Didn't See That One Coming

When your dementia-addled hospital roommate shits on the floor because he'd rather not shit the bed, and then forgets to signal the nurse call light because of said dementia, well, that's an odor that lingers. I suppose I can't blame the guy, such are acts of self-preservation when faced with limited options. All day since I've been experiencing phantom whiffs of the experience; an unpleasant reminder of my two-and-half days at University of Michigan Hospital following my third pressure sore debridement surgery. I had already made up my mind that I was ready to go home the night before and was informed I was to be discharged earlier in the morning, but crazy-old-guy-losing-bowel-control is a moment that really drives home the desire to get the F out of Dodge. I'd also like to have this whole on-going ordeal come to a conclusion before...why even speculate?

The truly sad thing about the old guy is that in his brief moments of clarity he had been trying to convince various hospital staff members (and more likely himself) that he was ready to go home on his own instead of into a home for "rehab"--as his discharge planner so delicately put it. From my point of observation it was easy to see that none of these people believed going home was an option the old coot would get to explore. Shitting on the floor was more than enough nails to seal that coffin.

Today's lesson: Stay fit people and keep the mind sharp.