Last night...

I really do not want to report on last night. It was ugly. I acted awful. And if you have a queasy stomach....please click the X now.
My grandmother, for some reason, is very susceptible to having impacted bowels. I am not sure if that is the correct term but you get my gist. She has lost so much muscle control that she cannot hold off her urine, and apparently cannot push out the other. They seem opposite of each other but whatever......
Anyway, she complained most of the day yesterday of her "tail a-hurtin'" , but I didn't catch the other symptoms of the impaction. About 5:30, she got up from her nap screaming (I mean SCREAMING) for someone to help her and carrying on like someone was dead. Kerry and I ignored it as much as possible but finally (in the middle of my supper) I had to go check on her. She was standing in the middle of my living room holding herself screaming "I'm a shittin' on myself!" I got her back into her room and stripped her, put her on the toilet, and began handing her baby wipes to clean up. She would not stop screaming. I was getting angrier by the minute. I don't have much patience any way but especially with those prima donnas who cannot take one ounce of pain. I tend to be a "suffer in silence" type, unlike the majority of females in my family. I digress....
She was 2 knuckles deep in her rectum digging out the "offender". She had poop on her hand up to her wrist, and she was digging like a maniac. She would hurt herself and scream. She was smearing it off her hands onto the sides of her bedside commode. (I was in a chair across the room gagging). I tried to stop her and do it with a rubber glove and Vaseline but she was in no shape to be reckoned with. Finally, I got her cleaned her up, put her a clean diaper and gown on. I went to empty her trash and came back to her back on the toilet, her gown dragging through the mess, and her hands full of "you know". I went nuts! I was screaming at her, trying to rip the gown over her head, and frankly, acting just plain AWFUL! There was poop in the floor, on her gown and the potty. I got on the floor to clean up the mess and she started vomiting (not in the garbage can that was at her foot, no.....all in the floor). Now, let me stop and say this......this is the lowest of lows. This is worse (to me) than the prodigal son eating the pig slop. I grabbed the garbage can and shoved it in her lap and screamed "Do not throw up in the floor again!" Then, I went back to the floor to clean up vomit. I looked up at her. She looked back with those bluest of blue eyes, as lost as a goose, and said so humbly, "I can't help it". At that moment God broke me. I began to weep. How dare I. She is my grandmother! I am treating her worse than I would someone that don't even know. I cleaned up the mess, cleaned her up, and redressed her. I got her back into bed, and went to take the dirty clothes to the laundry room. As I started down the stairs, Satan (the "buddy" who goes every where with me) said this...."She served God all her life. Now look at her.! She honored her mother and even her drunkard father, what did that get her? She isn't being rewarded, she is being cursed!" Anger spread over my being like fire. I was furious! I was furious with God! Why would anyone want to serve Him to end up like Moma? Why honor your parents? Old age is a curse, not a blessing! I ranted and raved about 15 minutes, and God broke me again. I sobbed bitter tears....I walked around the outside of the house several times. It seemed as if I couldn't breathe good. I was spent. I wanted to hear a compassionate voice. I called my friend Cheryl, who talked me through it all. After I assured her that it was not about me, at all. I was brokenhearted for the grandmother that was the best friend to a silly little chubby girl, the grandmother who listened to all my heartsick stories, and always ALWAYS made me laugh. Cheryl reminded me that God will give me just enough for today, each day. But...I have to trust Him to do that. He wants me depending on Him. She assured me that I am being obedient. She comforted me. Later, I emailed my pastor requesting he pray for me. He sent me the sweetest email back telling me that God was big enough for me to get mad at Him. He reminded me that He is my Father. I am so thankful for Godly people in my life.
With every fiber of my being, I can say it is NOT about me. She may make me want to kill her tomorrow (and I am sure of it!), but this journey is not about me. It is all about HER and it is for HIS glory.