Before finalizing the title of this blog update, I wanted to make sure “FORAY” fits the story. So I asked my language consultant Ms Google.
I am so proud of being networked with the Googles, a family of awesome experts in various fields of knowledge. I have consulted with Dr Google and Atty Google. Now it’s Ms Google, the know-it-all language chick. She advised me “foray” is the word if I am making a sudden attack or incursion into enemy territory, especially to obtain something, a raid. Her response got me all excited! It doesn’t take much to get me so excited in old age. My word choice is right. Foray is the word.
A couple of months ago a medical problem I couldn’t blame on Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer Stage 4 suddenly popped into my existence. The issue: I was putting out copious amounts of urine. On referrals of my primary care physician Dr PCP, I saw in quick succession a urologist, a gynecologist, back to urologist, back to PCP. Urologist gave me a prescription for antidepressant pills that also treat bed wetting kids. I did not comply because I was neither depressed nor a bed wetting kid. The gynecologist did nothing. Instead, he gave me an insight to state-of-the-art treatments for Overactive Bladder and suggested I return to the urologist and bug her. She might just try any of the new techniques. On my revisit, the urologist floated an idea of sending me to a physical therapist. I ended up more baffled and less relieved.
As it turned out, the urine test at the urologist’s office revealed a severe urinary tract infection (UTI). It was the mother of all UTI’s! Treatment of the UTI eliminated everything that was ailing me. But until I started feeling better and convinced Overactive Bladder was not the cause of the tremendous amounts of urine I was dumping into sanitary sewer systems everywhere, I had no choice but to get a grip on what I thought was permanent incontinence. Thus the word foray. I forayed into the land of adult diapers. I had the crying need to know. Here and now, I share with those who give a hoot what I learned.
If incontinence is in fact in the cards, I discovered there is nothing to worry about. According to Dr Google, 13 studies revealed that 30% to 50% of adult women in the United Stated are incontinent. That’s quite a big spread. I decided 50% is the more accurate number because I was adding myself to it. It’s more reassuring that incontinence is normal. He also said there had been stigma about incontinence until adult diaper manufacturer Depends used June Allison, the fabulous movie star of the 40’s and 50’s in adult diaper television commercials. For me, personally, stigma means zip, nothing, nada. As long as I’m not hurting anyone, I go ahead and do my thing.
I went shopping for adult diapers in brick-and-mortar stores and online. What a world to behold! All kinds and brands of incontinent products in existence greeted my eyeballs. I saw absorbent pads of various thicknesses, pull-up diapers that resemble panties for all sizes, for day time use, night time use, and everything in between. In my opinion, the biggest, most effective adult diapers come from Denmark. Each piece has the dimensions of a thick rectangular kitchen cutting board. I guess it is for a woman or man with a square crotch. Okay, just kidding. The diaper is not ideal for wearing under a skirt or pants and walking around but it is perfect for night time use. I know. I used it one night when I had no intentions of getting up to go potty. I just let ‘er rip!
I wish I had known about adult diapers when I was younger. I could have used them a year after I became a widow the first time. I was one of the women CEO’s invited to a camp with young California girls who wanted to learn about us CEO’s who were not men. The camp took place in a forest outside San Francisco. I flew in from New Mexico. I remember the girls slept in tents outdoors in while the CEO’s enjoyed beds in a permanent rustic building. But the plumbed toilet was located half the length of a football field. I remember clearly how I wished I was in a tent among the girls so I could just get out of the tent and go pee-pee. Imagine walking in the dark on a woody rolling hill from the CEO quarters to the toilet! Who knew what nocturnal animals lurked in the pitch dark? I was not a seasoned camper and the thought of bringing a flashlight never occurred to me. Those Danish adult diapers would certainly have guaranteed nice restful sleep nights for the camping duration.
The engineer in me told me to dismantle one of the best adult diapers to see how and why it works. How can it hold a whole night of piss? I found the answer. Inside the pad is silica gel, the same material commercial plant nursery owners add to the soil to minimize frequency of watering for certain plants leased to offices.
Then I thought why should diapers have to be worn like panties? Why don’t manufacturers make a wide rectangular pad using the same material and the incontinent person just lie naked on top of it and let ‘er rip? Then it dawned on me: Maybe I’m reinventing the wheel. Maybe there is already such a product. So back to online shopping I went and voila! I chanced upon a bed pad advertised next to the pull-up diapers. It promoted comfort, freedom from accidental spill, never having to worry ever again about lost sleep, yada yada. Like a true red-blooded diaper warrior, I ordered one.
With great anticipation, I opened the package delivered by Fedex. I used the bed pad that night. Boy howdy! Was I in for a rude awakening from untruthful advertising! Sure, the bed did not get wet but a cold dampness on my back woke me up in the middle of the night. I was up to my neck in my unwanted body fluid. I jumped up and yanked the pad out and tossed it in the trash can.
I continued my knowledge acquisition. I found a group of men and women who do have diaper fetish! They talk about loving the soft caress of the dry pad, the joy of being all dressed up, appearing normal, smiling demurely, and carrying on a delightful conversation while urinating in their diapers, unbeknownst to the party across the table and everybody else in the room.
Now I know I’m still in control of my bladder. But I’m not jumping up and down in celebration. Etched in my mind is a fine line that divides mature women into 50% continent and 50% incontinent. I am the dot clinging precariously on that statistical line. Fortunes do change rapidly. If or when incontinence happens, my inner Mehitabel will simply tell me, You’re in the company of distinguished high-level folks, Ms Senior Babe! The astronauts wear diapers in space. Even on earth! I know for a fact because I followed a True Crime story. One female astronaut drove far to try to eliminate the competition for her male astronaut-lover’s affection. But first she outfitted herself with a heavy-duty, super absorbent diaper. It sure eliminated the need for a rest stop which would only have delayed her diabolical mission.
I think my inclination would be more toward the positive and joyful applications of diapers — like what the diaper fetishists say and do.
Happy dance!
Celia Ruiz Tomlinson 