AND THEN LOUIE SAID...HERE...HOLD MY BEER

WARNING: This post contains bodily functions. If you're triggered by them, please move on. But come back, because:

NOTICE: This is the last and final post about bodily functions on this here blog. Quite frankly...I'm as tired of writing about them as you are of reading about them. Our programming will soon return to stitching, bitching, and vague references to how completely unbelievably lovely Spinster life here in Hoosierville normally is.

When my puppy-tot nephew Bosco was a baby, I used to go over to my sister's house a few times a day to check on him and to take him outside for potty breaks. I don't think we ever went outside once, because invariably, I would arrive to find that he had decorated the entirety of his little nylon apartment/cage, his blankets, toys, and himself with enormous amounts of ... Bosco puppy poo.

I would gasp and start to get exasperated, but then I would see his little face peeking out and his little tail wagging (flinging the poo even further onto the sides of his apartment), and I'd grab the rubber gloves and Scrubbing Bubbles from under the sink, get a roll of paper towels out of the utility room, and go to work. By the time I was finished, everything was freshly scrubbed, Bosco was clean and in his little robe, and another trash bag was headed out to the bin. 

(Fortunately, for me, Bosco was a very fast learner, and this little adventure was fairly short-lived.)

(Stewey, of course, never ever once had any pooing issues. He was, oddly enough, terrified of anything that came from that region of his tiny little self, so he made his deposits outside and then promptly ran away from them as though they were a fireworks factory with a manager who liked to chain-smoke in the parking lot.)

Guess who decided to surprise me in the middle of the night Monday by taking off his bag and going freakin nuts in the big girl sleigh bed, on the sheets, the blankets, my pajamas, and himself?

I just can't with the gory details anymore, but suffice it to say, all day yesterday was a marathon of bawling, cursing, washing, scrubbing, disinfecting, fretting, showering, and medical supply ordering until I finally collapsed into the chair and realized that not one peep was heard from the little @#$&* all damn day. I went to bed terrified that he had a blockage and that I was going to have to head to the ER and possibly yet another visit with our beloved Dr Thompson. Needless to say...it was a long night. 

(But the entire bedroom practically sparkled right there in the moonlight because it (and your hapless heroine) had been sanitized to within an inch of our lives)

(Betty, before you come for me about how disgusting I am and how only animals sleep on be-spoiled mattresses, I'd like to point out that thanks to not one, not two, but THREE mattress toppers...the offending substances didn't come anywhere near anything other than me and the sheets and the blanket....two of which were immediately disposed of.)

(I blame myself entirely for this little goat rodeo, by the way. Every single video I watched and every single person I talked to said "get yourself a big box of waterproof pads to put under your sheets", but I said "Oh no...that will never happen to me", and I got exactly what I deserved.)

(Nurses call the "chucks" by the way, but I can't for the life of me figure out why.)

Today, Louie seems to be over his little hangover, and my step tracker thingie has congratulated me twice for "all of the steps and the little bit of jogging" I've gotten in trotting back and forth to the powder room. For the love of all that is holy, I swear I must be in some kind of science experiment, and what I think is CS2 is actually a controlled laboratory of a mad scientist who wants to see what else will take a portly yet lovable broken down well-meaning spinster to the brink of madness. 

Appointments will be taken both this week and next with all of the appropriate team members. I think I already know the cause of the mishap (too much stoma powder and the use of baby-type wipes), so we're back to doing what my ostomy nurse taught me instead of tips and tricks from Dr Google. 

So far, so good.

(I have not, however, ruled out the possibility that it was Stoma Night at the St Joe County Fair, and Louie found himself careening between the beer garden and the fried food stalls while simultaneously trying to win himself a little sombrero at the Shoot 'Em Up game.)

My mental health is happy and optimistic, but a bit frazzled. Rich comes home a week from today, and I want/need to get myself together so that we might attempt to have a more "normal" and peaceful homestead, instead of the raging dumpster fire where his recliner lives.

Progress continues on Coffee, and I am almost finished with East of Eden. God willing, I'll have a few days of quiet to enjoy both. 

What's terrorizing you at the moment? Come tell me all about it!