Care and Feeding of The Daddler

Today's been a better day. The D seemed better this morning. Really grouchy. A very good sign. Must not be feeling too bad.

I, on the other hand, am going downhill fast. Major coughing/chest congestion, sinus crap, and exhaustion. It's a good thing my dance card is empty this weekend. My friend-girl JoJo is heading to Tampa. Without me. Just as well. I've flown with congested sinuses before, and I thought my head would explode. Literally.

Now I'll get to the title topic. The D. He's feeling better today. I know that because he's been mean to me. Plus, the psuedo-nurse (secretary) called and said his bloodwork was good. Thank god I don't have to take him for another clotting test for a month. No infection. I guess that's why he doesn't have a fever.

But now, he's focused on pooping. When I got home today, he told me that he hadn't gone to the bathroom in three days. I said, "Daddy, you've barely eaten." He didn't care. I asked if he was cramping and he said, "No, but I haven't gone in three days." He wanted some sort of laxative, but couldn't tell me which one of the myriad of pills and powders he wanted. I offered celery and carrots, but he didn't want that. He did his sign language thing and I shifted into interpreter mode. He made a pouring motion. I picked up the bottle of Walgreen's version of Miralax. No, that wasn't it. I showed him the empty packet of Dulco-Lax he'd given me the other day - wanting more. I've seen him sneaking them - laxative dependent. It's psuedo-nurse's fault. And her quack boss's.

I thought, maybe he's thinking of the prescription version of Miralax (which is the same as the $16 Walgreens brand and the $25 name brand but only costs $3 as a scrip - great health insurance), and that since the labels are different, he thought it was different. But I was wrong.

He kept making the pouring motion and the light bulb came on. It's the coke bottle full of colorful liquid. You drink the whole thing and you'll blast off from the toilet. It's used before colonoscopies. He'd given it to me from his hidden stash a few weeks ago and I asked him to eat celery and carrots instead. I pulled it out of the fridge. His face lit up. He asked if it would hurt him. I said it would blast him out. That maybe he should drink half. He said he might need the whole thing. I handed him the bottle.

Hell, I don't give a shit. Pardon the pun. If he poops, he'll be happy and take a bath. Between the skunk chair and Daddy, it's toxic around here.

Just went into the kitchen and the empty bottle was on the counter. I swear, if he'd just drink a beer, he'd be fine. But he won't. He drinks his glass of boxed red wine every night, but he won't drink a beer. It works for me. I know - TMI (Too Much Information). But I googled it and I'm not the only one.

Oh, I happened to notice that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Only because I helped him with his shirt at the doctor's office. Last time I said something, he got pissed at me. So I think I'm going to sneak into his room and swipe that outfit.

All of a sudden, his hair is too long and his eyebrows are like tree branches. Deb has to work tomorrow so she can't take him to the barber. I might take him. I can drop him off and shop at my fav discount store, which is conveniently close. Then take him to eat lunch.

OMG. It's 6:30 and I haven't fixed his dinner tray. Better run. Hope to have a good poop-report tomorrow.

Over and out...