It is well established in our household that I will gag at almost any bodily fluid; especially those slimy gooey types. I’m gagging as I write. Yes gagging, literally, not figuratively.
As I approached Lewy to say good morning, I found him lying in a pool of “Ectoplasmic Residue” that had been deposited through the night. It covered the entire portion of his mid face ran down over the right side of his entire head covering his ears and hair in the clear stringy goo. It was pooled at his shoulders and ponded in large glops all over his pillow.
My first swallow of my morning coffee was not going down. Oh no… not this time…My natural gag reflex went into full swing. I was bent over at the hips head hanging down almost to my knees, my stomach started cramping with the result of dry heaving. For me this wretching continues yet still, over just the re-imagining the sight of it as I type. For Hubbie, he knew that the clean up duty would fall to him. He finds it extremely gross, but at least he can breathe through it all.
I had to leave the room. That’s all there is to it. If Hubbie were not here, I would have to call Summer, the nurse tech, to drop by first thing before she starts her day. She would understand. She witnessed me almost loose my cookies over nothing more than the spit from brushing his “teeth” (insert Tennessee joke that is “tooth” –almost true – he has 4). I wasn’t even expecting to gag over that - but it happened. Summer stood there thinking she was going to have to scrape me up off the floor just from a bit of sudsy stringy spit.
Bless Hubbie. He announced that he knew it was his job, yet he asked me to tell him what he was about to encounter as he was preparing to leave for work. He should know I can’t speak the words of goo without gagging through it. But the questions…Where? How much? What? The beginning of payback is in the questions…oh my stomach! Deep breath….breathe……breathe…
That was not what I was intending to write about today. But then….I can’t recall now what it was. In my brain slimy body goo takes precedence over all other matters.
Today I expect a couple of girl friends to come visit. For those of you that marked “I have no Lewy” on our poll a few weeks back…if you know some one with a Lewy; go see them. They can’t get out to see you. Their home has become their prison. Just as my home has become my prison. Yes, for good behavior I do get out on weekends (thank you Hubbie), but still it is a 24/7 sentence to have a late stage Lewy living in your house. There are no vacations, no running to the store, no spontaneous drives in the country. Even walking out to the garage is equivalent to leaving him home alone.
As far as Lewy is concerned if I’m not in eyeball range he will start hollering for me, just to see if someone is here. He can’t remember from one minute to the next that I’m in the office working or in the bathroom showering. Every minute is brand new. Just like a toddler.
We figure other than his speech; Lewy is at about 6 months old. He can no longer feed himself, and does not understand the mechanics of feeding. He blows the food out spraying it everywhere. The food must be mush and spoon fed to him. He gets the bib, and no way does he get to hold the spoon or the plate or his own glass. It would be slung across the room within seconds….. Now there- that is a difference in Lewy and a 6 month old. Lewy can, and will, throw things across the room. Way across the room.
Lewy can no longer walk. The interest in doing it is there, but the legs are not strong enough to support his weight. And his mind is so far gone, that like a 6 month old, he does not have the mental ability to figure out logically what is going on around him. When you watch babies, their eyes move all around like they are seeing things that are not there. So does Lewy. Only I know he is seeing something. Just what is another question altogether.
1 comments:
old friend said...
so happy for you to have visitors for yoself today, Pauline! Enjoy, laugh (deeply), and giggle! I'll be thinking on ya'll.