Everybody Bombs

I have three main clients at my internship right now. The first one I'll describe is a woman in her mid 80's. She has cataracts in her eyes so her vision is not so great...she has Alzheimer's and she is the sweetest woman I have ever met. 


She's the epitome of a Pollyanna and I love the energy surrounding her constant happiness. Friendly and loving toward everyone she encounters, she is my inspiration for the way I interact with others. 


For the sake of HIPAA and client confidentiality I will refer to her as Lani. 


So Lani and I were walking toward the rear of the facility which leads to the backyard. In the backyard there is a nice patio, gazebo, walking path, garden and a green house. Lani LOVES to sit in the sunshine and soak up as much sun as she can. 


That day it was incredibly nice out for October and Lani really wanted me to take her in the backyard. So as we got up from the table to head for the backyard, I hear a very disturbing sound come...from her rear end.


As Lani continues to rip HUGE farts I try to keep my composure. The immature kid in me is dying to BURST out laughing so as I'm desperately trying to stifle my laughter, Lani stops dead in her tracks.


"Whoops!" she says looking toward me. 
"Did you just do what I think you did?" I ask.
"There's a bomb!" she says bending forward and farting again. 


The stench from her flatulence almost makes my eyes water and I have to look the other way for a second.


"Are you alright?" I ask.
"I'm fine. See that's what happens when you get old. You start to bomb a lot," she farts again, "Ooop! There's another one. That's what old people are...we're bombers. We're allll bombers," she says and points to all the other residents surrounding us in the next room. 
"It's ok," I say awkwardly.


I doubt it's appropriate to laugh...or maybe it would have been. But I don't...amazingly. hah.
So we walk outside and finally make it to a bench and sit down together. 


The bench starts to vibrate. Yes, from Lani's chronic farting. 


"Did you bomb?" she accuses me.
"No, I don't think so," I reply. 
"Well...somebody bombed and it smells awful. But...everybody bombs," she says and stares off into the distance.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" I ask her.
"No...I think I'm alright," she says.


I got up to get the nearest care-taker I could find anyway. 


Those bombs were lethal.