Whoopi Goldberg and I
I've gotten sortof used to having my legs not work particularly well by the end of the day. I expect that. But I absolutely HATE those days when the muscle controlling my bladder exit decides to do its job in a sloppy way.
It's warm. I don't like the three underpant days when it is warm. Or anytime, actually. I spend my time gazing at washrooms and wishing I was a man with a longer tube. I don't feel the urge to pee, until it is too late. I don't seem to be able to empty fully without abdominal support. And I hate hate hate the thought of wearing a pad that will hold the pee like a baby's diaper. I dread the smell oozing out around the edges.
There are so many indignities with this illness. I'm okay with a lot of the things that bother others - using a cane, staggering, forgetting things, getting lost, storing the milk in the oven, losing my balance. But there are a couple of things that mess with my head.
Losing my vision terrifies me. And incontinence is just unspeakably awful.
I am supposed to drink much fluid to avoid growing more kidney stones. How? I'm supposed to be (and like to be) a sexual being - how? I want to be pretty - how, with the miasma of stale pee surrounding me?
On the good side, my dog finds me intensely interesting, and picks up any undies I discard momentarily onto the floor. I'm thinking of training him to take them to the washing machine.
Which he likes anyway, since recently, it smells a lot of pee.
I can only hope this, too, passes. Pun intended.