More Hygiene

Hygiene really is an important area when you’re taking care of someone. I joke that I hate to get wet, but can you imagine being 93? Mary used to take a shower every morning, come rain or come shine. After a fall that chipped her kneecap and then having her second hip replacement, moving around was getting to be a rather risky thing. I tried giving her a shower, but it always made me so nervous. Her shower has a ledge that you have to step over and lots of sharp corners on the door. It’s pretty cramped inside the stall and always a pain to get the chair in and out. I always ended up getting soaked and then getting her out was pretty scary. It was actually a godsend when something went wrong with the shower, causing water to drip from the basement ceiling. (I still haven’t gotten it fixed. Another thing on my “To Do” list.) So we had to start taking baths.

You know, the women who took care of Mary were supposed to help her sponge bathe every morning and then I’d give her a “real” bath in the tub every other weekend when I came home. But I know they were doing their job. She often smelled. But what could I do? That was part of what I hated about the caregivers and why I’m actually relieved to not find a job and to have to keep taking care of her. I felt like my hands were tied with so many things. Well, she doesn’t get a sponge bath every morning—sometimes she just stays in her pajamas all day, but she does get a “real” bath once a week, and she never smells. To give the caregivers a bit of credit, I believe they were leaving her to bathe herself, respecting her privacy. Give me a break! You have to watch her like a hawk when she bathes. Sometimes I get so bored and my mind starts to wander. You might as well start the whole thing over because, believe me, she has no idea what she’s already washed. I’ve gotten in the habit of constantly restating what she has to do or giving her instructions in a steady flow, trying to make it sound like I’m just making idle conversation. For instance, she’s just used the potty. I’ll say, “So, after you’ve washed your hands, we can go have a cup of coffee out on the porch. Doesn’t that sound good?” Am I pandering to her? Babying her? Maybe. I don’t do it all the time. Lots of times I won’t be so sensitive: “Hey, where are you going? Aren’t you going to wash your hands?”

Bathing. I had a major mental break-through as far as Mary was concerned when I first started helping her in the shower. I’d turn the water on and she’d squeal about it being cold. Then it would get a little warmer and she’ll bellow about how hot it was and how it was hurting her. Believe me, it was barely lukewarm. At first, I thought she was just being difficult or something. Then it suddenly hit me like a brick—she was telling the truth and I should listen. When she says she’s cold, she’s really cold. And when she says the water is too hot for her, then it’s too hot for her. It was her bath, not mine! Now I put her chair in the tub and use a big cup to pour water on her. She often complains that she’s cold. I, for my part, am standing there half naked because I’m burning up, about to pass out, actually. I tell her I’m sorry, but what can I do? She has the oddest reaction. She thinks I don’t take her seriously or that I really don’t care. But, seriously, what can I do? Turn the heat up some more? Then I really will pass out! And by the time it’s warm enough, her bath will be over. The last time this happened, she seemed to have an insight that there really wasn’t anything that I could do. Hm. Maybe she’s learning that I’m really telling the truth.

As if giving someone else a bath weren’t a big enough chore, then comes the getting dressed part. I always rub lotion all over her body. She has really dry skin. Her oil glands are probably all dead or something. (This was another thing the ladies, caregivers, didn’t do but that I couldn’t prove. Well, know I am certain because she never has dry skin!) I got out some lacy undies for her the other day and she had the cutest reaction. She asked me if it was Sunday! I asked why, were those her Sundy-undies? We had a good laugh about that. We do generally laugh a lot. Like when I put her gait belt on her and she doesn’t have a bra on (say she’s in her pajamas) and I’ll say, “Move ‘em or lose ‘em,” meaning her boobs. She’ll say something like, “Oh, we don’t want to lose them. Not yet anyway. Even if we can’t use ‘em anymore.” I think it used to shock her to have to lift her boobs up. Heck, now I lift them myself to make sure she’s dried under there—dampness can lead to a yeast infection. And she’s gotten quite used to me wiping her “bucket” with a wet wipe—I know she can’t reach it as well as she used to and it’s important that she stay clean. Yes, I do spoil her, if this is what could be referred to as spoiling. Well, I’m sure the aunts would say it falls under the bigger umbrella of spoiling. Angie still swears that if I hadn’t started doing all this stuff for Mary, that she’s still be able to do it for herself. Humph! She’s just jealous. I do try to not do everything, but it’s so hard! It takes so much more time (or so it seems) when Mary does things herself. For instance, I don’t pull her knee-highs all the way up, so that she has to finish the job. And I have found a happy medium in putting her bra on. She always had this interesting, actually pretty clever, maneuver whereby she’d put it around her inside out and hook it in the front and then twist it around and pull it up. She started putting it on so that when she pulled it up, it was inside out, so I started hooking it for her in the back but with it on her inside out so that she still had to pull it up. I tried getting her to put it on and then I’d hook it, but I could tell she hated it. She had to position her boobs in there and move them all around. Not up her alley. Not lady-like at all!

The worst part about getting her dressed is putting on the shoes. She had a pair she could slip on, but they were so old and worn out, so I got her (after at least half a year of trying) to wear another pair. Well, these fit snugger, so we have to use a shoehorn. I don’t think she ever used one because she doesn’t take to it. I’ve finally figured out that after I get the front part of her foot into the shoe, I have to slip the shoehorn in and tell her to bend her knee in order to slip the foot in. Let me tell you, we’ve been through much agony trying to figure that simple procedure out! In any case, when it’s all over, she inevitably says, “Ok, honey,” in this tone of voice that implies, “I’ve finally gotten so you can get out of my way now.” Argh!

Can you tell that I’ve never had children? I don’t know how parents do it? All that bathing and dressing! But at least they know that the child will grow up and eventually take over. With Mary, things won’t be getting any better or easier.