After my dad had his cancerous prostate gland removed, he had to have a pee bag for a couple weeks. It was my job as Favorite Daughter (take THAT, Kelly) to empty his pee bag a couple times a day, and also to change it to the 'day bag' in the morning and the 'night bag' at night. It was the highlight of my Summer, 2010 let me tell you. And for those of you who might be uber grossed out, I'll assure you that the pee bag was attached to his lower leg, near his foot and so there were pants on and everything. Little valves and such prevented pee from getting anywhere except where it needed to be. So the process of emptying the bag went a little like this:
Dad and I enter the bathroom.
Dad slowly, painfully, carefully puts foot up on the toilet rim.
I move the valve to 'open' position, pointing it towards and squirting all pee into toilet.
I swab valve with alcohol to clean any remaining pee drips from valve.
I wash my hands.
So one time we're walking out of the bathroom and I said, irritated:
"How come we go in the bathroom so you can take a leak, then you LEAVE, and I'm the one washing my hands?"
|See? You couldn't even see it. Hey Kelly, where were you at pee-bag time?|
(I think my dad considered this 'peeing and somebody else washing' to be the lap of luxury. You should have seen him strutting around like some kind of prince after I said that.)