should find a slightly larger sized basket since one Depends would just about fill the thing.

...

Today during lunch, I returned the shaver to his bathroom while they finished. Whereupon I noticed the Father's Day card I'd given him, which had been on his bedside table, smooshed down into that little wastebasket.

It Depends...

Aaargh...

Since the landmark day of Hunk's 90th Birthday Bash, when his trousers got soaked with pee three times in twenty-four hours -- which Bitchy missed, though Hunk had been calling for her each time -- life has become more difficult.

That was the day I managed to have "the talk" with Hunk -- explaining how the industry now made underwear designed to help manage those times when one couldn't get a belt buckle undone, or make it to the bathroom in time, but had to suffer changing wardrobes in the middle of the afternoon. And if he sat to pee (as he said so), then he'd already have the technique down!

What a great invention, I enthused, 'cause then he could depend on it to absorb any amount of 'accidental liquid' without showing the world at large!

Plus, how cool is that -- they're even named Depends!! Lots of people use them these days, as I imagine one day I will, too!

(I was hoping beyond hope the idea would fly, so frustrated with Bitchy's uncaring attitude, evidenced by a year of doing their laundry, finding every pair of his underpants urine-soaked! Worse, she did not seem to encourage or help him wash more than once a week -- and my helping him like that was "out of the question!" -- so his delicate skin was assaulted daily as well.)

Thankfully, he was quite on board with the idea, and I got him to put on a pair without any of the humiliation Bitchy expected. However, as she dresses him in the early morning -- none too gently, I might add -- he returned to the norm of jockey's and trousers the very next day.

Surprise, surprise, though... she started to warm to the idea over the next few days, when business required my absence, and she had to deal several times by herself with wet trousers.

Then she said "Buy them in bulk online!" which I did gratefully, hoping all would, finally, be well.

Well, it isn't. Now there are no more pants streaked with pee, and no more underpants soaking in bleach, but she refuses to have him change the Depends more than once a day! The smell of pee in his bathroom is more prevalent, and it follows him around like a cloud.

Tonight I went to help him with the Water Pik (as usual) but this time Bitchy said, "He's in his underpants only tonight" (as it was a warm night) and not to bother with his pajama bottoms!

Well, ok... I suppose that would be fine, but when I went in to his bathroom they were drooping pretty low and the smell was fairly strong. I asked her, "Did you check to see if they were dry?"

"They're fine!" she insisted, annoyed. And she left the room.

"But are they dry?" I came back.

"They're fine, I said!!" she snarled. I got Hunk started with his Water Pik and followed Bitchy out into their bedroom.

"Ok, but "fine" isn't necessarily "dry"... are they dry?" I persisted. Of course, I was thinking if they were even a little wet he should change into dry ones for the night. Never got a chance to suggest that.

We were facing off now, each leaning over one side of their king-sided bed, her with a ferocious glare on her face. "You back off now! This is MY call" and other words that amounted to how dare I question her authority, and how I had better back off and start behaving like her employee, etc. etc. etc., though I am her daughter and present in their home only because they need help.

Having gone back to help Hunk with his teeth, he calmly suggested that while we both were concerned with his behalf, I should probably back off and let Bitchy have her way. I immediately apologized and assured him that I would let her have her way, even if it was wrong, if that was what he wanted. He said it was.

Poor guy. It has ever been thus. (On going past her in the hall I acknowledged "whatever you want, whatever you say" to Bitchy, in her continued fury.)

I am so tempted to encourage her treat me like a bad employee, and give me my walking papers. From the look of it, Hunk will be too much for her (or me) to handle alone soon, and he may be living his last days from the confines of a nursing home... unless she and I can come to terms again... If not for his needs, I would not be here in the first place.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. Will see what tomorrow brings... it depends...

Strap on Your Spurs

That's what Hunk says... going to "strap on my spurs and join the fight."

In spite of the BigA, he has a sense of humor. And he'd better, since living with Bitchy isn't always easy on him, either.