I live with a dark, stinky secret.
My son is encopretic. In case you are lucky enough not to
know what encopresis is (Oh, to be so blissfully ignorant!) allow me to fill
you in. Bear with me, I’m not a
doctor. I’m just a Mom who lives
with it every day.
Encopresis is also known as “paradoxical
diarrhea” which would be hilarious if it didn’t make me want to cry.
It’s basically a condition that happens
when children withhold stool to the point of becoming very badly
constipated. It can enlarge the
rectum and damage the nerve endings to the point that voluntary control of the
rectum is lost. Then (and
this is my favourite part) softer stool ends up leaking around the blockage
which causes what Wikipedia delicately refers to as “soiling”.
That means that shit is a big part of my
life. It consumes most of my
conscious thoughts. I am
constantly on the alert for the smell of shit to the point that I sometimes
smell shit that isn’t even there. I
have to always know when he shits, how much he shits and whether or not he
shits in his pants. I have had to
clean shit off of walls, toys and some furniture. I am frequently
scrubbing shit-smell out of my computer chair where he sits to play video
games. Sometimes when I sit on my
couch I get up and my ass smells like shit because he was sitting there
earlier. And then I have to change
my pants and scrub shit smell out of my couch.
One time, before we really clued in that
something wasn’t right about his constant “accidents”, he laid a big turd in a
heavy traffic area in the house.
Then my husband (who was wearing shoes at the time, thank God!)
unwittingly stepped in it and tracked it all over the house before he notice
the awful smell. That was our
turning point, when we knew we needed professional help. Shortly thereafter we were told that
our son has ADHD and encopresis.
You know, I can deal with ADHD. It’s really tough but I can deal with
that. I love my son very
much. His ADHD is so much a part
of him I’m often at odds with how much I resent the difficulties it gives him
and how much fun his quirky impulsive behaviour can be.
But I cannot deal with the shit.
I cannot fucking deal with the shit.
I would really like to sit here and write
something helpful and inspiring and wise.
I would love to sit here and talk about love for my son helping me to
overcome our difficulties and do some actual good for people out there who are
suffering and struggling with the same difficulties. But for once, right now, I’m going to let myself be selfish
and ugly and self-pitying because I’m so fucking tired of being strong and putting
a smile on it so I can be the good Mom.
Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
It’s not fair! It’s not fair that it’s my job to make my kid sit on the
toilet every day at the same time and he hates me for it! It’s not fair that I
have to fight with him about it every day and that sometimes he finds ways to
punish me for it. It’s not fair
that I have to deny him things like summer camp because I’m afraid of what will
happen to him if his friends find out.
I’m sick of everything smelling like
shit! I’m sick of forking over
$100 a month on laxatives for years on end! I’m sick of having to try to remove shit-smells that never
seem to go completely away.
Febreze will always, for the rest of my life, be heavily associated with
the smell of shit. I’m sick of having
to search all over the house for wherever he hid his shitty underwear! I’m sick of worrying about what will
happen to him if he shits himself at school!
I’m tired of living my life trying to pretend
that everything is okay; trying not to compare myself to other Moms with other
families who don’t have to deal with shit beyond the age of three. I’m tired of having to remind myself
not to think about “normal” or “should be” because if I do I might start
screaming and not know how to stop. I’m tired of being such a failure!
We’ve been at this for four years. Four fucking years and no end in
sight! I’ve been doing everything
the doctor tells us and fighting so hard to do it and I’ve got nothing but a pissed
off kid and a load of shitty underwear to show for it. And I’m just supposed to deal with that
because that’s my job and that’s the shit end of the stick I was dealt. Because that’s what being a grownup means.
But for once, right now in this Dive, I’m
going to complain Goddammit. After
all the shit I’ve been through, I think I deserve that much.
