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)”

  4. This was fantastic! And very timely for me. For me this weekend. love looked like cleaning up puke off the bedsheets, off the spare sheets, off the towels that were stand-ins for bedsheets, and off the carpet (for my girls). Running out in the middle of the night for Gatorade (my husband’s sick drink of choice) and when I got back, helping him make a make-shift bed on the bathroom floor out of a couple towels and a comforter. And the laundry – oh my word the laundry. But it had to be done so the house didn’t smell like puke anymore.

    And then, two days later, love looked like me on the toilet while puking into a bucket in front of me, while my husband doted on me and my two girls were charged with babysitting their toddler brother.

    And now, love looks like me staying up late with said toddler (even though I have to work in the morning) so my husband can catch up on at least some sleep.

    🙂

    But even with all that, love is STILL so wonderful, isn’t it? Just being able to be the security for someone else and knowing that they will be there for you.

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    1. Ohhhh, I’ve been there, sister! I remember the night my older two began vomiting simultaneously in separate bedrooms! My husband and I didn’t know what to do, so we plopped them in the dry tub and took turns on recon/damage control all night long.

      You’re so right though! That’s love — being someone else’s security and knowing they will one day be yours. It’s a messy, but beautiful thing, this human experience.

      Best wishes for a restful, clean, and uneventful week! 😉 Stacy

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    1. Thank you for the kind words! It was a small gesture of kindness compared to what my father has done for me. I’m so glad you enjoyed the post and hope you’ll come by again! Cheers, Stacy

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  10. Hi,

    Just came across this post of yours and i am glad that i did.
    You have depicted such a miserable scenario in such a beautiful and arousing manner.

    The deeper concept of love is amazingly portrayed in this write up.

    Wish you all the best for your future endeavors.
    Keep inspiring.
    God bless you and your family.

    Regards.

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thank you so much for reading, and for the kind words of encouragement. I’m glad you enjoyed my silly-but-true portrait of love! Please visit me here again soon. Blessings, Stacy

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  11. This is so great. I’m studying to become a nurse and this really touches base with caring for someone in their most vulnerable times, trying to keep them as comfortable as possible, and keeping in mind that we are all human and every now and then we all need a little help. Thanks for sharing.

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    1. I’m so glad you enjoyed the post, and were able to relate to the significance of helping another human being in their time of need. Thank you for reading and for the kind words of encouragement. Please stop by again soon! Cheers, Stacy

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  12. That was awesome! I suppose we have to return the favour and do for our parents what they did for us as infants. It comes full circle. Love the yogurt and blueberry incident… we do what we have to do given the circumstances.

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    1. Yes! You’re so right — love comes full circle. We, who were once needy, can now help meet the needs of our aging parents if we are willing to accept that wonderful (horrifying) challenge!

      You’re also right that we do what we have to do, and sometimes it involves partially chewed blueberries! Hehe.

      Thanks so much for stopping by and taking the time to comment. Glad you enjoyed the post!

      Cheers, Stacy

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    1. Absolutely! Real love embraces all the various aspects of the human experience, doesn’t it? Thanks for reading and commenting. I hope you’ll stop by again! Cheers, Stacy

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    1. I’m so glad you found the post to be humorous and relatable! Thanks for reading and for the kind encouragement. Please visit me here again! Cheers, Stacy

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  16. I loved the Ricotta cheese incident, how funny. I like how you are so matter of fact about it 🙂
    I am guessing your Hubby is also in health care? Or just happened to have knowledge of how to perform an enema hahaha. I am really hoping he didn’t Google, “how to give an enema” and follow a YouTube instructional video LOL. It did remind me of an incident I had with my Husband last year when I had some evil, extremely painful (to the point of tears) thrush. Hubby went on an early morning quest for pharmaceutical help. I blogged about it here: https://ditchthebun.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/my-curly-haired-adonis/

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    1. So glad you enjoyed the post! I am cracking up at your comment about my hubby on YouTube — TOTALLY something he would do. I read your post too and busted a rib laughing while promptly locating the Follow button for your blog. You’ve got the humor I love! I was just reminded of another experience in college when I had to have a colonoscopy (we’ve got a family history of colon cancer), and my then-boyfriend sent me flowers with a card that read “I’m so glad everything came out ok. I hope everything went in ok as well.” HA! Oh, the wonderful and disgusting experience of being human… Thanks for reading, sharing, and encouraging! Looking forward to connecting more soon! Cheers, Stacy

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      1. Hahaha OMG that is even more hilarious now I know that, I figured he must be in the health industry or be an aged care worker or work at one of those high end spas that give people enemas with weird stuff in it like coffee and green tea – and here I was thinking that I was the only one that needed a caffeine buzz – apparently I have been neglecting my rear :). Please tell me you asked him how he was going to attempt it… there’s at least another great post in that alone! I would love to hear his step by step plan. I hope it starts with:
        1/ Steal Hotel’s garden hose and a bottle of vodka.

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        1. HAHAHA! I am in the back corner of a dark pizza joint at four in the afternoon busting my guts at your comment because YES, I have heard of those types of spas!

          And YES, how my husband planned to administer said enema would be a frighteningly entertaining post — or series of posts!

          Oh dear Lord…

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          1. Hahaha, sorry to crack up your pizza date. Pizzas contain very important nutrients so I hope you didn’t choke too much 🙂
            Please write that post… please 🙂

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