Just one thing after another

With Blackpool now a distant memory for one of us and a non existent one for the other, it's business as usual in the Duffy household.

I've managed to pass my cold on to dad which was inevitable with us staying in the same room while we were away.  I am on constant hanky alert as he sneezes and coughs into the air, checking the radiators for heat so he can hang his hanky to dry.  Nooooooooooooo!  Anyone entering this house at the moment will be provided with one of these and required to walk through a sheep dip upon leaving!

On Tuesday evening I was keeping myself busy making sugar bits and pieces for an upcoming cake and as usual had one eye on dad who was laying back on the recliner overdosing on Columbo.  I've mastered the knack of watching Netflix using my earphones while working sugar magic and watching dad at the same time.  Multitasking has taken on a whole new meaning in this house.  As soon as he leaves the chair, my eye shifts to the clock to check the time.  As the minutes tick by I realise that he is taking much longer than usual in the bathroom.  I walk quietly to the door and listen for a moment before asking "are you okay dad?"

"Aye.  I'm fine," he replies, but he shows no sign of exiting.

I stand around a little longer and hear him puffing and blowing, muttering "oh deary me!" more than once.  I worry that he has found the razors in the cupboard or that he is messing with the shower settings.  I've no idea what he's up to and just as I'm about to knock and enter to find out, the door opens...and there he stands minus his trousers and underpants and socks.  The odour in the room already alerts me of a problem.  There's a trail of discoloured water leading from the sink across the bath mat to the shower floor where his dirty and sodden underpants lay.  His sleeves are rolled up and I can see excrement on his bare arms and hands.  He looks so tiny...and worn out.

"I've shit myself!" he says, pointing to the underpants while holding the pile of clothes he'd removed.

"Aw dad, don't worry about it.  Let's get you all cleaned up," I say.

"I've done it.  I'm clean!" he states.

I showed him his arm and told him that it'd be best to have a quick shower and get into his pyjamas to make him feel better.  I laid a towel on the toilet seat and managed to get him to sit down while I took care of all the dirty clothes.  I got him into the shower and cleaned him up as quick as I could then led him to the warmth of the bedroom to dress him ready for bed.  Feeling better, he settled back in the recliner in the living room and continued to enjoy his Columbo while I was on hands and knees cleaning everywhere else he'd been with all sorts of sprays and bleach.  Thank goodness for a tiled bathroom is all I can say.  I threw all the clothes into the washing machine and boiled them.

I didn't go back to making sugar things.  I was too exhausted.  I am thinking that it might be time to start using incontinence pads.

I might even get some for dad while I'm at it!

I didn't send him off to his Day Centre on Wednesday just to be on the safe side.  He was happy to be sitting in front of the telly being tended to instead.  I haven't taken him outside since our return from Blackpool either but I'm hoping by the weekend his coughing will have subsided and we'll get back to doing what we do best...eating and drinking coffee with a little shopping on the side.

His sentences are a lot more fuddled when his resistance is low.  Sometimes he knows he's said a completely wrong word and will chastise himself.  Other times he might get annoyed that I don't get what he's trying to tell me.  I might laugh then realise that he doesn't find it quite as funny.  I'm met with "WHIT?"  Luckily my skin gets thicker every day.

This morning dad appeared in the living room wearing all his clothes from yesterday, including his shoes!  I was still laying in my chair bed.  It was 6.20 a.m. and still dark outside so when I heard his bedroom door open, I expected him to go to the bathroom and go back to bed as he usually does.  But no...not today.

Bleary eyed I said, "Dad, go back to your bedroom and lay on top of your bed for a bit until I get myself sorted."

"No it's okay," he said, quite oblivious of the darkness and my situation.  "I'll just sit over there," he said, pointing to his recliner that even I couldn't focus on at that point.

The floor wasn't clear of cushions and the storage box where I keep my pillow and quilt.  I had to insist that he left the room.  He shuffled off and I dragged got myself up and made the place a safe environment before fetching him and changing his shoes for slippers.

"We'll stay in today dad, just until your cold gets better," I told him.

"Whatever you think's best," he replied.

I make no mention of his attire.  After breakfast I go to the bathroom and fill the sink with hot soapy water and lay fresh clothes on his bed.

"Come on dad, let's get you washed and dressed," I tell him.

"Who?" he snaps.

"You!" I say as I walk away ignoring the glare he's just thrown my way.

He can't understand why it's necessary to take everything off that he's just put on with a struggle that I dare not imagine.  Watching him trying to remove trousers while I'm in the room is bad enough for the heart as he stoops...his head getting closer and closer to the floor.  Feckin laminate how I hate you.

But I'm there to take over, to steer him in the right direction, to do all the kneeling and bending for him, to maintain him and keep him being the suave and polished gent that he always was and will continue to be.

Although it's not Sunday, I'm declaring this day a day of rest...

...for one of us that is.