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As related to my by my nurse father many years ago:
The hospital where he worked, in addition to all of the day to day activities of a normal hospital, took in patients who sometimes needed no more than a good de-lousing and 3-hots-and-a-cot. One fine gentleman that found himself slipped between the crisp linens of this establishment on a cold winter's night had a.....retention problem.
He was an alcoholic. So far into it that he was medicated with beer just to keep the DT's at bay. And he can't hold his bowels.
Mr. Angel (as he will now be known) could not stand up without messing himself, and could not take a step without falling. He was under strict orders from the nurses to call for assistance should he feel the urge to vacate....anything.
Well, Mr. Angel don't need no dang new-fangled nurses to limp his leaky butt to the bathroom, no sirree! And so he goes, off the bed, out falls the shit, there goes his foot into said shit, and Mr. Angel finds himself spread-eagle on the floor, flailing in a pool of his own mess and yelling at the top of his lungs.
There's poo on the window, there's poo on the tables, there's poo on the TV, there's poo on his roommates, the bedding, the privacy curtains, the door, the floor, and the leftovers of his dinner.
In marches my father with some CNA's in tow and up comes Mr. Angel from his mess on the floor, to be wrested into the bathroom and hosed off.
And my dad swears to this day that when he looked on the floor there was a perfect shit angel there looking back up at him.
The hospital where he worked, in addition to all of the day to day activities of a normal hospital, took in patients who sometimes needed no more than a good de-lousing and 3-hots-and-a-cot. One fine gentleman that found himself slipped between the crisp linens of this establishment on a cold winter's night had a.....retention problem.
He was an alcoholic. So far into it that he was medicated with beer just to keep the DT's at bay. And he can't hold his bowels.
Mr. Angel (as he will now be known) could not stand up without messing himself, and could not take a step without falling. He was under strict orders from the nurses to call for assistance should he feel the urge to vacate....anything.
Well, Mr. Angel don't need no dang new-fangled nurses to limp his leaky butt to the bathroom, no sirree! And so he goes, off the bed, out falls the shit, there goes his foot into said shit, and Mr. Angel finds himself spread-eagle on the floor, flailing in a pool of his own mess and yelling at the top of his lungs.
There's poo on the window, there's poo on the tables, there's poo on the TV, there's poo on his roommates, the bedding, the privacy curtains, the door, the floor, and the leftovers of his dinner.
In marches my father with some CNA's in tow and up comes Mr. Angel from his mess on the floor, to be wrested into the bathroom and hosed off.
And my dad swears to this day that when he looked on the floor there was a perfect shit angel there looking back up at him.
He is my Black Dragon (and yes, a good one) strong, protective, the guardian. I am his Silver Dragon, always by his side, shining for him, cherishing him.
every time 
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