I Have Developed a Debilitating Fear of Diarrhea

In a fit of pique, after folding the 20th load of laundry in two weeks (vacations and visitors), this evening I asked my husband, how it was that he got to learn interesting things all day and I got to clean poop out of toilets?

"Well," said Dr. X, who is currently on his GI rotation, "actually, today I had to pick through little nuggets of poop from a constipated kid, then I had to pull out a sample of bloody diarrhea from the fridge and look at that."

"At least," said I, annoyed that even in this he gets to trump me, "you didn't have to clean it."

Speaking of poop, poop itself may be the biggest downfall of being married to a kids' doc, especially when he is on Emerg and the waiting room is lined with children vomiting into k-trays, or when there is a never-ending outbreak of rotavirus on the wards. If I had the choice, I would make him strip outside the front door when he got home. Then I would spray his body wholly with Lysol. Twice. I often feel barfy myself after I've had to -gasp - touch his work clothes in order to wash them. To his credit, he is an excellent handwasher (his hospital, however, is not - scoring only 37% on a recent handwashing audit), and my daughter has only gotten two little and one horrible, marathon, 6-day tummy bug all year - three days of which Dr. X was on call. At least I could page him when she fell down from dizziness.

Once you start seeing germs, though, you start seeing them everywhere. I do tend towards the anxious and obsessive-compulsive in things, and I admit I am beginning to understand why Glenn Gould refused to shake hands and often wore gloves in public. I have unreasonable affection for public Purell dispensers, and always carry a small bottle in my bag. I stand, gaping in horror, willing myself to chastise people in public washrooms when they a) don't wash their hands at all or b) run their hands lightly under water without soap. Infection control is all about the handwashing, people! I am apoplectic when people bring their children to social functions with much finger food and then casually mention while I am mid-carrot that Johnny has a bit of diahrrea. I spend the next 24-48 hours feeling queasy. It did get so bad this winter that I had trouble eating at other people's houses and still have trouble sharing hand towels with members of my own household, not to mention putting my hands on door handles in public places.

Of course, I realize in my saner moments that it is not about the diarrhea at all. Dr. X was away in Laos for a month when my daughter was younger, and she and I both got very sick. All my friends had children of their own, and you can't ask people with kids to help you in those situations. I had no family in town. I felt very alone, which is what it is all about - that and being out of control. There is so much about going through med school and residency that is out of control - the crazy debt and constant financial worries about making it month to month, the fact that his overnight call schedule changes week to week so that, with a child, I have trouble getting out at all to do my own thing, the having to do all the other tasks that, working 100 hours a week, he really does not have the time to do - bills, sorting out all his various fees, insurances and loans, groceries, cleaning, dr's visits, laundry, breakfast, lunch, dinner, dishes, bathtime, bedtime, playtime, AND having paid employment of my own. To me, sickness such as this just serves as a big reminder that my control over my life, my world, the world is in fact very slim and that everything could unravel at any moment.

Wait - here I am whinging away and then realizing this doesn't sound much different than most of the other mums I know!

Maybe it's a simplistic answer, but maybe it's that none of us were ever meant to do this alone. Maybe I need to find better ways of building community, of giving help and of taking it when it is offered to me. That's a hard one, because taking help seems to indicate failure to me, and because really, so many people in the world have it worse off than me. Maybe it is about learning how to be ok not being in control. I really don't know if I am capable of doing that. Still, maybe the one-or-two-parent family with daycare scenario just isn't enough for any of us. Solutions? What are your suggestions? Meal-making parties? Swapping babysitting? Showing people that we care more through little things. Having people over for dinner more.

As long as everyone washes their hands.