Bathroom of horrors

When I was younger, I had all the normal fears: that we'd have a nuclear war, that my parents would die, that druggies sitting behind me in church would inject drugs into my back through the pew (really).

I am older now and have put away such childish fears.

Unlike a few Doomsday peepers, I am not too worried about a nuclear war. And if it happens, bring on the zombie apocalypse. Not that I'd live through it, but whatever.'

Unless they get assumed, which would cause all sorts of canonical issues, Mom and Dad will die. It terrifies me to think of all the gaps I will have to fill in my life, just the practical things like driving me to work and emptying urinals. I am pretty sure there is no hope for finding someone to do the really important things like keeping me sane. My SISter and her family will have to bring their A game is all. And that includes their dog, who French kissed me tonight.

As for the druggies, I have decided that:

1. Needles won't go through solid wood pews,
2. Druggies would not waste a shot on some random nerd, and
3. Just because they were jerky bullies does not make certain old kids druggies.

Most of my fears these days revolve around the bathroom.

That room has caused me to shed more blood than Sweeney Todd, but it is my own blood. I take off my slippers or shoes to shower, and hell follows my bare tootsies.

I might catch my toe underneath a part of my wheelchair or scrape my foot on my towel holder. Sometimes my ankle joins in the fun, smacking hard against some unforeseen metal.

Of course, it is not just my feet and it isn't just blood.

I have bruises on my forehead, a sore neck and cuts on my nose because the other day at work, I stood to go to the bathroom, my right knee buckled and my head slammed into the raised seat of the toilet.

Nor is it solely physical pain.

I slipped as I was transferring to my chair after a shower the other day. Not hurt but I did need help to get up. I called my sister and asked her to come help. I was a little surprised that she responded with a long stream of words. So I just said, can you come?

She did, only it was my niece, which is what she was telling me on the phone. She got her mom, but having your 10-year-old niece hesitantly peek in to find you on the floor in your birthday suit is not cool.  She told her mom I was having bathroom issues.

Or there was the fall a few weeks ago that I recovered from by having to put my arm in my trashcan. Eewwwh.

Bathrooms kind of suck.