dignity fail

*WARNING: this blog contains information about my bowel movements. You don't have to read it. I'll create a separate blog with a health update*

From Friday pm to Monday pm, I was in a pristine room, with a pristine en-suite.

On Monday pm, I was moved to a small, square, old room with no toilet or shower.

I'm not allowed outside my room. The communal male toilet is a long away and I would have to pass many sick people.

So, I have a commode. A commode is a chair with a liftable seat. Under the seat is a cardboard disposal six inch deep bowl.

This is your toilet. 

On Monday eve, I was given two suppositories and some magic liquid to help my shift the now painful situation I was in.

After a few hours, all hell started breaking loose. With the emphasis on 'loose'.

So, you do what you have to do. Into a cardboard tray suspended under a hole in a chair. And then you press a button to call a nurse. Sometime later, a man will come and make small talk. He will lift the lid and HE WILL LOOK AT IT and then take it away. 'Sometime later' has ensured your small, warm room is now filled with the kind of smell you don't normally get this side of the equator.

And of course, because you're backed-up with a weeks worth of supply, this isn't going to be a one off event.

And it's not.

Dignity is a thing that you don't realise you have until they take it away. 

The 'good news' is that there is better room with a toilet / shower that 'should' become available later.

Cross everything for me.

I'm mostly keeping my legs crossed.