So I recently took delivery of not one but two chocolate brown, matching the furniture, commodes! At the age of 44, when most people are taking delivery of designer products, wide screen TV’s, clothing or food, I was taking delivery of commodes...but then, again, I am living in the weird ‘n’ wacky world of...
Both of my commodes are for the purpose of widdley-pops only, in other words urine not A N Other. One is near my bedside and is usually sat upon just before dawn and the other in a different room doubling as a plant pot holder courtesy of my husband.
Why commodes I hear you say, well it’s not an issue of leakage thankfully but one of comfort or should I say extreme discomfort. You see the gap between waking and needing to pee and being able to get to the bathroom to pee can be a very long time and using a commode means that I can at least provide relieve for my poor thickened bladder. Ensuring that the commode is pre filled with some water and lemon scented toilet cleaner eliminates any odour and with this obstacle overcome I have no hesitation in using it.
You see I used to say how thankful I was to have scleroderma but no joint pain, can’t say that anymore! I find that the longer I sit or lay the stiffer and more uncoordinated I become. Name a joint and it hurts, well that’s an exaggeration it’s mainly shoulders, elbows, wrists and knees but that on top of the foot pain and dashing to the toilet or even a leisurely stroll is out of the question the majority of the time.
As odd as it is to have and use a commode I am pleased to say that I embraced it from the first tinkle even seeing the funny side of things like my camping experiences. My beloved pusscat wakes me up pre dawn, wanting to go out, I open the window for her, but it has to remain so as I always fall back to sleep. Once awake I have to empty my bladder so I find myself sat on my colour coordinated commode, relieving myself with the bedroom window wide open wondering if anyone can see me as I literally freeze my butt off. If I have to use my litter tray you’d think she would.
When I muse over the last 5 years it’s been one shock after the other, one loss, one problem to overcome and I have survived every shock, survived every loss and solved every problem. Doing so has not been a cognitive choice but automatic necessary to keep surviving and something thousands of others with scleroderma do every single day and long may we all continue doing so!