At 89 years old, my grandmother has trouble with showering herself. Okay, she can't shower herself at all not sufficiently, and not without potential problems. Of course, her stroke in June of this year has proven to limit her options quite a bit. And, of those options that have come back as a result of therapy, showering herself isn't one of them. I suspect that, even before the stroke, showering should have been taken off the options list.
She can't stand for long lengths of time, so to really get clean, and rinsed, she just doesn't have the stamina. . She can't stand from a sitting position too many times in a row, so even the stool in the shower doesn't give her enough support or time to wash herself properly.
After the post-stroke rehab center stint was all used up, and the Medicare approved in-home care was at its end, the only people left to shower Gramma were me and my mother (Grammma's daughter). Mom is 67, has two replaced hips, is about 20 pounds overweight, and constantly bemoans being busier than a one-armed paper hanger. I am 46, lean, and am, at my job, constantly building the other cheek of another person's half-assed job. Mom has had three children, and therefore has bathed another human being many times. I have had no children, and anytime I've lathered anything on another human being it wasn't about the showering.
So, who should shower Gramma? Of course, all things considered, I am the one to shower Gramma. Right?
As I do most things, I consider the possibilities and build solutions into the plan's model. That is my job, and I take it very seriously. Showering my 89 year old grandmother, along with its potential problems, and their solutions, easily shoot to the top of my list of things to take seriously.
Shower #1 was a bit of a learning experience for me. After all, since the stroke Gramma's been showered by many people, all of whom are professional showerers. Professional showerers - just let that job description sink into your mind for a moment. Got it? Good.
I saw throughout Shower #1 what Gramma wanted from me in our shower experience. Very little, as it turns out. She wanted not to be showered by her granddaughter. She wanted to tell me they were showering her in a way that was impossible to believe professional showerers would advocate.
I am a professional. Not a showerer, but a professional. And nothing about the way Gramma tried to get me to believe she was had been showered by professionals, looked like anything a professional would come up. 1) She was on her feet too long. 2) She was far too exposed to the possibility of hitting something if she fell. 3) She's full of it.
Gramma just didn't want me to shower her. That I understand. I certainly wouldn't enjoy being at a place where other people had to run me through the carwash every 3 days. So, I thought about it, and thought about it with my professional brain, mind you to determine how best to run Gramma through the carwash.
I got it. I figured out how to do it as quickly and as efficiently as possible and still allow her the feeling of independence in action. I wasn't a showerer I was a spotter. She wasn't an old person trying to take a shower she was a weight lifter. She's still going do the bulk of the work, I was only going to run the sprayer.
Like every good plan, however, there must be room for improvement. You have to feel the rules as you go along, because there is the great chance you have forgotten to consider all the possibilities. Rules. We need rules. Rules are what keep us from walking into a pawnshop, and in the interest of saving time, already have the gun we want to pawn out of our purse and in our hand.
You could do this for a living, Gramma said to me the other day during my second run at giving her a shower.
Yeah, I said, grinning. I remember thinking that when I was younger, whatever I do when I grow up must involve countless naked elderly people.
LAUGHTER
Sorry, I said. I didn't mean to make you laugh.
Rule #2 (Previously rule #1): Don't make Gramma laugh when she is standing. She may fall.
Rule #1 Previously not a rule): Never, ever, make Gramma laugh when she is standing, and naked. She may fall.
Shower #3:
This puts me in mind of my dad bathing his cows, Gramma said as we were showering today.
Okay. As she was, at that moment, lathering her chest, I laughed so hard I nearly fell over.
Rule #3: Don't laugh yourself when showering Gramma, you may fall, take the sprayer with you, thus spraying up into her eyes, which will make her fall (probably on top of you, causing you to lose the sprayer). You then, to avoid compounding anything that might be broken, don't move or try to get out from under her. Instead, you carefully maneuver your hand into your pocket to get your cell phone out and call 911.
Once you hang up, you realize you didn't tell the 911 operator to have the paramedics come right in because you are in the bathroom unable to get up. So, you call 911 back. After you explain that you are sure, in fact, that you are not being held hostage at gun point, and please to just trust you when you tell them you are unable to answer the door at the present time. They insist on a better explanation, you insist that you are fine, just unable to get to the door.
Now, somewhat concerned, the 911 operator tells you she is contacting the police, the FBI and Homeland Security, and assures you that you will be fine. Over your No, No, Nos, you can hear her speaking to someone else the police, the FBI maybe. So you hang up.
Do you thing anything is broken? you ask your naked grandmother atop you.
No, she says. But that water is getting cold.
You peek out from around her shoulder and see the spray of water going straight up and coming down on her legs.
Sorry, you say. They'll be here any minute to help us.
Who?
Oheverybody, you say with a sigh.
She sighs as well. This is why I don't like the hearing aids sometimes. You didn't even raise your voice, and I've heard every word you just said.
There is a knock on the bathroom door, followed by an announcement that it is the paramedics and the police.
Okay, you say. Come in. But no one can bring in any camera phones.
The paramedics and one policeman enter. The paramedics begin checking Gramma for bumps, bruises and broken bones. The policeman, however, asks, Can you tell us what happened exactly?
Do you think the police and whoever else is out there are really needed now that you've seen we're in no danger? You ask.
Sorry ma'am, the policeman says with a glint of humor in his eyes. But once we were deployed to the scene, we are required to make a report. You're unwillingness to explainthe situation, required 911 to call us. Now. How did this happen?
From her prone position, head against your cheek, Gramma says, She laughed at my teats. You and she start laughing so hard you're convinced the next agency to be called will be the DEA.
Of course, none of that happened. But, that's why we make rules, right? So none of that can happen. And, yet, despite the rules, somewhere, sometime, in someone's bathroom, all that might, and perhaps has, happened. But, not that day. Instead, Gramma was showered without incident, dried off and sitting on the stool in the middle of the bathroom waiting for me to rub body cream on her arms and legs.
I can't believe I have to have my granddaughter bathe me. She said.
I bet there were plenty of times you bathed me when I was younger.
Yeah. I did, she said and allowed a now that you mention it smile to come across her face.
Life is funny isn't it? I said also smiling up at her while I rubbed lotion into her leg.
Yes it is, she said. You may as well laugh about it, I say.
Me too, I said and began rubbing lotion onto her other leg. Remind me to tell you, after you're dressed, how funny this scene might be in the play I'm writing about you.