The Day the Shit Hit the Fan. Literally!

I’m about to start a series of blog posts chronicling my life that was December and January. The early ones will be bad. Talking about how sick we were, how exhaustion got the better of us and how I shopped non stop.

The next few weeks will detail it all, even what I bought, but that’s in a few weeks, for now…

It was Sunday the 29th of November, and thankfully I had already stopped blogging when the toilet decided to start backing up. The water would flow upward when flushed, instead of away, and we knew we needed to ring the Housing Trust. But that was going to be Monday morning.

Or so I thought.

All day Sunday mum decided she was feeling sick. She didn’t eat much, asked for more than she would eat (which annoyed me no end because then there was food that need throwing out or there were leftovers) and then went to bed at night.

So did I.

Then at roughly 5:15 am Monday morning, she woke me up by going to the toilet. I had told her not to flush full, just a half flush, but what did she do…

Then there was noise abound.

I got up and what the hell did I find?

The shit had really hit the fan. And the walls, the floor, the door, everything.

Mum had diarrhea and had flushed the bloody toilet, hence making it massively overflow everywhere. It was all over her, the laundry which she had walked into, and everything she touched.

I sent her in the shower, opened up the window and called the Housing Trust. They couldn’t get a plumber out for five hours.

Not good.

For two hours I was cutting up old tshirts and clothes from the rag bag, getting down on my hands and knees wiping, scrubbing, cleaning. I wore a face mask and continually sprayed air freshener.

It was putrid.

After two hours I showered and sat down, waiting for the plumber. After three hours he came and what did he do, dug a hole outside the toilet wall and cleared it out, creating an issue that would last almost two months. He told me he’d contact headquarters and let them know to send another plumber to put in some piping.  

When he was done I armed myself and went in to clean the toilet. As I tried unscrewing the seat, which was a bastard in itself because it didn’t want to come off, I ended up in tears.

This is what my life had come to. Cleaning up my mother’s shit. Unless you’ve been there you cannot begin to imagine the absolute depression and misery that feels like. I stood against the wall silently bawling my eyes out, thinking how low my life had sunk. How far it had sunk to. I was cleaning up my mother’s shit. I had a thought process that took about 5 billiseconds.

“My life is so low it cannot get any lower.” “Yes it can, you could be wiping her arse.”

That was the conversation in my head. How could my life have gotten so bad?

I tried the toilet seat again and miraculously, it unscrewed, and I removed it before taking to the toilet with Dettol, Bleach and a scrubbing brush. I redid the floor and walls and it was bloody hard considering the room it’s in is barely a person wide.

I had just wiped up, washed myself and walked into the lounge room when she asked if I was done.

I knew what that meant. She went three more times, shitting all over the floor again and again and again before I told her to go in the shower. I was down on my hands and knees wiping and scrubbing again, and again, and again.

It sucked.

And it was just Monday!

To be continued…..