Saturday, 17 December 2016

Morning Routine

I have a routine each morning, a routine that stays in place no matter where I am, whether or not I have home care, no matter what else is happening. This routine is critical to me. It ensures that I accomplish all I need to accomplish each morning. Without the routine I forget things, like taking my pills or brushing my teeth or putting on pants. So I stick with my morning routine.

I wake up. I lie in bed for about a half hour building the energy and courage to face the day. I transfer to my commode chair, a source of problems I will later divulge. I take my pills. I go into the bathroom carrying whatever jug or urine container I used from the night before. I clean and sanitize said container. If it is a jug, I leave the sanitizing solution in it and put it aside. If it is a bag, I drain it and hang it in the shower to dry. Also, while the water is running and after the container is clean, I will brush my teeth. I'm in front of the sink anyways. After all that, I go to the toilet. Once complete there, I wash my hands thoroughly and head into my room to get dressed.

There are, however, challenges to this routine as my core muscles fail me. The commode chair is basically a toilet seat one wheels, one which spreads your butt cheeks the moment you sit on it. Now think of what your bowels say to you once you are seated with your butt cheeks spread. Yes, that. Over the last year or so I have been able to manage that urgency, keeping my bathroom routine in place, ensuring I get things done. However as my core muscle weaken, maintaining that clench and clutch is becoming increasingly difficult, especially when something within me needs to depart urgently.

This morning was one of those mornings. I was following my routine. I was sitting in my commode chair. I was cleaning my container. Then I lost focus. Do you know that feeling you get when you know something uncomfortable is going to happen knowing for a certainty there is nothing you can do about it? I had that feeling. It happened.

I rapidly broke my routine and rolled over to the toilet. If this had been a minor, controllable event, I might have finished brushing my teeth. Not this time. My innards were expelling with the force of liquid rocket fuel. My muscles could not contract enough to hold back the flow. So I just rolled over the toilet and wondered what to do next. You see, I was still wearing my underwear.

This time, and there have been other times, I just said to hell with it. I did not want to smear the contents of my underwear all over me as I dragged them off. So I just got my small pair of scissors from the bathroom shelf beside me, and I cut my underwear off, mostly. Remember, in all of this I am still sitting, still unable to lift my butt cheeks up enough to clear the area. So I pushed what I could of them beneath me, and turned on the bidet spray. I cleaned myself, ragged remnants and all. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't perfect. Hell, it wasn't even all that clean. So I went into the shower afterwards and cleaned myself thoroughly.

You know, sometimes a pair of underwear are just not worth it. Sometimes you just have to give it all up and let it all go. Sometimes cutting away the damage is the best way to resolve a difficult situation. But after it all, I still forgot to brush my teeth. Dammit! Morning routine!

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