The Elusive BM

July 4, 2000; 5:30 am - BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!!! I slammed my hand down on the alarm for the forth and final time. Ughhh… What am I doing up so early? This definitely doesn’t feel like Independence Day. I rolled myself out of bed and into my required red, white and blue Forth of July t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Not even caring what I looked like, I raced to my car and began my early-morning trek to The Hill and my holiday with Dr. A.

Appearance had become less and less of a concern over the last few months. When you’re young, working at a retirement home, and giving weekly baths to people four times your age – your body starts to look pretty darn good. Today would be no different. It would just be Dr. A and I for most of the day. He couldn’t see very well anymore anyway. So, what did it matter that I was a little disheveled, my hair was greasy and my face was sans make-up.

In the car, I sang along with the radio and tried to pump myself up for the day, wishing instead that it was already that night and I was on my way to fireworks and Bar-B-Q. I pulled into my spot, slammed the door and took off to punch in before heading to Dr. A’s room. I walked in at 6:30am on the dot - right on time and thank goodness because tardiness was not accepted in this room. After years of being a surgeon in the Army Dental Corps, Dr. A expected promptness, precision, respect and above all, no mistakes. He had his daily regimen and it was my job to make sure it was followed.

“Dr. A, Dr. A… It’s 6:30 - time to get up. That’s it.” I turned on the lamp, walked over to the bed, and gently began to wake my unique ward. “ Umph!” He grunted, reached for his thick glasses and slowly drew his aged body out of bed so I could change his diaper. Gross, gross, gross—what am I doing? I definitely never imagined changing diapers to be part of my daily routine at twenty years of age. However, I kept reminding myself - I’ll be old one day and need assistance too.

After his morning bathroom trip to take a leak and brush his teeth, I helped Dr. A into his clothes. It was the same routine every morning. We sat there and looked at each other for about 10 minutes, both too tired to start a conversation. I gazed out the window, longing to still be in bed. Dr. A’s head had already fallen to his shoulder and he was lightly snoring. I didn’t understand why I had to be there so early to get him up if he was just going to fall right back asleep.

Two hours went slowly by and then it was time to head to breakfast. Dr. A stepped into his wheel chair and we were off. As we made our way down the hall, he would smile and wave to the other residents we passed. Ironically, it always reminded me of a young beauty contestant in a parade. Once inside the dining room, I helped him get situated and then let the nurses take over. Finally, I had some time to myself. I went over to the couch and watched the morning news.

Following breakfast, we went back to the room and each of us started reading. After a while, Dr. A smiled at me and said, “This is a good day. It’s the Forth of July and I’m spending it with you.” I immediately felt guilty for my earlier thoughts. “Yes, it is a good day.” I said and grinned. He continued, “And it’s also a good day because I think it’s time for a BM.”

I smiled and looked at him blankly, trying to remember where I’d seen or heard this term. Oh yes, on the chart beside his chair, a list that read, “good,” “bad,” or “ok” BM and gave the date for each. The last entry was dated three days before.

“Ok, where do you keep them?” I asked confusedly, thinking BMs were some sort of strange pill he only took at certain times. At the same time he smiled, looked up at me and said, “Yep, it’s time for a bowl movement.” Oh no! No! I felt my face start to fall but then quickly pulled myself together before Dr. A noticed. I then helped him to the restroom and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. One of the job requirements was that I kept his bathroom door open in case of a fall or other emergency.

For ten minutes I quietly read my book and tried to ignore the growing stench and foul sounds coming from the bathroom. It was too much! I grabbed some tissues, formed them into two little balls and stuffed each one up my nostrils far enough so Dr. A wouldn’t be able to see. Thirty minutes later he walked out just in time to head to lunch.

After chatting with the nurses for a bit, I warily made my way back to the room. There was no helping it, I needed to pee and there was nowhere else to turn but the dreaded stinky bathroom. I held my nose and went inside. As soon as I flushed the toilet I knew something was amiss. The water started coming back up. The poor pipes had seen more than they were used to that day and were protesting. I squealed and reached down to turn off the water but it had already gotten all over the floor.

Shit! Shit, shit!

I rushed down to get the maintenance crew to clean up the mess before Dr. A could find out but it was too late. Lunch was over and he was ready to go back to his room. I tried to explain what had happened and he was infuriated that I, a girl, had taken the lid off his toilet to turn off the water. “That’s for men to do!” he bellowed at me.

I rolled my eyes and pleaded, “Dr. A, there is water all over the floor. Please don’t go in there.” It was no use. He needed to go to the bathroom again and there was no stopping him. Halfway to the toilet the tennis balls on the bottom feet of his walker were soaked through. “ I don’t think this will work.” He said while looking sheepishly back at me. “No it won’t.” I said and then suggested, “Let’s go to the bathroom down the hall.”

We traded the wet walker for his wheelchair and then went to the other bathroom. Just when I thought things were settling down, the wheelchair got stuck in the door and Dr. A had dropped his pants before I could do anything about it. People were walking by, a little boy giggled and it was all I could do not to do the same. Thankfully Dr. A didn’t even seem to notice.

Back in the room, I sat there contemplating... Can I really do this? I always imagined myself working with the elderly someday because I seemed to have a natural knack for it. However, this experience combined with others from throughout the summer, were beginning to change my mind.

On my way out, I ran into one of the little ladies who always liked to come hold my hands when I was working the front desk. She grabbed my hands, started swinging them and singing, “I can’t give you anything but love, baby! You’re the only one I’m thinking of, baby!” I smiled and at the same time one of the nurses came up to me and said, “E, she’s not so good at using toilet paper when she wipes.”

“What does she use?” I asked and then looked down at our intertwined hands afraid I already knew the answer. The nurse nodded her head yes.

Ewww! Nope this job was definitely not for me.