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Ready Aim Fire! A Wife's Perspective on Incontinence Care... Beverly Bigtree Murphy
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"I remember the first time I had to help my husband Tom in the bathroom. I had convinced myself that his pride was too important to him to allow me the authority to step in and help. But the real reasons were much more complicated than that. I was wrestling with, denial, fear, unexpressed grieving issues, betrayal, feelings of abandonment, resentment, and reluctance to enter his private space. And there were other reasons. My personal abhorrence. I was not someone who aspired to nursing on any level, in fact I rejected any vocation that dealt with the hands-on care of any living thing. I am not a touchy feely kind of person, I have very real parameters regarding other people’s bodily needs and my space. I only made concessions in that department where my own children were concerned and up until Tom’s onset of Alzheimer’s, taking on the care of any adult’s bathroom needs were the furthest thing from my thoughts. Consequently, as Tom’s ‘needs’ increased I faced the dilemma all of us face when a family member develops Alzheimer’s. How does one enter another person’s private space without feeling totally compromised themselves?
I did what most of us do. I did a great deal of watching him struggle and I had quietly, if not resentfully, done my share of clean ups and clothing changes all of which did little more than push both of us deeper into denial of his real problems and foster more resentment, fear and anxiety in us both.
On this particular morning, I followed him to the bathroom as usual, took my position by the door and waited, knowing he was going to miss the toilet, wet the floor and probably himself in the process. I would then be left with the heartache of seeing disappointment and confusion on his face once he realized he was wet. I don’t even want to visit the place that describes the expression on my face, the face he got to see. This time a voice in my head went off. It said:
"There has to be a better way! For crying out loud, do something! You’re a take-charge kind of person. Take charge!"
I found myself moving behind him. I reached around his waist, undid his zipper, positioned my body behind his, helped finagle his clothing so that he could get hold of ‘his thing,’ gently placed my hand on his so as to move and position ‘him’ over the toilet bowl and said as authoritatively as possible:
"Ready - Aim - Fire."
He burst out laughing, in fact we both did. It was probably the only bright moment we had shared in days. I realized, his missing the toilet and urinating on himself was no way for him to maintain any semblance of dignity. There was a better way, and that was to accept the realities that he needed help, he was not going to relearn anything much any more, and my task was to help him through the transitions that laid before us much of which would revolve around his increasing incontinence with as much devotion, practicality and spunk as possible."
editor's note:
Realizing that my style with my husband is not necessarily right for everyone else's situation, I still urge you to approach your problems with less a sense of defeat and more a sense of creativity and love. Try to see these developments as puzzles to be solved instead of the nightmare you wish you could avoid.
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