Surrounded By Incontinence

Yes, I mean incontinence.  I had a friend who used to constantly exclaim, "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" when she got frustrated with the people in her office.

Today I found myself shouting out just like she did, but with a twist.  I'm surrounded by incontinence!  It's bad enough that I work in a Retirement Community.  What is it about people over the age of 70?  They suddenly become obsessed with the workings of their bowel and bladder.  And they like to discuss it. With you.  Frequently.  I can deal with that.  I'll probably do the same thing one of these days.

What I can't deal with is my elderly dog.  Sampson is fifteen years old.  He'll be sixteen at Thanksgiving if he makes it that long.  He has been a great dog!  In fact, if I start talking about it, I'll start crying.  And that is a tribute for another day.  Today, I love him, but I'm REALLY frustrated with him.

He's fine when he's awake.  Happy to see me when I come in the door...let's me know when he wants to go outside.  The problem is when he is asleep.  Due to age, he's' become incontinent when he's asleep.  He will be laying on the floor, sound asleep, and all of a sudden he will just start peeing!  That doesn't sound so bad until you consider this:  he sleeps nearly 20 hours a day!  So this happens a lot!

I've tried putting diapers on him.  Even invented my own version combining baby diapers, ribbon, and adult undergarments.  He looks like a border collie/sumo wrestler most of the time.  They absorb a lot, but they can't handle what this dog does in his sleep.  So here's how my day typically goes:

Sound asleep, just before the alarm is about to go off, and my beloved whispers to me, "Ginger, wake up. I smell your dog.  I crawl out of my nice warm bed and, if I'm lucky, go in search of the morning's first puddle.  If I'm unlucky I don't have to search because I've stepped in it barefoot on the bedroom tile.  Many papertowels, plastic bags, wet mop and bottles of various disinfectants and air fresheners later, (I'll spare you the gory details) I bundle up the mess and take it out to the garbage.  I put leashes on both dogs and take them outside.

Our apartment is on the front of the building, right next to the office.  If I can get out prior to six o'clock I can go out in my pajamas and no one will be the wiser.  This morning it was about 5:40.  It's raining and I pad to the end of the sidewalk in my barefeet - kind of hanging back behind the corner of the building and letting the dogs run out to the front on their expandable leashes.  No one is around, so I decide to step out on the stepping stones between our sidewalk and the main sidewalk that runs in front of the building.  We added the stepping stones because when it rains that particular section of the yard becomes a mud pit.

Here's what happened next:  I hear a car coming and decide that whoever it is doesn't need to see me in my pajamas.  I turn to go back behind the building, but I miss the first stepping stone and my foot slides off into the mud pit.  At the same time, Gracie (our St. Bernard) is startled by a bird or a frog or her own shadow.  Who knows!  But she takes off the opposite direction.  When my foot hits the mud I go down, face down.   Straight into the mud!  And poor Sampson who can't really see anymore and who doesn't hear well gets all excited.  He doesn't know what he's excited about, but he knows that something's going on!  So of course, he does the only thing he really can do anymore when he's excited - he lifts his leg - aimed right at me!

You have never seen a fifty year old fat girl move so fast!

I limp back to the apartment covered from head to toe in mud.  All except for my left foot which is mud-less  due to Sampson's unfortunate timing, if you get my drift.  A shower has restored my dignity, but my patience is still wearing a little thin.  I have a bump on my knee and I think I sprained my big toe.  And in the amount of time that it took me to shower, Sampson took a nap.  Guess what I got to do for the second time this morning and it's not even 7:00 yet.

Old people . . . old dogs.  Every morning it seems like I have to get up and decide again if it's worth it.  It is.  Not that the two are anywhere near the same level of importance.  Working with seniors is not for the faint of heart, but it sure does wonderful things for the heart.

And as to old dogs.  As long as that tail continues to wave every time I walk into a room or speak his name, I guess I'll keep making designer doggie diapers and putting up with whatever it takes, because he still has a huge place in my heart.

The day can only get better . . . right?