At times like this I think I can't take it anymore. I smelled the familiar scent of poop lingering in the air as I walk in the door. I walking in and grandma is sitting on the commode. I think she's pooping so I glove up to deal with the aftermath. Then I stare down at my feet. I'm already standing in it. She did one of her poop drops on the ground, stepped in it and smeared it all over the carpet. I check the soles of her slippers and there is the culprit. I bag her slippers for the washing machine and lay down absorbent pads to get her up and off the commode. I help her finish up including putting on her backup slippers. I get her up and away to wash her hands as I get to scrubbing with clorox wipes. Takes quite a few and I run out. I switch over to isopropyl and paper towels. Everything is as clean as it can be. There's only so much one can do. I'm hoping the cocktail of chemicals kills off anything biologic. She comes back and gets ready to lie down on her bed. I have the sinking feeling that there maybe poop on her feet. I didn't check before putting on the backup slippers. Sure enough, it's poop caked. Another pair of slippers in the laundry bag. No more slippers left. I wipe and sanitize her feet and tell her not to get up while I wash the slippers. They are in the dryer right now. All along this process she's cursing at me for bothering her. Of course she doesn't listen and has been ambling around the room, bare feet on poopy wet disinfectant carpets. Thanks again grandma.
If that wasn't enough, I go to put mom to bed. All is well as I get her in the bathroom to do her business and brush her teeth. I go to turn down the bed. What do I see? A wet diaper soaking into the night stand. Why mom? Why? After getting rid of that and sanitizing the night stand, I ask dad if he saw it there. He said it's been there for hours. I ask why he didn't throw it away. He said that mom yelled at him when he asked about it. I asked why he asked? Just throw it away. That's what I do. I don't ask permission to throw away her wet diapers. I just do it. That's what I just did.
This show of clear logic didn't put dad in a good mood. So when it was time for his nightly sugar and BP check, dad had a little fit. Kept insisting it was a waste of time. Why bother? I said I've been through enough tonight and it's taking him much more time to argue about it than to do it. After moaning about it for another 10 minutes he finally checks his sugar levels. Way too high. Way higher than normal. I asked him what he's been eating. He said nothing that should spike it. Then he checks is pill pack. He didn't take is diabetes meds today. He takes it. I point out that if we didn't do his nightly check today, then we would never have known. He just grunts.
While it's going on, I think I'm about to pop a seal. I just can't take it anymore. After everyone is tucked in bed, I settle down. It's sad to say that this has happened so many times that I'm used to it.