Warning: If you aren’t familiar with what it takes to be a caregiver, you may at first find this story slightly gross. However, I promise the end result is funny.
Back story #1
Dude has hypotonia (low muscle tone) and difficulties with fine motor skills (generally associated with doing things with your hands). Because of this combination, he needs help with self-care (brushing his teeth, bathing, wiping after a bowel movement, cutting up food, etc.). His hands simply don’t have the strength and coordination to carry out these tasks unassisted.
Being his sister, I generally get out of having to help with any hygiene-related issues that involve a lack of clothing. But every once in a while…
The family returned from our annual trip to the shore last week. Immediately upon turning into our driveway, Mom and Dad turned right back around to go to the emergency room (a brief scare, but everyone is ok now).
This left Dude and I alone with a minivan packed full of all our vacation gear. I decided that he would be helping me unload everything.
On our second trip out to the van, Dude paused in the driveway and announced, “Go to bathroom!”
He often lies and says he has to go to the bathroom when he wants to get out of doing something.
I sighed. “Do you actually have to go to the bathroom? Or are you just trying to avoid helping me?”
Dude was already heading back towards the garage, “Bathroom. Go poop.”
“Oh crap,” I grimaced. (Pun slightly intended.)
Like any man (is it safe to generalize?), Dude takes his time while going #2. I made several trips back and forth to the van and waited about 10 minutes before I knocked on the bathroom door.
“Are you finished?” I asked.
“Not yet,” came his voice from inside.
I waited another five minutes before knocking again.
“Dude.. Are you done yet?”
“No. Not yet,” he answered.
The third time, I opened the door slightly and poked my head in.
“All finished?” I asked.
“No,” Dude shook his head emphatically. “Go away.”