The Things We do for Love (Dirty Jobs: Daughter Edition)

~ Stacy

My dad had hip replacement surgery last Friday. The procedure went well, and he was discharged on Sunday, with physical therapy scheduled for Monday. My mom got sick on Sunday night, and couldn’t bring him to his appointment. I volunteered to transport him to and from therapy. He called that morning and explained that he really needed bathing. Could I pick him up early and bring him to my Nana’s house so he could use her walk-in shower? An hour later, we were standing in her bathroom, unloading my dad’s Pert Plus and Irish Spring  from a ratty blue duffle bag.

He turned to me and said, with gravity in his voice, “You’re going to have to be somewhat involved here, Stace. We have to remove the old bandage first, then cover the incision with plastic wrap and tape around it so the wound doesn’t get wet.

“Ok, Dad,” I said, unfazed.

I have a degree in health education. I’m pretty ok with the human body. Besides, I’m a mom. I do gross things all the time. Last week, in the basement, Miles tried a bite of my cottage cheese and blueberries, and immediately spit it out of his mouth. It landed with a splat on the playroom floor. I didn’t feel like going upstairs for a paper towel, so I scooped it up and ate it, then wiped the wet spot with my sock. I’m not saying I’m proud. I’m just saying it happened.

My dad, however, is super private about his body. He never takes his shirt off in public, not even in a swimming pool with close family members. It’s just the way he is. He likes keeping things under wraps. He also would never eat cottage cheese off the floor.

So the idea of undressing in front of his daughter and letting me come in close with scissors and a roll of medical tape made him squirm.

I told him to drop his drawers as I tore off a substantial piece of Saran wrap, eyeing the tightly-sealed tray of cold cuts pictured on the box.

Stretches to seal. Chlorine-free.

Good choice.

I got to work, positioning the clear wrap over his eight-inch incision.

My dad is in the habit of giving orders, so as he stood there with his navy sweats around his ankles, he was already instructing me to place his soap and shampoo in the shower.

“Just a minute, Dad. Let me finish Saran-wrapping your ass first.”

I kept working, smoothing the wrap, cutting long strips of tape that barely held to his right cheek. Could they have just sent him home with a roll of Press ‘n Seal?

“Getting old takes some humility, Stace,” he said. “I remember when Aunt Sue and I stopped at a gas station on a road trip, and a woman came out the bathroom asking if I had a sister named Sue. I told her yes, and she said Sue needed help in there. She was stuck on the can and needed a boost.”

We chuckled, and I told him I had stood in this same bathroom five years earlier helping Papa hoist his pants up when his back was hurting him. “You do what you gotta do,” I said. “And you’re thankful to help and be helped.”

I finished up with the crack sealer, and Dad shuffled into the shower.

I waited outside the door, listening to make sure he was ok, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t have to scoop a gigantic naked man off the slick tile floor. I imagined myself carrying him fireman-style through the doors of the ER.

I thought back to my childhood. When I got sick as a little girl, it was dad who took care of the gross stuff, who held my hair back while I vomited into the toilet, who grabbed the plunger when one of us did a number in the bathroom.

I thought of the first week of my marriage. Chad and I honeymooned in Mexico, and between the food and the travel, I became SO constipated. I’m talking blood-vessels-ruptured-in-your-face constipated. I laid on the bathroom floor, sniffling, my new husband knocking on the door and asking if I wanted him to give me an enema. What a delightful start to married life! During the very first week, shit got real.

I thought of Papa’s final days in the ICU with pneumonia, coughing violently, spitting into a tissue and handing it to Nana. Not once did she cringe or hold out the wastebasket. She took his blood-streaked mucus right into her own hands.

That’s Love, people.

We live in a society that likes to pretend Love is pretty and sparkly and smells nice. And sometimes it does. But Love is willing to do the nasty stuff too. Sometimes Love is sitting beside you on the bed, holding the bucket you’re getting sick in. Sometimes Love is in the bathroom with you, changing your bandages or emptying your colostomy bag. Sometimes Love is pinning you down on the couch and pouring medicine down your throat. Sometimes Love is standing in your bedroom wearing a headlamp and a rubber glove, saying WOULD YOU JUST HOLD STILL?

This is the human experience. We’re all made up of flesh and bones. Blood and guts. And despite our efforts and our pride, we’re not in control of these unpredictable bodies.

At one time or another, we all get broken. We all get sick.

We age. We hurt. We bleed. We need help.

Not one of us gets to take all of our dignity to the grave.

Chances are, there will come a day when the one sitting on the pot hollering, CAN ANYONE BRING ME TOILET PAPER? is you.

At some point, you’ll be the culprit of the staccato machine-gun fart released during yoga class.

You’ll be asking someone to clip your gnarly toenails or run to the store for Depends and Milk of Magnesia.

Someone will have to wipe your something.

Like it or not, the ass that’s being Saran-wrapped may one day be your own.

We’re fallible. We’re mortal. We’re beautiful and disgusting. We’ll never stop needing each other.

saranwrap

And that’s a wrap.

358 thoughts on “The Things We do for Love (Dirty Jobs: Daughter Edition)”

  2. Amazing, compassionate and extraordinarily well written, Stacy. As a manager, I will be reading your post at our staff meeting on Tuesday. The agenda item will read “Reality Check.” Thank you so much for sharing.

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    1. Thank you for the touching comment! I’m honored that you’ll be sharing my post with your staff — Reality Check, indeed! 🙂 I hope they enjoy it! Please visit me here again soon. Cheers, Stacy

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    1. I’m delighted that you enjoyed the post! So you’ll be on the giving end soon when your husband has his procedure? I recommend Press n’ Seal 😉 Hehe. No really though, I hope your husband does great with his surgery and recovery. My dad is wondering why he ever wanted to put his replacement off now that it’s over with and he is already feeling great! Thanks so much for reading and taking time to comment. I hope you’ll stop by again soon. Best wishes, Stacy

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  6. Let me start by telling you that Vickiewhat (the lady that commented above me) called me up and told me about this wonderfully written blog that was funny yet embodied a great message! Needless to say, here I am and this was nothing short of brilliant!! Your writing is impeccable, your humor is hilarious and yet, you speak the truth!! The message was heartfelt and relatable and a great reminder of why we are all here in the first place – to love!! I may or may not have eaten some thing spit out from one of my children in the past and possibly off of the floor, I have been wiped and will continue to wipe!! 🙂 I love this!! Excellent post!! So happy to be following you!! 🙂

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    1. I cherish your comment, mamalisa4! I am delighted that you both enjoyed the post and related to the content. I’m also glad you’re alongside me in the Did-I-just-do-that Club for Moms! Haha 🙂 Thanks so much for finding me here and encouraging me as I’m getting started. I checked out your lovely site as well and am looking forward to connecting more in the future. Cheers, my friend! Stacy

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    1. Oh, thank you for that sweet encouragement! I’m so glad you enjoyed the post and found some renewed hope here. I hope you’ll stop by again. Best, Stacy

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  11. This “I thought of Papa’s final days in the ICU with pneumonia, coughing violently, spitting into a tissue and handing it to Nana.” had me in tears for no reason… I thought you were saying that your father died. Now I have blocked sinuses for nothing! lol ❤ the post though.

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    1. Oh geez, I should have said, “my grandfather’s final days…” instead of “Papa’s final days…” My grandfather passed away a few years ago after a long, wonderful life, but my father is very much alive and well! He is enjoying the comments from my readers too, and we had a great chuckle a couple days ago when I shared with him that folks in fifty countries around the world have read my post about his backside! Thanks for reading and for the words of encouragement. I hope you’ll stop by again! Cheers, Stacy

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    1. Haha, I’m so glad you’re getting a kick out of it! I get the giggles myself every time I think about that morning 🙂 Thanks for the tweets and comments and kind words, my friend!

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      1. Thank you for the residual giggles. I have been telling everyone that they must read this, if they need a great laugh.

        Only a real Mom would scoop up that cottage cheese and eat it. And it takes a real daughter to wrap up her Dad’s ass in his time of need. I hope he is feeling better.

        Lastly, you are too funny, and so very well-written. I’m thrilled to find you. I love writers supporting writers. Thanks for the follow. 😄

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        1. Vickie, I’m practically crying reading your comment! So glad we’ve connected, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of your work as well! Thanks for fanning my fire as I get started here 🙂 Best, Stacy

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          1. It’s true. You deserve to hear it. Own it girl! Honestly, writing is so much more fulfilling, when you have an audience who is enjoying and/or gaining something from it. You’ve done both! Bravo!

            I’m so glad I’ve almost made you cry, because you almost made me pee myself, so it’s only fair! 😄

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