I've just spent a while on my hands and knees, cleaning up the drops of urine in the hall. They go from the living room to the bathroom. I know they are in the living room rug, too. I bought some pull-ups for my mother, but she won't wear them. She goes commando with just her pajama bottoms serving to catch the dribble. She goes back and forth to the bathroom all day long, sometimes as often as every five minutes. The doctor and I have encouraged her to wear the pull-ups so she wouldn't have to worry about making it to the bathroom in time. When I mention it to her in private, she gets very angry and denies she has any accidents, calling me liar. This is after suggesting the pull-ups to her in a non-accusing way, so it isn't me setting her off. She is just ashamed, I realize. She tries to hide all the accidents she has by doing laundry every day. But it is hard to hide all those dribble spots on the floor and the smell of urine in the house.
My mother is so quick to anger. This has been a life-long thing with her, but it is coupled with disability now. And that makes her even angrier. I find it very humbling to be on my hands and knees cleaning up the urine spots of someone that has always been so nasty and angry. And I wonder what is it about some of us that we put ourselves through it. What is even more remarkable is how we go through it without becoming full of rage ourselves. After a while it becomes like doing things for a person who is totally unrelated. It makes no sense to me, but I guess someone has to do it.
Something I just considered, if I had treated my mother as she treats me, she would have put me in a "special school" for wayward teens. Parents could do that back then.