I pooped the bed again.

Not a metaphor. Literal poop. Actual bed.

Woke up and felt moisture beneath my elephantine butt cheeks and got that inkiong feeling. Put a hand down there and yup, wet. Lovely.

Realized I needed to go to the bathroom pronto to finish the job. Scooted on in there as fast as my gimpy legs could carry me.

Always fun to have to move quickly when unsure of one’s continence.

Thoughts of unspeakable disaster loom large.

Anyhow, I made it and got the job done. Returned to my bed to find that things were much worse than just a bit of moisture. Spent the next half an hour going through half a box of Kleenex cleaning up the mess via the exact same “keep wiping until it comes back clean” method one uses on jobs of a more personal and intimate nature.

Now I know that I said that if it happened again., I would go to the ER. And I am still contemplating making that trip.

But I haven’t yet for the perfectly reasonable and grownup reason that I don’t wanna.

Moreover, the original incident was more than a month ago, so it is hard to claim that a pattern is emerging.

Certainly if it happens again before the end of the long weekend, I will have no choice but to pack my inconstant ass off to the Emergency Room of Richmond Hospital.

Obviously I hope it does not come to that. The ER is a depressing place full of people who are having at least as terrible a day as you are (some far, far worse) so even with my tablet to keep mr entertained, I still don’t wanna be there.

And the wait would no doubt be very very long because in the harsh but necessary pragmatic calculus of triage, “pooped the bed” rates way far behind things like “cut off foot with a lawn trimmer” or “heart went boom”.

And no amount of playing Hearthstone is going to make that any better.

When you are an emotional sponge like I am, always taking in empathic information from your environs, some places are just bad to be. Hospitals are one of them, especially the ER where the walls are caked with pain, tension, and worry.

Courthouses are another. Not of lot of happy going on there either.

Schools are a crapshoot, except around exams of course. Then you are pretty much guaranteed to have “tense verging on hysterical” coming at you from every surface.

And don’t get me started on laundromats.

Anyhow, my point is, the ER sucks. And I don’t relish the thought of having to tell the intake lady I am there because I pooped the bed in my sleep.

Because that’s what they told me last year. They said that if I either couldn’t pee or became incontinent I was to come back and tell them.

Which sounded a lot more reasonable back then.

Maybe I should go to Urgent Care instead. I dunno.

More after the break.

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Oh thanks a lot

I was playing some Pathfinder : Wrath of the Righteous mere minutes ago, happy and anticipating the McD’s meal I had just ordered.

The meal arrives (thanks for fetching it from the door for me, Julian) and I finish the battle I was doing then shut down the game.

And I am instantly hit with a headache right between the eyes. I think it’s a delayed eye strain headache from the wear n’ tear on the old eyeballs gaming can cause, plus the fact that the background color of the WordPress window I type into is bright white., while the Pathfinder graphics are dark-ish, so things got way brighter all of a sudden.

The result? Ow. Plus a loss of appetite. Dammit.

Oh well, I am well versed in how to deal with these things. Time to clear my ears and my sinuses in order to relieve overall skull pressure and when I am done blogging I will lay down in the dark for a bit.

That should do the trick.

Today’s been OK. Did the wound care thing. Linda the Wound Care specialist was once more there to shave down my foot callouses some more.

This, only two weeks after the previous debridement only a couple of weeks ago. I must have some seriously thick callouses because both the previous time and this morning the session ended with them saying, “Okay, I’m going to stop there. ”

Kind of implies they’re still not done. Holy crap.

And the irony that I, a person who spends as little time on his feet as is humanly possible without having to learn to use a bedpan, have enormous callouses on my feet is not lost on me.

I mean, I didn’t even “earn” them.

I am still holding out hope that these callouses are actually the product of my slowly turning into a hobbit.

Present for the procedure was a UBC nursing student, and I was quite touched by how clumsy and nervous she was, and how deftly the senior nurse she was shadowing intervened when the student was struggling to show her what to do without taking the whole thing away from her.

My bandage changing was apparently her first time doing a procedure by herself instead of just watching.

I approve of that. Sure, nobody really wants to be the test patient like that, but my procedure has extremely low stakes, so it makes sense.

After Wound Care, we went to the bank. My monthly trip to withdraw the money that was direct deposited on “cheque day”.

My credit card provider, Pay Power, apparently has a new digital-only card that can take direct deposits, meaning I might be able to take Vancity out of the equation entirely and just have my monthly money deposited to my virtual card.

Then I would just have to figure out how to pay Joe the rent that way.

I’ll have to get a Gen Z to show me how to do it.

Holy fuck am I old.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.