Flop bott is born

An idea came to me, as I scribbled upon yet another old envelope; blog. Not just favorite words, like flopbott, but thoughts and ideas, updates and pictures.

My love for reading allows me to scope out some good reads. You can subscribe to these definitions, reports, and sermons if you like!

The bonus for me is that I don't have scraps of paper floating around for my posterity, I can locate my musings and update you in the process, along with honing in on my writing skills.

An editor that I researched emphasized the necessity of a 'web presence' to market not just myself, but my writing. flopbott.blogspot will be that just that. I hope that you will enjoy my postings.

Below is the day I came across the quirky phrase "flopbott" and the wonderful book it came from.

Yesterday I went in to sub teach (this is a sermon slash definition and humorous phrases section)

The class: "HS special Ed". The teacher informed me that I would just be "sitting there" that there were enough aides and that I was there simply for "the record". He went on to tell me about his profession. It sounded like some good job security to me. Need a BA and then the district pays for you to complete the education and you give the district a 3 year commitment. It is pretty "hands on" and if you like that sort of thing then it's for you.
And they are up there in need like nurses. Well, I booked it to the library to check out the book I left home: All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot. Figuring I would not have any of the hands on activity he talked of.

The book is lovely A veterinarian working in England. You almost feel like you are there amongst the lush green valleys... and he immediately draws you to the moment his arm and whole body are in a cow that has a baby needing lassoed around the jaw. You are on a cold cobblestone floor in the winter, dead of night, two hours into trying to fight against the mother's muscles trying to exp ult an unwilling calf. Had he not felt the lick of the calf's warm tongue he would be dismembering it and explaining the reasons why to the local farmer.
Exubulantly you share in his catching the calf's jaw and then turning it despite the mother being dry he pulls it out. Only to find it dead. he resuscitates it and then, gently places it by his mother and the mother, who is almost dead herself, revives and starts licking it and loving it. You will be in tears at this point. But Herriot with his humor will make you laugh every few sentences with the likes of being the "Uncle" to Tricki the dog.
His person a very affluent woman takes very good care of the dog but not of the diet. And on numerous occasions the animal will go: "flop bott" during a walk. Plumping down on its rump dealing with some serious anal hemorrhoids. But Tricki loves the vet even when he comes and causes pain. And will send gifts and letters to him. At which point he is obliged to do the same. Something the head staff vet, Siefried, thinks is coo-koo.
Words like: "waffling charm" , cock a hoop, and sang-foid" will be encountered. Not to be found in the dictionary but recognisable in his story.
Scratching on the tattered envelope I write: "Commisures of the lips" and look up at the aide that asks if I will help with a gal in class,
Jumping up and smiling: I would love to I exclaim. (ps I hate to edit-that is for editors)
Then I find out that it is a hands on situation that the teacher explained I would not be doing anything of. So i go to the bathroom and help be second witness to the changing. And I cheer the gal on when she is able to sit on the toilet and go a little more. And even help us put the diaper on and pull the front part of her elasticized pants. I am wearing plastic gloves and I tear peel them off and scrub up like the vet does after and before attending to each of his patients. That was easy I thought. And went back to my book with a smile.
Libation- I look this word up after school. "an act of pouring a liquid as a sacrifice to a God."
Another peek from the former aide who is taking online classes for her CNA- to help her earn more. "Can you come again?"
I ease up a little slower because this time it is to help change the one with the navy helmet. He is a rascal. And it is a stinky one. Not like changing your child, when the smell is not harsh, but slight because they are breast fed, and because you love the child.
He has physical gyrations that I wonder if I am up to holding him down on the big changing table. I put on my plastic gloves and let them snap for and put my hands on my hips like: "K let's do this." And I force the smile. But she says to just turn to the side, and then it is a bad one. All over. She needs help. I have to hold his legs up like I did with Jaden and now see my nephew go through. Those changings are fun and there is cooing and tender wiping etc.
But this boy is 17. Small. But strong. I grab his legs like I am pushing those things the football players run against. I put my shoulder into it and he is very flexible.
His hands usu in his mouth jutt down to his now free body. "Ahhh!" keep your hands up, blank (fill in with name)! the aide says in a high tone. Grab your hands real tight! I encourage like a coach as I try to breathe through my mouth.
Then his right hand and the nails sink into my arm. I sit there clenching my teeth, and wonder if I ought to uncurl his fingers from my arm or keep the feet in the air for the aide.
Then he lets go, his attention drawn to the cool wipes. And I see 5 claw marks that have torn the skin.
Finally we finish. Take off the gloves, throw away the hazardous material.
This time is more sobering. I am a bit winded. I can't say I like this kid. Which makes me feel bad. I wash up. His too tight pants are pulled up and buttoned by the aide and he farts in the process. I pray it isn't another blow out.
It isn't and we proceed to wash. He likes to clean up compared to the gal who squalled when her hands touched the water. Lathering the soap up my arms and helping him to do the same I wonder if I can handle that job.
I know I have the empathy. The smell, which is of waste, wasting. And almost death is not foreign. Suffering has brought some clarity to handle those moments and to serve another.
Truly serve. But then I wonder about the broken skin... and being immuno-suppressed.
Another aide, a man talks about how sick everyone got last year... because these kids are sent to school sick. They can't talk.
Instead of burying my nose in my book I walk out of the office and sit down as a boy with CP and other things tries to say words. He is present mentally. Or is it spiritually. I smile at him, sincerely and he lights up. And you get the feeling you do when a baby smiles at you and it convinces you that you are loved by them. And hold some special meaning and ability to bring them to smile.
I go home and put hydrogen peroxide and neosporin on the claw marks then cover it. Praying for no infection. But I start to wonder about these people, kids. Who will love them if I won't? Do others have the stamina and health but not the empathy to help? Would I have helped with out a gag reflux had I not suffered?

Hmmm... this one is ending on a bit of a depressing recollection. I will make it up to you in the next one! I am listening to Gilead on CD by Marilynn Robinson. I recommend both books. And some hands on