CHANGING MARY’S DIAPER

Mary was only 73, but now so frail and weak that she could barely stand on her own. She even needed help to get to the potty near her bed. When I came into her room to see how she was doing she was lying in bed with her smile that was so familiar to me. My wife, Linda, and I, helped care for Mary in our home for more than 10 years. We both felt much affection for her.

But changing her diaper? Linda was out for the day—now I was alone with Mary.

I savored the time, looking at Mary’s angelic face that had brought so much joy to our family. She had been sick off and on two years her body weaker and weaker, one function after another shutting down.

A brief thought flashed into my mind of our three children whose diapers I had frequently changed, but Mary, a woman, an elder:

“Mary, is your diaper wet?”

She smiled and said, “How nice.”

Her ever present smile and the one expression, “How nice,” had both been with us since she came to live in our personal care home for “only” a few weeks after having a stroke. Because of the way the stroke affected her brain, she wasn’t able to get her speech pattern even close to normal, but she understood everything and communicated as best as she could.

As we moved from West Virginia to Pennsylvania to Florida Mary never stopped living with us. Now here we were, with Mary as much a family member as any one of us.

“Mary, do you need your diaper changed?

She smiled again, nodding her head sideways.

Be patient, I reminded myself.

“You haven’t been to the potty for a few hours. Why don’t we take a look and see if you need to be changed?

“Here, let me give you a hand with your sheet.”  Her nightgown was up to her thighs and I could see how thin she had become in the past year with sagging flesh with bones jutting out. She smiled and nodded thanks.

“Linda is away for the day and I’m the only one home.” She smiled and tried to sit up.

“Wait Mary, let me help you,” as I put my arm around her back and helped her into a sitting position. Then eased her legs around off the bed. “Do you want to go to the potty?” She didn’t answer, but put her hands on the bed as she tried to push herself onto her feet. “Slow down, I’ll get you over to the potty.”

I helped her across the short distance to the potty then gave support and positioned her in front of the potty chair. Hold onto my shoulders and I’ll get these off.”

I felt under the plastic to the wet diaper. “Yes, they are wet. you must have been uncomfortable.”

It wasn’t clear if Mary thought of much anymore, but it was familiar talking with her, even if the conversation had become more one-sided as she weakened.

She knew the routine staying steady putting one hand on my shoulder as she lifted one leg and then the other. This stage was over.

With that done, the next step was easing her down onto the potty chair. “Mary, I’ll wait right outside by the door so you have privacy.”

After a few minutes there was the tinkle in the bucket. I poked my head in the room. “Are you done Mary?” She smiled as she was trying to stand. “No wait, let me give you paper to wipe yourself. I’ll go out of the room while you clean yourself and then give you a washcloth to wipe your hands.”

When I came back into the room, she was halfway on her bed and half on the floor, just hanging on. “Mary, what are you trying to do? Wait, let me give you a hand to help get you onto the bed.” She smiled and nodded as I helped her into a sitting position on the side of the bed. “Here’s a washcloth.” She took the washcloth and diligently cleaned each finger, her palms, then, the backs of her hands then started to turn herself around into a lying position.

“Wait, Mary, let’s get a dry diaper on you.”

Maybe paying attention when Linda changed Mary would have been wise. She has been a gift; like a resident angel. No time to ponder, she’s on the bed, nightgown up to her knees waiting for help.

“Okay, Mary.” Mary reached for the diaper and turned it into position trying to raise her self a bit. “Here let me lift you and get this under you.” She made it easy and soon it was on, and then the plastic over it and we were done.

“Are you hungry? I’ll get you some soup I made earlier today.”  “How nice.”

A month later Mary had a stroke resulting in a brain hemorrhage. We had previously discussed with Mary her decision to not have anything done if she was critical. We asked the staff to let us know when her time was close. Within two days we received a call from the hospital telling us it was that time. We picked up our two sons, Jacob nine and Gabriel seven from school, and with our five-year-old daughter, Rebecca, we all were by her beside when she took her last breath.

Three years earlier we thought Mary was going to die. To comfort her, we allowed our son’s to crawl underneath and around her bed. We let Rebecca, who was only two, to lie with Mary on her bed.  “Be quiet and gentle to Mary, she is very sick.” Their presence, so close to her, put a smile back on her face. Unknowingly, they were doing a children’s healing dance for Mary and now, how sweet it was, being with her, as she left this plane.

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