Miserable, isn't it. Urine is (or at least becomes) easy to deal with, but I something think I live in a state of constant faeces fear... when will it happen, will Mum let me sort her out without making it worse, and when will I fail and end up -- like now -- in UTI hell.
My mother always seems to pass motion while wandering around the house, but I have a really bad record detecting it, because she's always wandering about. I'm sure sometimes she doesn't even know she's doing it herself! But early detection is critical and I have to rely on my nose for that, or simply multiple trips to the loo per hour, if Mum will tolerate it. Which she usually won't.
Switching from supermarket brand to Tena pull-ups definitely helped keep things contained, and as long as Mum doesn't sit, cleaning isn't too arduous (if she's cooperative!) but the only way I avoid poo in places poo shouldn't be is constant vigilance. It's wearing, and I'm aware of what Mum's doing right now even as I type, but it's better than the alternative.
However I have antibacterial hand gel, tissues, wet wipes, rubber gloves (sometimes I even bother putting them on!) and decent sized waste bags stashed everywhere, so I can always clean and disinfect as quickly as possible. I work on the principle that the messier things are, the quicker I get the antibacterial gel into action. It converts poo into sterile mud in my imagination at least. And I have treated us to overpriced air freshener that smells nice rather than the cheap stuff that merely masks odour. I didn't used to be a fan of chemical disguises, but I've persuaded myself it's cheap aromatherapy and worth every penny.
Not sure any of this helps. The bottom line (ho, ho, ho) is that you have to find a switch in your brain that can flick off your desire to avoid poo and to waste the world's resources. Use as many nasty, destructive plastic wipes as you need, and just get stuck in... it gets worse the more you think about it, so try not to think about what you're doing.
So easy to say! And try to have a reward lined up for yourself afterwards. A special pack of biscuits at the back of the cupboard (doesn't work for me, if I buy biscuits I eat biscuits) or a shot of sherry or a chapter of a favourite book, or... you get the idea. These days the only reward I need is the fact it's all over and I can sit down an relax for a while. It's the old beating your head against a brick wall thing... just stopping becomes all the reward you need.
Mmm... I'm really selling this personal care thing aren't I. Remind me again why folk go into care homes?
Anyway, as you can tell, I haven't the foggiest idea how to avoid the problem other than very regular trips to the loo. I'm even considering finding a padded loo seat so that Mum's more comfortable on our regular and sometimes very long visits. But I have a feeling I'll be setting myself up for another cleaning problem even if such a germ-trap exists.
Oh, and I've got into the habit of cutting Mum's nails any time she'll accept it, not just when they need doing. I don't cut them back so short she might be uncomfortable, but I get as close as possible as often as possible.
Good luck.
PS I also distract myself by trying to find rhymes and songs to insert the word 'poo' into. It's not much of a hobby, but it keeps me amused. My current favourite is: Poo, Poo, Barney McPoo, Cuthbert, Dribble and Grub... It's time for Trumpton! (And it usually is). Windy Miller's theme from Camberwick Green is also often appropriate.