When I was a little kid and violated the cut-off time for liquids before bed, my full bladder would often invade my dream, convincing me that I was already in the bathroom. The initial trickle of relief I felt was enough to wake me up and send me running to the bathroom for real.
Apparently, however, the post-menopausal years have pretty much disabled my bladder’s early warning system. I learned this unfortunate fact a few weeks ago in possibly my most humiliating moment. I should have anticipated it as I had been downright smug about my ability to “keep the door shut,” unable to relate as my friends commiserated about cough drops, giggle drips and sneeze seepage. Despite osteopenia, insomnia and a few new bulges, I would always think to myself, at least I don’t have leakage issues!
Well, pride goeth before a fall and I fell hard…into the deep, huge puddle formerly known as my mattress. I awoke that particular Saturday morning feeling really “sweaty.” I kicked off the covers and felt around under me, slowly coming to the horrified realization that I was nearly swimming in a pond of my own making, and it wasn’t perspiration. My nightgown was drenched to the waist, and the sheets, mattress pad and, worst of all, the down pillow under my knees were soaked as well. I jumped out of bed, ran to the linen closet and returned with an armload of bath towels to sop up as much of the rising tide as I could before it engulfed my sleeping husband.
How could this have happened, I wondered in total bewilderment, as I stripped off my wet nightgown to get in the shower. My trusty early warning system had broken down completely—no bathroom dream, no waking up, no nothing, just an ocean of processed Diet Coke and La Croix water! The sound of the shower woke my husband who called out in confusion, “What’s going on here?”
Shame-faced and wrapped in a towel, I stood before my husband and confessed what I’d done. And here’s why my husband is truly a keeper. He shrugged, smiled and said, “Baby, this happens in the best of families.” Then he helped me pull off all the bed clothes and put them in the washer. A little Lysol, Febreze and a good airing out with a fan took care of the damp spot on the mattress. Almost as good as new.
But I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. When my husband went outside to cut the grass, I decided to try to rehabilitate the down pillow. Thinking of the many down jackets I’d washed over the years (and naively disregarding the feather differential there), I plopped the pillow into the washer. All was going well until the spin cycle. With a soaking-wet weight of approximately seventeen tons, the stupid pillow threw my washer so out of balance that the washer practically “womped” itself across the floor and out the door before I got to it.
I was ready to trash the pillow at that point, but my husband insisted he could wring it out in the bath tub. I envisioned this process entailing my stomping on it like Lucy in that famous grape-crushing scene, but he was actually able to get most of the water out without the use of my feet. So, I put my shoes back on and threw the pillow in the dryer with a couple tennis balls—just like you do with down jackets—and set the timer for the longest drying cycle.
When the dryer timer finally pinged, we anxiously pulled the door open, thereby unleashing a veritable explosion of goose feathers. There were feathers everywhere. Feathers upon feathers, flocks of feathers, I tell you, floating, swirling and spinning through the air. We had feathers in our hair, our ears and up our noses. We were choking on, coughing up and spitting out goose feathers for several minutes. What a mess my bird-brained bladder had created!
Now a few weeks post-disaster, we still encounter a feather or two here and there. In fact, just the other night, I was finishing up a project right before bedtime when I got a little thirsty. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of La Croix. As I was about to pop the top, a little feather came floating down out of nowhere and landed on the can. I blew it off and promptly put the can back in the fridge.
Early warning message received. I have learned my lesson, my friends—a feather of prevention is worth a pillow of cure.
I can so relate to the bladder issues, Lee. I’m at the panty liner stage at the moment but, I know it’s just the intro to big girl diapers. Kind of depressing but, considering the alternatives I’ll take it.
I hear ya! I may have to suit up in something “dependable” soon!I just couldn’t believe I never woke up through the entire “emptying” process!
OMG this is hilarious. I am currently seeing a PP doctor as I have the cough problem. I will be starting physical therapy soon. My imagination is making it worse because I’m thinking they’ll make me hold a bowling ball between my knees. The vision of your husband in the bathtub (in my vision he’s IN the tub with the pillow) trying to wring out the derned this is hilarious. Also, check out CHUX pads. An ounce of prevention….
You know, our own Molly Stevens coined the “cough drop” term for that one last annoying drop that comes when you think you’re on empty! I just cannot believe I never woke up–it was not a trickle! How could I sleep through that??? Thanks for stopping by, Amy!
I am at the adhesive-pad-in-the-underwear stage. Fortunately, I still get some early warnings. When I am out, I pay close attention to the early warnings. When I am home, it is a whole other story. I hate that feeling of living in the bathroom.
As long as I am sitting down or lying down, I still have fairly good control. It’s when I stand up that the flood wants to come. To avoid this, I have to stay seated or lying down until I am able to gather enough muscle control to rush to the bathroom.
I can usually make it to the bathroom before the levee starts to break, provided that my cat doesn’t decide to get in front of me and weave back and forth in front of my feet or something else doesn’t slow me down. Even then, if I am wearing a pad, I won’t have to clean the bathroom floor afterward.
After managing to live for 72 years, I deserve better than this! LOL!
You have me laughing so hard, I need another pillow! It just doesn’t seem fair, does it? Pelvic floor muscles like slinkies! Thanks so much for writing.
“Laughing and crying, you know it is the same release” fortold by Joni Mitchell
It’s all about letting go, you know! 😉
Oh my, I have all this to look forward to
And so much more. Why, we haven’t even mentioned curly chin hairs, wiry gray eyebrows and new back fat! 🙂 Oh, I almost forgot, memory loss, ha ha. It’s not really so bad, much better than the alternative, as they say. Thanks so much for stopping by.
Women get the real shitty end of the stick don’t we?
Periods child birth menopause. Yay.
I bet you still find feathers for weeks! Thank goodness you have a good hubby.
Isn’t that the truth! You get rid of one hassle and get another in its place. Grrr. Thanks for stopping by!
Had what I thought was a funny answer but I didn’t check the data storage box so it wiped out my answer as a punishment. I just can’t repeat the wittiness I just displayed.
Oh, doesn’t that make you so mad? I’m not a repeat “wittier” either! You can never recreate it the way it was originally. I’ll just assume you are on your way to buy a box of Depends.
When I feel a sneeze coming on in bed, I will literally stand up with my legs crossed. Its like preparing for a tsunami. Sometimes it works, but other times, no matter my precautions, mother nature wins. Sigh.
HA! Oh, the trials and humiliation we endure as our bodies betray us!
Letme try this again. You are one funny girl!
Thanks, girlfriend!