You: So, do you think your walk was fun today, Thump?
Me: Eh. Depends.
I noted the old woman sitting on a bench near the restroom from a couple hundred feet away; she sat there with a red walker set in front of her, and after a moment she seemed to sigh, then pushed herself and hobbled into the restroom. I was headed there myself, but didn't really think anything of it. People have to pee; I had to pee. When you're walking a lot, peeing is a good thing.
Drink, pee, no IV...
When I pushed open the door I saw her standing just inside the handicapped stall; she was leaning hard against her walker, her skirt was down around her knees, and she had one tab on a very soaked pair of Depends pulled back.
Very quietly, "I need help. I need help. I need help."
All right, this was not on my agenda for today, but what was I going to do? Say "No" and then turn around and leave?
Kinda wanted to.
I asked her what she needed me to do; she wanted to lean on me while she tried to get the diaper off, but it was easier if she just leaned and let me peel it off. I cringed inwardly a little; not at the sight of a wet diaper--I've seen literally ten thousand of the damn things--but because her one hand was warm and wet. Probably from trying to get the diaper off.
She didn't need much help after that, she got the fresh one in place easily and just needed a little help with the tabs and then getting her skirt back up. She was almost delicate in her modesty and really, it wasn't as gross as it could have been. One wrinkly butt cheek from the side, one soaked diaper tossed into the trash.
Lots of hand washing.
As we stood there washing our hands, the door burst open and a fairly breathless women about my age blew in with, "Mom? Mom! I told you to just wait there for me!"
Mom apparently couldn't wait for her kid to park the car.
And yeah, I went and bought a new shirt because there was no way I was walking around with a potential urine spot on the back of a shoulder.
And damn, I need to stop going out in public.