How Was My Week?!!!

You know how men who have returned from war sometimes seem to begin to recall the horrors, the smells, the images of horrific things that had been burned into their memory. Sometimes out of nowhere they will just begin to talk about those memories that haunted them.



Well, now I have some of my own. It all began Friday afternoon. I had finished teaching Stephanie, Sam had finished her riding lesson. I had picked up a movie and we planned to eat pizza, watch a movie and relax. I was downstairs cleaning up school about 5 0'clock and Alex called for Sam and I went upstairs to give her the phone (yes we have a phone up there, but she can be sitting right next to it and WILL NOT ANSWER IT IF SHE IS WATCHING ONE OF HER SHOWS!) So I trudged up those 9 flights of steps, clad in my martyr robe, breathing heavily for effect and holding onto the handrail and found her asleep on the couch. (All that prep for nothing) I woke her and gave her the phone and went back down stairs. I turned on the computer to check my e-mail and a few minutes later heard the words that made my blood run cold. "I threw up" she cried. I flew up the stairs, praying all the while that she made it to the bathroom and breathed a prayer of thanks when she said she did. I instantly became Mommy and gently helped her to her bed explaining the absolute necessity of getting to the bathroom on time. Now things get a little fuzzy.. You see she said "Can I use yours?" NO NO NO I screamed. Why can't you use yours? Because I also had diarrhea and I was on the toilet when I had to throw up so I threw up on the floor. Things began to spin, as we passed her bathroom I diverted my eyes, held my breath and hurried into her room. I turned down her bed, laid her in it and she said "Could you get me a cool cloth?" I wanted to say "For the sake of all that is holy, you don't expect me to go into that churning pit of body fluids do you???????" But I said yes but how about a nice cool paper towel, they hold the coolness better. She fell for it. I again instructed her on the dire necessity of making it to the bathroom, she again pleaded the "can I use yours" case and I gently explained I would never want her to walk that far.



I knew I was going to have to face that bathroom, so I went to mine. I put on gloves, I got rags (lots of them), I got the half gallon bottle of bleach, the Lysol spray and felt prepared. This is where it seemed the world began to go in slow motion, time virtually stood still. As I slowly rounded the corner and drew up every ounce of courage, I wondered how real people spend their Friday nights, my mind drifted back to my life before, when Friday nights meant going out to a sit down restaurant or going to the (not matinee) movie with other adults, or having someone over for dinner with candles, conversation, good food, and sitting around the table laughing and talking for hours. As I slowly drifted back to the present my eyes fell upon a scene from a Stephen King novel. The white linen shower curtain, the sage green rug, the embroidered white towels, the walls(yes the walls), the baseboard, and oh yes the floor (oh my God-the floor) were now a sea of taco bell tacos (no lettuce thank God), Pepsi, an apple and then there were unidentifiable remains that I still question their origin. As I surveyed the scene, I went back to my bathroom, put up the rags, took off the gloves and fixed myself a glass (OK a big glass) of wine. As any good general does when faced with a far superior enemy, sat on the back porch to rethink my approach. I then re-gloved, chose a roll of paper towels, selected two strong garbage bags, grabbed the Lysol spray and let the mist go before me and I would breath in and out as I followed the green can. I entered the disaster scene formerly known as the bathroom and stopped because I could not figure out how to get in there, like where could I step??? Shoes or bare feet? Then it hit me-shoes with walmart bags tied over them. Now I slid one foot at a time and approached again. (Wait, between bare feet and walmart bags, I boosted my courage with another bit of wine, this time straight from the bottle) I whipped open a garbage bag, ripped off paper towels and began to clear a path. After I forget how long, maybe 2-3 hours I made it to the bathtub, took off the shower curtain, took down the towels and stuffed them in another garbage bag. Now I took off the walmart bags at the door, stepped onto the back porch and took deep breaths and put the shower curtain and towels into soak. Swung by my bathroom, got the rags again along with pine sol (memories of Pinky flitted through my disconnected mind), took a left through the kitchen, just another sip, then onto the scene of battle, reapplied my walmart bags and slid confidently into the mire. I poured the pine sol into the toilet for ambiance, poured bleach into a little water in the sink, dipped my rags and confidently now attacked the wall and baseboards then into the garbage bag they went, they had served their time, it was a mercy to dispose of them. Next with new rags and more bleach, I scrubbed the floor. I backed my way out of the bathroom, removed my walmart bags. Re-wet Sam's paper towel. Headed for my bathroom with the rest of the bottle of courage and stripped, showered, washed my hair, brushed, gargled and fell on the couch in time to hear Sam say that she had thrown up again. My lip began to quiver, tears began to flow and I got up, and slowly made my way down the hall toward the light. With great fear and trepidation I turned to face the inevitable, but wait, the floor was still clean, the wall clean, the toilet clean. My child is the best. I went back to my bathroom and got her one of my good wash cloths, drenched it in chilled water and went in to comfort her. As I applied the cool, comforting cloth onto her fevered brow, she apologized for messing up her bathroom. I assured her she could not help it, but I appreciated her throwing up in the toilet this time. She said "No I had diarrhea again, so this time I threw up in the bathtub." Wine is a good thing, I was able to assure her that she had done the right thing and just to rest. I headed out of her room, calmly reached in the bathroom and turned on the exhaust fan and closed the door. The bathtub would just have to wait, I just wouldn't think about it tonight. Now this went on until 4 Saturday afternoon. Oh yeah, we had tornadoes all night, so I had to drag Sam(now in a stupor) downstairs to safety. I knew no fear, I had faced that bathroom. I was invincible.

Oh yeah, around 6 a.m. after no sleep whatsoever, my stomach began to make odd sounds and move around of its own accord. No way, I breathed Lysol, I breathed bleach, I scrubbed, I used gloves. Then my body began that game of guess which end will blow first and I knew, yes I knew that denial was foolish. I knew to battle was in vain, so I surrendered and it was not pretty.



In the days hence, Sam and I will be in the middle of science or math and all at once one of us will just start to relive those hours. You would think the memories would dim with time, but no they are still fresh and seem to pop up at the oddest moments. Probably we are learning like other survivors of wars, disasters and the like that some things you face in life remain forever. I have questioned what God might have me learn from this time of suffering, thus far the answer has not come, but as healing begins I realize I am a stronger person for having survived this journey and I hope by sharing this with you that it might encourage you when you face your own date with destiny.



Best wishes, Bonnie