The Morning Dirge

The expected event occurred. It did not occur when expected. It did not occur as expected. Yet occur it did, the first grace notes of the slow dirge which was to follow rising within me, expelling without me, at around 5:00 AM. This was to be no single explosive crescendo, but a series of subtle escapes, each carrying with the the indications that there would be more to follow.

This discomforture was to continue its slow march to its inevitable end, a steady drum beat of ponderous perterbation, interrupted by brief snatches of rest where my rumblings abdominal released the bass drum and settled for a simple snap on the snare. Then, finally, at about 6:30 AM, my innards determined themselves to deliver unto me the final stage of my folly. I shit myself, fully and completely. The prunes and laxative had worked.

There I lay, wondering what to do next. I pondered. In fact I even fell back to sleep for a bit. I awoke, pondering once again. I could call Alberta Health Services Home Care Emergency Support Team. But the timing was key. It would likely take them at least an hour or two to respond, or, if busy, they might ask me to call the Home Care agency, CBI. If I just called CBI directly, they might respond by saying that they were going to take an hour or so, but they would just go into my regular morning routine, meaning I would be up and in my wheelchair at 9:00 AM, a truly horrendous outcome for me. I could just lay there and wait until 10:30 AM, settling into some sort of semi-sleep state until my regular HCA arrived.

I opted for calling CBI. It was 7:18 AM, an unGodly hour in my book. The CBI Coordinator was good about things, assuring me that they would send a special Care Aide to help me with my immediate need, but also send a Care Aide for my regular morning visit. I could sleep some more after the mess was cleaned up. She warned me it might take a half hour or more to get a Care Aide to me, but also assured me she would call back once she had someone on the way. So I settled in for a bit of a wait.

Then, not 15 minutes after completion of the call, my phone rang. I thought it was the Coordinator calling with an update, something of a surprise since they rarely call back when they say they will. To my surprise, it was the Front Door, the HCA awaiting, ready to come to my aid! It was Edith, cheery and chipper, having started her day at 5:00 AM. She tore into the challenge before her, cleaning up everything which needed cleaning, then hung me in my sling to encourage further activity from the operatic horror at my rear end. It worked. There was more. She cleaned me up again, going so far as to do a bit of digital extraction to get a small bit that was blocking the exit path. She had arrived at 7:37 AM. She was gone by 8:10 AM. I was clean, warm, and dry, ready to sleep again.

I did sleep, until she arrived as planned, even a bit late, to take me through my morning routine. I showered. I tried to use the toilet to no avail; troublesome elements within me refused to coopertate, so we forced the issue with the sling. She catheterized and dressed me. She put me in my wheelchair and made the bed for me. She even put my shoes on! Then, once again she was gone, returning to the fray, the neverending battle with dirty diapers, condom catheters, socks and shoes, medications and food. No, we are not children, but our needs are much the same. The only I have that holds it all together is humour. On the other hand even a child will tell you that shitting yourself at 5:00 AM is not fun, unless you make it fun somehow.