The Roommate From Hell

Laws, laws. Now don't get me wrong. I fully understand that everyone is different and everyone has their way of coping with life. I do too. BUT...I try not to let MY thing infringe on your space.

During my stay in the Rehab from Hell, I was placed in a room with a lady, whom I'm sure had her good points. The woman in the room before me was there for 9 years. Not sure where she went...I was told she didn't die. Maybe the 5 weeks with the RMFH was just too much for her.

The first night I was there, I came in about 11pm. When her sleep apnea machine kicked in and her TV started to blare I figured I was in trouble. I had no TV on my side of the room (they said the 9 year woman didn't watch much TV so they didn't put one in. Maybe she would have watched it if she'd had one.)

There was only one phone in the room. After throwing a fit that would have made the Brookshier part of my family proud, maintenance came in and plugged in a phone. Into a non-working jack. So we could not get incoming calls without someone running down from the nurses station and switching the phones. Since she had taken control of the one TV that was on her side of the room, I took control of the phone and kept it on my side. Seemed fair.

So anyway, let's get on to the part that made her the RMFH. This lady was 70, if she was a day. No spring chicken.But she had a quirk left over from her childhood.

When she was a little girl (what? 65 years ago?) her mother broke her leg on a toilet. (how do you DO that?) Then, also when she was a child, she knew of a girl who drowned in a toilet among all the things that I toilet holds. I was told in detail, but I won't gross you out. Then, a few weeks ago, she ran into a toilet and hurt her leg. Are y'all seeing a pattern here? It gets worse.

She told me that her way of coping with all these things was to poop, even though she had an aversion to an actual toilet.  So she would sit on a bedside commode and poop (stinking up the joint, usually before mealtime) and SOB the whole time. If that wasn't bad enough, she would follow up with a healthy shot of Febreze. All this did wonders for my COPD. I started breathing through a damp washcloth and being more grateful for the oxygen I was on.

I'll give y 'all a minute to let this all soak in.