The day I dropped my son

Anonymous Mummy - 30 Jun 16

It was the school holidays. As usual it was raining. I had forgotten a few essentials with my online shop, including nappies. And of course, I had managed to run out. I couldn’t wait, not with a child who is incontinent due to his disability, and so I had to do it. I had to load the kids, wheelchair and myself into the car and head to the supermarket. I told myself it would be easy, we’re only diving in for a few bits, and I promised the kids a treat for coming with me – the only way I could get them in the car in the first place. They hate shopping (what kid doesn’t?), but my son particularly as he is very anxious in supermarkets, due to his condition.

We get there. Get soaked getting out of the car and into the shop, but find the nappies and head to the checkout. And in record time and without so much of a whinge from the kids. I felt like Supermum!

Then it happened. My son had an almighty explosion! He had not managed to go to the toilet as he usually does in the mornings that day, and his laxative medication kicked in with spectacular effect! It was everywhere – coming through his clothes and all over his wheelchair. I quickly flew through the self-service (no there is nothing unexpected in the bloody bagging area!!) and headed for the loo, dragging his sister with me, who was at this point starting to get a bit bored and stroppy.

We squeezed into the accessible loo (which already stank by the way and we were about to make it worse). Fortunately, as you know, I had just bought nappies and I always have wipes in my handbag, but the changing bag with my mat was in the car as we were literally just nipping in and out of the shops – or so I thought. I could have gone to the car. I stood in silence for a few seconds, contemplating running out with the kids in the rain to get the change mat, but the seeping poo was getting higher up his back and I was already in the loo so I decided to stay put. First bad decision.

I then had to make the second of my shit decisions (excuse the pun) and decide whether to change him on the toilet floor or try to clean him up whilst standing. (All the while it was dawning on me that I had no change of clothes for him and I’d have to wrap him in my coat once he was clean! Double shit!)

I decided I’d have to lay him down. He cannot stand unaided or put his feet flat to the floor due to the tightness in his leg muscles and so holding him and taking his weight with one arm, whilst he tried to balance on tip-toes, and trying to undress and clean him with the other, just quite frankly seemed too dangerous. Where the bloody hell is my husband when I need him (he was at work by the way, earning our keep, how outrageous of him!). Why did I have to lay him on the floor you ask? Well that’s something I’ll get to in a moment.

So I grabbed as much loo roll as I could and a few wipes and cleaned and dried the floor as much as humanly possible (gross) and laid out some more loo roll to lay him on. I unstrapped his lap strap and chest harness, balanced him on the footplate of the wheelchair and prepared to lift him down to the floor. Okay, so this is where it gets a bit emotional for me. As I lifted him up I twisted to move him away from the chair and I somehow lost my balance. I don’t know if it was lack of sleep or that I’d not dried the floor enough or if I was just being clumsy that day, but it was enough to send me to my knees, taking my son with me.

In what I can only presume was mother’s instinct, I managed to get my hands on his head and neck to try to stop him hitting them on the way down and I did stop him hitting the floor.  But his little, skinny body got rammed into the side of the sink and he cried so, so much! And the bruises. Oh the bruises!

It was as horrifying as it sounds. And some.

And even worse. He said sorry to me. Sorry to ME for dropping HIM. He felt guilty that I had had to lift him in that way, just because he had done a poo and felt responsible for the accident (my heart aches). Because he understands all of this. He understands that this is not the ‘usual’ going to the toilet experience and that I don’t do this with his sister. I don’t want him to feel like that. NOT EVER.

I did finally manage to get him clean (ish) and back home and after a few biscuits he forgot about it. Sadly because these incidents and changing on the toilet floor is something that he has gotten used to. How awful is that? But I will never forget. I relive this moment more times than you can imagine.

I wish I had taken him to the car and cleaned him up in the boot. I should have done that. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But it was raining and cold on that day and I made a bad decision, or three. I’m only human.

What’s worse, is that the entire situation could have been avoided. Yes, if I had not forgotten the nappies in the first place (believe me I never do now!), but more importantly if accessible toilets actually included the equipment required to meet the needs of those with disabilities.

If there had have been a hoist and a changing bed in this toilet, my precious child, who already has to go through more crap than anyone should have to put up with (excuse the pun again!), would have been safe and wouldn’t have been hurt.  And it could have so easily have been so much worse!

Neither myself or my child should have to feel guilty about something that we all take for granted – being able to use the loo when out in public.

Changing Places and Space to Change toilets include adult-sized changing benches and hoists and ensure the safe and dignified lifting, changing and toileting of children and adults with complex needs. They are vital. Yet there are so few.

To sign a petition for these to be installed in all large public buildings and spaces, click here. 

Anonymous Mummy

I'm a mum of a child with special needs. I blog about very personal experiences, dramas and campaigns. I remain anonymous in order to protect the identity of my child.

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