At times like this I think I can't take it anymore. I smelled the familiar scent of poop lingering in the air as I walk in the door. I walking in and grandma is sitting on the commode. I think she's pooping so I glove up to deal with the aftermath. Then I stare down at my feet. I'm already standing in it. She did one of her poop drops on the ground, stepped in it and smeared it all over the carpet. I check the soles of her slippers and there is the culprit. I bag her slippers for the washing machine and lay down absorbent pads to get her up and off the commode. I help her finish up including putting on her backup slippers. I get her up and away to wash her hands as I get to scrubbing with clorox wipes. Takes quite a few and I run out. I switch over to isopropyl and paper towels. Everything is as clean as it can be. There's only so much one can do. I'm hoping the cocktail of chemicals kills off anything biologic. She comes back and gets ready to lie down on her bed. I have the sinking feeling that there maybe poop on her feet. I didn't check before putting on the backup slippers. Sure enough, it's poop caked. Another pair of slippers in the laundry bag. No more slippers left. I wipe and sanitize her feet and tell her not to get up while I wash the slippers. They are in the dryer right now. All along this process she's cursing at me for bothering her. Of course she doesn't listen and has been ambling around the room, bare feet on poopy wet disinfectant carpets. Thanks again grandma.
If that wasn't enough, I go to put mom to bed. All is well as I get her in the bathroom to do her business and brush her teeth. I go to turn down the bed. What do I see? A wet diaper soaking into the night stand. Why mom? Why? After getting rid of that and sanitizing the night stand, I ask dad if he saw it there. He said it's been there for hours. I ask why he didn't throw it away. He said that mom yelled at him when he asked about it. I asked why he asked? Just throw it away. That's what I do. I don't ask permission to throw away her wet diapers. I just do it. That's what I just did.
This show of clear logic didn't put dad in a good mood. So when it was time for his nightly sugar and BP check, dad had a little fit. Kept insisting it was a waste of time. Why bother? I said I've been through enough tonight and it's taking him much more time to argue about it than to do it. After moaning about it for another 10 minutes he finally checks his sugar levels. Way too high. Way higher than normal. I asked him what he's been eating. He said nothing that should spike it. Then he checks is pill pack. He didn't take is diabetes meds today. He takes it. I point out that if we didn't do his nightly check today, then we would never have known. He just grunts.
While it's going on, I think I'm about to pop a seal. I just can't take it anymore. After everyone is tucked in bed, I settle down. It's sad to say that this has happened so many times that I'm used to it.
Yikes.
My exit strategy is waiting for everyone to die. The youngest one is in their 80's so it shouldn't be more than another 20 years or so.
You poooor thing!! 3 people to take care of! Pee and poop everywhere! Sounds like complete bedlam!
Please get yourself some help! This is waay too much for one person!
Somewhere along the line you seem to have decided that your life only has meaning if you are the family caregiver, while that is noble and all it may not be the best use of your life and in the long run it may not even be the best for those you care for. I thought I was mostly doing OK until a family member mentioned that I was always angry, it opened my eyes to the reality that I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought I was, and that living with a person whose stress and rage was barely under control wasn't doing my mother any favours.
Oh, and I know what you are probably thinking - people here on the forum tried to tell me what I am telling you and I just couldn't hear them.
So why do I care give? Someone has to. It's as simple as that. I've never been one to shrug off something just because it's hard. I'm one of those first generation immigrants. My parents and grandma aren't exactly glib English speakers. Where we live, they might as well be speaking Martian. So at every doctor's appoint, every PT appt, every ER run I have to be there to at least translate. The hospital has tried a couple of times to get someone that can translate. They get someone that kind of speaks the language. Kind of enough not to be able to communicate. It's hard enough being in NH home if you speak the language and grew up in that culture. Taking those away, it's one of the levels of hell. When I was a teenager. We, as in my grandparents, stuck my great grandma in a NH. Mainly in the insistence of grandma. Yes the same poop dropping grandma. She wouldn't let great grandma live with her and granddad anymore. That was pure hell for great grandma who was far more functional than grandma is at the same age. You think it's hard enough now, try being a "foreigner" in a basically "redneck" NH 40 years ago. Picture being a person in that position that didn't speak English. There was physical, verbal and emotional abuse from both the other residents and the staff. From what I can see visiting NHs, not much has changed. Sure it looks better on the surface and people, until recently, have learned to be more circumspect in their incorrect opinions. It'll take a generation or two more for the real changes to be made. Even in the ER, I've had to complain to the charge nurse a few times about comments some of the nurses have made. Believe me, I don't take it in stride.
So, I'm not willing to put my parents through that. It would be karma for grandma but even with her I'm not willing to put her through that. Someone has to take care of them. Even with a helper I would still have to be around to translate at least. Which is no different from when they are in the ER or admitted to the hospital, I pretty much have to be around all the time then as well. You should see the look of desperation on an ER nurse when I say I'm going to take off. I reassure them I'll be back in a couple of hours. Got other old people at home to check up on.
Trapped and bitter? Trapped? Yes. Bitter? So so. But feeling trapped and bitter is no excuse to not to do the right thing. Many people feel trapped and bitter in their jobs. Yet they still go to work. So many parents have told me that they regret having kids. They feel trapped. Yet how many of them drop off their 8 year olds at the fire station? Thankfully, not many. Society would fall apart overnight if everyone stepped away from a situation where they felt trapped.
I have both my parents next door still in there own home, thank God, dad is 93 had a stroke, lost some vision and memory, also anger issues, copd, asthma, congestive heart failure, mega piils to fill, mom is 85 a has parkinsons, and in the last year has just gone kind of retarded, its very strange to me how she all of a sudden doesnt know anything or why she does very stupid things.
And i tend to get very impatient and angry with them lately, been dealing with them for 4 years now. Alone.
But after reading yours, you have gma and mom and dad, and cleaning up poop and urine soaked diapers. I guess i have it easy, you are an Angel, you might consider hospice, they do alot, bathing and cleaning, even a pastor will stop by and talk with you, they truly are a God send. And if you have any veterans, the VA will help with house keeping and meals. You cant go on like that forever, and need to take time for yourself and take care of yourself. I hope you can find help soon, God bless and prayers.