Finally, the carer gave up and left - he gets up, immediately. I was so cross he didn't dare refuse a shower. I had to go out and left him to get dressed himself. When I got back from my errand several hours later he was sitting on the sofa with his vest, shirt and jumper on, no bottom bits but with his dressing gown over the top. He slept all day and gradually the piddle smell permeated the room. I sat upstairs. By the time we were ready for bed I was very irritable. As his smell increases, and you get wafts of it as he walks by, it is as if something rises up in me - for want of a better word - blood pressure. I told him we were going to bed and reminded him it was the Phoenix tomorrow and he had to get up on time. Bugger the Phoenix he swore......
I yelled at him..........no effect whatsoever but it made me feel better.
The following morning, Wednesday, he did get up reasonably promptly and was all dressed and ready by 09.30. Then, he came into the kitchen with wet trousers on, he insisted he had spilt tea.
Complete change of clothes. It takes forever and the Phoenix ringing to say they were coming.
I am shoving his pad into his pants, all dignity out of the window and trying to do up his buttons.
We were down to our last pair of trousers and they are a little long. I can't find the right belt and the one I put on is too big. Tough. I run down to open the door and he wanders down about 2 minutes later. The traffic is held up by the big coach waiting. The transport lady trys to get him into his coat as it is cold outside and I stand behind the glass door so he can't get back into the sitting room to look in the mirror. He pushes the door and I push it back so he can't get in. We tussle over the door and finally he gives up and heads out. I apologise to the transport and shut the front door on him. It is all over for another day. I am exhausted.
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