• True Story
• Length: 1694 words; ≈8 min read
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• Rating: 4.80 (100 voted)

I've always struggled with bladder problems to some degree or another. These days it's little more than a nuisance, but when I was a kid it was absolute hell at times. I was a bedwetter off and on for years, and even as I got older I'd have the occasional accident if I got too far from a toilet at the wrong time. The worst it got though was for a period of about five months when I was in seventh grade. I was nearly dry at night, I was even risking sleepovers without pull-ups, it seemed that all those wet beds would soon be behind me. I still wet two or three times a month, which I managed with a rubber sheet on my mattress. I did my own laundry and made my own bed, so some of the time my parents didn't even know I'd had a wet night. All of a sudden though I started having more wet beds. Two nights, then three, then four, five, six. I wet the bed every night for a week straight. It was something that hadn't happened in a long time. Then, walking to swimming practice after school one day I found myself needing a toilet that minute. I wet my pants and had to skulk into the change room late to keep from being found out. Mom noted that I was going to the bathroom a lot one afternoon, but didn't think too much of it. Then later that night I had an accident while playing video games, and hadn't even noticed I'd had to pee. By the end of those two weeks I'd had ten wet beds, two accidents at home, one out in public, and I was going to the bathroom constantly. I felt lethargic and Mom and Dad found that I was really short tempered and emotional all of a sudden. Mom and Dad took me to the doctor. I had to pee in a cup and got scheduled for an ultrasound for the following week. In the mean time the doctor suggested pull-ups. I still wore pull-ups from time to time away from home, but I increasingly saw them as something from my past. Not any more. Mom bought me a fresh pack and I had to wear them to bed every night again. Not embarrassing enough, I managed to overfill them the first two nights. So Mom went out again and this time got me a larger brand. They were big and white and not at all discrete. They didn't even fit under my boxer shorts that I wore to bed. They had tabs too, so that somebody could put the on me or take them off like a baby diaper if they wanted to, although that never happened. We didn't even call them pull-ups, they were my "night diapers". They worked though at least. The fresh box of pull-ups didn't go to waste though as Mom and Dad sat me down and asked me to start wearing them during the day. I was pulled from school and swimming (thank god!), and home schooled until we figured out what was causing this problem and got it under control. I was pretty miserable but put up a good front. By the time my ultrasound appointment came the following week I couldn't even make it through a whole day without at least a little accident. I was excited to get results. I had to take off my shirt as it was a full abdominal scan. Not a big deal, but I didn't want the lady to see my pull-ups. So I hiked my pants up and cinched up my belt. I laid down and she said, "I'm just going to undo your belt here and the fly on your pants." She didn't hesitate, revealing my pull-up. She didn't make any response. I wasn't sure if she knew why I was there or if she just knew what needed to be scanned. Even if she had known, she couldn't have suspected a twelve year old would be wearing a pull-up! None the less she showed no sign of surprise. She scanned from the bottom of my ribs down, and when she got lower she said, "I'm just going to pull your diaper down a bit here." She did, and I felt my face flush. She scanned my bladder and spleen, and I still wonder if she could see my bladder leaking on her screen as I nervously peed into my pull-up. The tests took days to come back and revealed nothing at all. I had to give a blood test then, which came back with nothing either. After that it turned into wait and see. My friends started wondering what was going on. I was missing a lot of school and swimming. They came over to play video games, but I didn't dare move from the couch for fear that getting up would make my damp pull-ups too noticeable. I was put into counseling, an hour twice a week where I got to talk about peeing my pants and how it made me feel. They figured I was depressed and maybe that was causing my problems. But which really came first was hard to say. I tried going to a chiropractor. She was up in the city so it was a long drive. Supposedly she'd cured bedwetting in some other kids and I was her newest challenge. I literally had to wear nothing but a pull-up with some boxers over top and she contorted me and cracked all my bones. There was also a hypnotist. He'd been helping my mom lose weight and end her food addiction, so maybe he could help me. He'd tell me to close my eyes and imagine I had to pee. He loved the story of the Dutch boy putting his finger in the dike to stop the flood. Imagine your bladder is the ocean, and you are the little boy holding it back. You can't take your finger out of the dike, no matter what. He succeeded only in turning me into a cynic. I quickly refused to go see him again and have been wary of quackery like that ever since. School ended and summer began. I was really starting to miss out. Mom and Dad determined it was time to resort to the test that they were hoping we could avoid. I was taken to the hospital early one morning and sent off with a nurse. Most of the procedure had been explained to me but it was still terrifying. The nurse was a nice lady. She told me not to be shy, everyone was a professional and was there to help me. I dressed in just a hospital gown and was lead to a table in an x-ray lab. I was given a mild sedative to keep me calm. I think it was like the laughing gas you get at the dentist as a kid. I had to lay down and let the nurse put numbing agent on my privates, then sit there and wait, exposed. When I was numb she had me bend my legs like a frog as she inserted a catheter, which still hurt and was really uncomfortable. The doctors injected a dye into my bladder and then took some x-rays. Then I had to pee it out while still lying there and getting X-rayed. When the test was all done she cleaned me up, still high as a kite, dressed me in a green hospital diaper like a baby, and put me put me to bed so I could rest and wait for the results and my senses to return. It was awful. But we went for ice cream afterwards. The test came back negative, nothing was found out of order, so we were back to square one once again. Testing continued, but was never that extreme again. It was mostly nerve and muscle tests with a physiotherapist. I'd have to do jumping jacks, stretches, and somersaults while wearing nothing but a pull-up and gym shorts. And had to have electrodes attached to me during a bunch of other exercises. It all amounted to nothing. We moved on, went camping and did some road trips. And for another month and a half I didn't wear regular underwear. It felt normal to wear pull-ups. And normal to walk around before bed in my night diapers and a t-shirt. Even my big brother and sister got so used to it that it wasn't even acknowledged. I didn't even notice when I finally had a dry spell, but mom did. One morning I woke up with a wrapped present on the kitchen table. It was seven pairs of underwear. Not quite regular underwear. They were basically briefs with an absorbent pad sewed in and a waterproof layer to guard against small accidents, but god I loved them! They looked and felt enough like regular underwear for me to feel like a healthy kid again. Slowly I started using pull-ups less during the day. Saving them for car rides, events away from home, and bad days where the absorbent briefs couldn't keep up. I still used the night diapers though, even if I needed them less too. I no longer even had the confidence to consider not using them at night. By the time school rolled around I even had my regular old briefs back again. Although most of the time I wore the absorbent briefs to class, just in case. I rejoined swimming. And I got to trying curling on a team too in the winter. I flourished at both. Slowly the problem subsided like a bad dream, with no explanation as to why it ever happened. By January when I turned thirteen I'd even started sleeping without my night diapers at home. I only wore pull-ups during the day for a couple vacation plane rides and a really long car trip. By 14 the night diapers were just kept for when I felt like I needed them. I only had a a couple wet beds that year. I once again was able to put bedwetting behind me.