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My husband Bud had
Huntington’s Disease. I was his caregiver. One of the
hardest things for Bud was to have to depend on me or
anyone else for toileting and hygiene.
Bud hated not being
able to get into the shower any longer, and I was
determined that this was one thing he could continue to
do---we just needed to make a couple of adjustments.
Bud’s bathroom was a half bath---toilet, sink, and a
small shower. The bathroom was so small that when you
tried to get into the shower, the door would only open
about half way. I would help Bud get into the bathroom,
close the lid on the toilet and sit him down. I would
undress him, then maneuver him into the shower.
Bud had reached the
point that he could no longer stand in the shower, and
resigned himself to the fact that he would have to have
bed baths, giving up the pleasure of being able to
shower. I decided that he did not have to lose this
also, that all I needed to do was put a shower chair
into the shower, then he would be able to sit on the
stool while I helped him with his shower.
With this in mind, I
purchased a shower chair and a hand held hose, to
replace the shower nozzle. Once I had the shower nozzle
replaced with the hose, I helped Bud into the bathroom,
sat him down as we usually did, got him undressed, then
went to put the shower chair into the shower. Upon
reflection, it does seem reasonable that someone would
have FIRST put the shower chair into the shower, knowing
that space was very limited. But, no....not me. Bud
tried to tell me that he did not think the shower chair
would fit, but being a very stubborn person, I was
determined to prove that I was right and it could be
done.
Of course, since the
door would open only half way, the chair was too wide to
slide through the door. Bud sat there in his birthday
suit chuckling and saying, “I told you.” This of course,
only made me more determined than ever.
After about 15-20
minutes of battling the chair at different angles I hit
upon the solution---lift the chair over my head, step
into the shower, then set the chair down. The idea
seemed simple enough, in theory. I grasped the chair,
hoisted it over my head, and started through the half
open door. Oh no,...the legs hit the top of the door.
Simple, all I had to do was squat, with the chair over
my head, duck waddle into the shower, stand up, and set
the chair down. But that was not to be.
In my eagerness to
prove that this could be done, I had neglected to
measure the dimensions of the inside of the shower
stall. Needless to say, there was not enough room for me
to bring the shower chair down from over my head and the
battle was on. During the next hour that chair had me
pinned in some of the most peculiar positions one could
imagine. I was pinned under the chair, pinned against
the wall, my head caught between the arms of the chair
and pinned against the shower knobs. And Bud?? He
laughed. He laughed so hard that he slid off the toilet.
So there I was pinned in the shower by a shower chair,
with Bud lying on the floor in his birthday suit (and
unable to get up by himself), and he continued to laugh.
What a sweet, wonderful sound that was!
I was finally able
to maneuver that chair out of the shower, past Bud, and
into the bedroom. I then helped Bud get up, and with a
look of resignation on his face, stated very
matter-of-factly, “I guess that means no more showers,
huh?” I said, “Are you kidding?” and led him into the
shower. He protested saying, “No I will fall.” I said
you are not going to fall and you are going to have your
shower. I stepped into the shower with him, closed the
door, and held him up while I gave him his shower. Bud
is gone now, but whenever I remember the battle with the
shower chair, and I see in my mind’s eye the joy on his
face, and hear again his laughter, and I smile.
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