I should have taken a picture and actually, I did have my camera in my purse, but I had such a good time I forgot about it! So, a word picture will have to suffice: Imagine this--
The three of us, Jenn, her hubby and me, on top the fifth floor balcony, overlooking the bright blue waters of the bay. Jenn's got her feet up, her long hair blowing in the salty breeze. Seagulls dodge between the tables, squawking and looking for a wayward french fry. It's sunny, 80 degrees or so. Beach music plays in the background. The waiters wear Hawaiian shirts. We sip our fruit loaded drinks and munch our meal (bacon cheeseburger for me, when was the last time I had one??!) and we talk and talk about, gosh, normal adult things! Like politics and evil insurance companies and the gravy sucking pharmaceutical corporations. And we laugh and laugh and laugh and watch the dolphin cruise boats come in and go back out and the pelicans cruise through the air... aaah...
And times flies. Before I know it, I look my watch and oh crap, we got to fly because we are going to be late getting back.
Once home, ten minutes late, I relieve a very agitated caregiver, who practically flees through the door, but not before telling me that Bob had spent the whole three hours trying pee, without luck. And he's still trying to pee. aargh!
So Jenn and her husband retreat to the front porch while I try to coax Bob into giving up the urinal so that he can have some visitors. Finally, he does. And we have a nice hour long chat at Bob's bedside.
As soon as they leave, Bob is once again trying to pee. This is beginning to concern me. Because it's taking much too long. I'm starting to wonder if I need to haul him off to the ER for an emergency catheterization.
A bit later, Bob gets very agitated and indicates to me that he's had a bowel movement, but when I check out his pants there's nothing there. But he is insistent and on closer inspection I find a rock hard stool sort of lodged half-in and halfway out. So I run to get my latex gloves and find they are gone. Gone!
There wasn't much left in the box, only a couple pairs, but now the box of gloves is empty. I can't believe the caregiver took these and used them for what? If Bob didn't pee? And you'd think for $22/hour these caregivers would arrive with their own gloves if they didn't want to touch a client... But I manage to locate a pair in our travel case and so I can do "the dirty deed", pluck out the offending stool. Which isn't much, so I figure Bob needs a laxative and a laxative will probably cause his bladder to relax and yes, later on, we have the usual explosion from both ends and so I am up at 2:00 a.m. with urine soaked sheets and a dirty diaper.
Finally, I am back in bed and I just begin to doze off when Boomer starts that whistle-whine with his nose and wakes me up. I'm thinking, is it morning already? But I look at the clock and it's only 3:15 a.m. I tell Boomer to leave me alone, but he's not giving up. So it's evidently an emergency and the last thing I need is a pile of dog poop to deal with on top of everything else.
So I drag myself up and Boomer dashes to the door and I think, it is an emergency. So I slip on shoes and still wearing my pajamas head out the door because it's 3:00 a.m. and no one will be around to see this spectacle, right?
Wrong. The minute we are out there, some dude comes walking down the street. Me? I'm trying to look nonchalant in my PJ's, street shoes, hair a mess, with a large dog doing a rather elaborate poop dance ritual in the grass... Finally, the guy disappears around the corner, but lo and behold, here comes another person. What's with these people prowling around in the wee hours of the morning?
Back in the house, back in bed, Boomer settles down and I can't sleep. Finally, after tossing and turning for awhile, I doze off only to be awaken by Bob's plaintive "help! help!" and I look at the clock. It's now 4:30 a.m. I'm thinking, I'll get up in just a minute. But the next thing I know, the light is shining through the window and I've overslept and probably abandoned Bob in a puddle of something. So I leap out of bed, but he's fast asleep--in a wet diaper.
And thus begins another day.