Everybody who is anybody knows it is important to maintain a certain level of personal hygiene. There really is no excuse for filth, even when you are in the middle of a steroid crash. Nobody likes a sweaty fanny. Really.
In the last week, I have tried, as much as possible, to keep my body smelling fresh. I have changed my knickers, pyjamas and whenever showering constituted a danger, I baby wiped. I was able to do this because of a thing called personal responsibility. Not everybody has that.
Somebody very dear to me, does not have personally responsibility and does not take it upon himself to wash when he is getting dirty. Unfortunately for me, the more time we spend together, in my bed, the dirtier he gets. Since I was diagnosed with myeloma, I have found that my beloved and me spend a great deal of quality time together, alone. Sometimes we not alone come to think of it. Occasionally, we cuddle in public too, when I say public, I mean in my kitchen. Never in the toilet. My beloved has the most amazing smell, that is enhanced by his lack of washing. The smell is addictive and all so very comforting when one is feeling so poorly, not even their mum can make them feel better. I have spent much of the last week, rubbing his soft skin against my face. Inhaling.
The issue, which I think is patently clear, is that I need the people around me to be clean. This will be especially true if I ever get a transplant. I don’t need people bringing germs into my bed and nostrils. I also need comfort and he gives that to me times infinity. He has special washing requirements, which further complicates matters. Only Mamma Jones’ is allowed to wash him and when that happens, it takes at least half a day of separation. It has been that way my whole life.
I don’t think people should judge, and I am not sure whether it is entirely appropriate to air my dirty laundry, but after a week of constant snuggles, my beloved EMan looked something like this:
Just to give you a benchmark. He should be a block navy blue.
It’s not his fault. I can confirm that yesterday, he took that dreadful trip into the washing machine and then, when that was complete, the tumble drier. For five whole hours. It makes me sad, but I could not have him running around with my dirt on his face. I have to look after myself all.
He now looks like an almost new being.
Maybe one day, he’ll get a face again (that is a hint Mum). My beautiful, loyal, elegant EMan.