As the brothels in Bangkok would suggest, some men find being bathed by three beautiful maidens an ‘effective’ way of cleaning. Indeed, some men – and I’m going out on a limb here – would prefer this form of bathing over say, a ten minute shower. That is, unless the maidens are kith and kin. Unfortunately for Craig, we’ve successfully squashed that image, not to mention, ramped up the creep factor. The only thing worse than having your sisters bathe you is having your mom do the honors. It’s like vomiting shortly after eating cake -- the taste is never the same.
Though it’s fun to tease, in all honesty, we take our job seriously, and acknowledge how difficult it is for Craig to turn over that aspect of his life to his little sisters. I suppose we employ a cool compass-and-ruler approach to the whole process. After all, helping Craig is our honor, and though his body has changed significantly, his body is still his temple. We endeavor to respect him through it all, and in that way, go through great lengths to keep things decent. As he said a few days ago, he appreciates our support and would rather we help than a stranger. He also thanked us for our ‘professionalism’ as we help him with some of the most intimate of activities. For us, tapping out at this time is, at the very least, bad manners. In reality, we wouldn’t have it any other way; he would do the same if it were one of us in his situation.
So, since, Craig is no longer able to stand for long periods, we’ve effectively brought the bathroom to him. Strangely, someone, somewhere discovered waterless soap, allowing us to skip the commode and bucket scene for something more comfortable – his bed. The soap even allows us to suds up his hair, and all without soiling the sheets. (Scrubbing his hair reminds me of pictures we have of Craig playing in our middle bathroom with a head full of soap.) Erin and I usually tag team, with each of us tackling one side of his body, as he sits in his bed; we even turn on his jazz music for ambience. His only responsibilities are to: a) clean the man parts; and b) keep the entire experience G-rated (i.e. keep the loin cloth on).
Though I’m sure it’s awkward for us to help, Craig seems to appreciate this effortless mode of bathing. He doesn’t seem to mind that we’ve assumed responsibility over operation "keep the Craigy clean." Which leads me to this: where in the world was the waterless soap when we were bucket washing Mom (on her commode) and flinging her through small doorframes?? We could have saved her a lot of grief had we had this option six months ago. I’ll never forget her yelp when the CNA slammed Mom’s arm against a metal doorframe, tearing her skin beginning at the wrist. Mouth open, face purple, the initial impact took the wind out of her, but when she finally came too, she wailed like I’ve never heard her before. I’ll never forget seeing her eyes tear as Erin and I rushed to help. I remember she looked terrified as she cried in her terrycloth towel. Though words were of little comfort, Erin and I held her and told her that "it would be OK". Minutes later, her good natured demeanor had her smiling again, even as we attended to her wound. The four inch abrasion on her arm never healed. That moment, that image still haunts us. Man.
As I said, it’s our honor to be in his company as he continues to make sense of all that is cancer. This is perhaps the love that Craig referred to. When you care about someone, you let go; more importantly, you let people in. We try to bring some levity to the situation through humor and tender care. To know he appreciates it is more than enough. -- J
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