The other day our son was afflicted by the stomach flu. It didn't last long, but it was very contagious. Mom came down with it the very next day. Before I continue, I would like to say that I am going to be...um...a little indelicate as I describe my experience. So, to the reader; if you have a weak stomach do not read further.
Now, I have seen my share of stomach flues. I have cared for children with days and days of diarrhea. I have cleaned up vomit, poo, and horrible messes. But...having a mother with Alzheimer's come down with stomach flu is like being in diarrhea Hell. It is flu of epic proportions!!! The thing about Alzheimer's is this: There is very little awareness of what is happening one moment and the next, old habits kick in. With Mom that meant that when she discovered a mess in her panties, she tried to correct the problem. She attempted to clean up using the sink to dispose of the mess. She doesn't see well and so the mess spread to the walls, knobs, doors, and cabinets. It was on sheets, towels, all her clothing and the floor. Then she stepped in it and got it on her shoes, her socks and the furniture. (I am gagging as I describe this). It began first thing in the morning as I walked into her bedroom. I knew immediately as I entered that something was amiss. My olfactory senses alerted me before I had taken a step through the threshold. Armed with room deodorizer I rounded the bend to greet Mom asking if she had gone to the bathroom. "Oh yes," she replied. That was the understatement of the century. When I observed the mess I immediately sprang into action, mopping, cleaning, sanitizing and spraying deodorizer. Then I cleaned up my mother. All delicacy was thrown out the window. as I unceremoniously mopped and sponged Mom down like a sailor swabbing the deck! Ha! The poop deck!!!! Even in my gagging misery this made me laugh just a little.
As the day wore on, the feculent emergencies continued. The laundry room was like a bivouac center for emergency operations. Soap, bleach, and hot water were used generously. Our washer and dryer suffered from continued use as I ran load after load of soiled clothing, sheets and towels. Mom was upset and confused as I reacted with a dramatic urgency. I barked orders like, "Move here. Wash your hands. Step out of your shoes...no...your shoes! YOUR SHOES! ARGH!" Then she would sit down because she felt woozy and weak. "NOOOOO! Don't sit down!" It was too late. She left a smudge on the cream colored upholstered chair. More cleaning and sterilizing. More mess. More orders and instructions.
Needless to say as the hour approached for me to go to an evening meeting I couldn't be happier to escape the excremental nightmare. My poor husband bid a panicked goodbye as he took over Mom duties. I had hoped that he could get her off to bed before I returned home, but as luck would have it the meeting was over early. I was home with time to spare and as I walked through the door, Skip was standing in the hallway outside the bathroom calling to me.
"Mom stood up and said she had an emergency," he reported.
My heart sank. As she emerged she said she was ready to go to her room. I asked how she was feeling and she said "Fine!" (Why did I believe her?)
Off we went to her room and as I helped her out of her clothes I didn't think to check on the condition of her garments. She said she was fine, didn't she? As she sat on her bed it occurred to me that she might not be aware of how she was and asked her to stand up. Sure enough she had soiled the sheets with the residual excretions. I couldn't have been more disgusted! Before I could put Mom to bed I had to change her sheets yet again, change her nightgown, her rapidly dwindling supply of panties, and provide her with another sponge bath. An hour later I came downstairs and collapsed. I recounted the uglier parts of the day to Skip who provided an ample amount of sympathy. I was exhausted. I went to bed bone tired. I slept soundly all night in spite of the fact that I noticed a few little rumbling pains in my abdomen. The next morning I awoke with a definite gas cramp followed by more liquid rumblings. I knew immediately that I was afflicted with the dreaded diarrhea that had obviously been shared by its generous predecessors.
During the day, I visited the bathroom with explosive frequency. I finally retreated to bed to stay close to the bathroom and away from contamination of the sanitized kitchen and family room. When Skip had to run an errand he asked me if I would be alright. I lifted my head off the pillow to heroically announce that I would be fine. I heard Skip tell Mom that I was in the bedroom and if she needed me, she could call and I would come. Within seconds of our back door closing, Mom was up and walking into the bedroom. She peeked in my room. I lifted my head and asked, "Do you need something?"
Mom looked at me and knit her brows together. "No," she answered. I don't need anything. I came to ask if you needed anything."
"No," I answered. "I'll be okay."
"Well you just call me if you need something." Then she added, "I'm just in the other room. I'll come running."
"I will, Mom. Thank you." I smiled broadly. I couldn't believe it! This woman who barely knew who I was, where she was, what she was doing, how to do things, how to follow instructions, how to form sentences, was now offering assistance. Ever the mother, ever the nurturer, her will to help was bigger than her disease. Her sweetness, her care, her basic nature was in tact. It was telling that motherhood ran deep and transcended all else. This was a moment I would always remember. If it was my very last positive memory it would be sufficient and beyond satisfactory. Forever I would be grateful to my lovely and wonderful mother for such a selfless offer. I couldn't help but look at my own attitude and feel like I needed to adjust my thinking. I refused to feel guilty for my efficiency and less than loving attitude when dealing with everything but told myself that a more gentle nature was in order and immediately resolved I would try harder next time. We had survived the dreadful ordeal and while it had felt like we were both at death's door there would, in fact be another tomorrow and a chance for me to do better.
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