31st July 2007 - Well, it sure ain't teen spirit

We visited this morning. Dad was just outside his room. Standing, shirt tails flapping. As we approached him the smell of shite became stronger and stronger. "What is that smell?!" Mark asked me as we walked slowly towards Dad. "It smells like, it smells like, like..." he left the sentence hanging but we both knew what he was thinking. Ellie was hopping and skipping between us. "What smell Mama? That poo-ey one? Oh look there's Grandad. Do you smell the poo Grandad? Smelleeee isn't it? Pooooeee!" Because we were so near Dad's room we went in, rather than turn and go back to the dayroom. In the confines of his four walls, the smell was gaggingly strong. Where he walked he left prints, smudges of dirt. "Oh, there's mud all over the floor kids you sit up on the bed." and I cleaned the floor. I tried to get hom to give me his shoes to clean them, but he was tugging his incontinence pad out the bottom of the leg of his trousers. He couldn't get it pulled through, so I helped. A big dod of shite tumbled out on to the floor. It just sat there, smiling up at me. I picked it up with the pad I'd freed out of his trouser leg and removed it and the pad to the loo. I was wondering if there were more dods in his trousers because the smell didn't go right away, but eventually it did, so I reckoned I must have got it all. I put on some Beethoven for him because Miora had said he'd perked up last time she'd played him some music, but it didn't work this time. I think he was too embarassed, too mortified to brighten up. His daughter had just removed his nappy. I was aware that he didn't have a pad on, so I found a fresh one and put it in the toilet. "There's clean things in the bathroom for you Dad, when you are ready" I told him. He'd nodded but didn't meet my eyes. I hadn't realised he was doubly incontinent. I knew he'd lost his bladder control, but not his bowels too.

We left him in his room. As we were leaving I pass one of the staff and tell him were he is. I'm not sure the residents are allowed to be in their rooms on their own. And I want to be sure he gets his lunch. My poor Dad. I suppose they'll turf him out of his room to wander about on his own again. I hope he puts his pad on.