It would have been funny if it hadn't been me

Kegelcize. Pelvic floor muscle retraining. Bladder intuition (seriously).
I am learning the language of urology and how to connect it to my situation.

The last time I saw the urologist, I mentioned that I can't Kegel anymore. She assured me I shouldn't be concerned since this isn't a good time for me to be tightening those muscles. First we need to get them unclenched, and then we'll train them to relax or contract on command. "Besides," she said, "You've got vaginal valium going on and Baclofen and another muscle relaxer--it would be unusual if you could Kegel right now."

So good in theory.

Mornings are never my best time. I'm groggy and grouchy and I move with the grace and speed of a lurching cow. The only way I can survive the experience day in and day out is to have a structured routine. Any deviation from the plan inevitably ends up in chaos. I know this, but why do I have memory lapses? They just tilt me off balance and make me feel all in a tizzy even more than the resulting chaos. Managing BP has taught me to respect structure. It's a coping mechanism, not a lack of spontaneity. So they say.

I haven't slept well the last few nights, and it's making me less than happy to be awake in the morning. My house has hardwood floors that have a slick finish. The dog has developed arthritis, and she keeps spinning out as she tries to navigate the gorgeous and slippery red oak floors in the hallway, especially in the middle of the night when it's dark. Several times a night, I'm startled awake by the skattle-skattle-skattle of dog toenails desperately trying to get a foothold on the hardwood. Truth be told, Frank's enormous, evil cat is so fat now, that he also spins out if he goes down the hallway too fast--his balance isn't all it should be, either.

Last night was a long, jolting, dog-in-hallway night. I didn't sleep much, and I woke up late. Frank reminded me that I had left my laptop on all night and I mumbled that it was intentional, I was running a defrag on the hard drive. Frank started chattering from the kitchen that he never has to defrag his hard drive because XP is so stable, blah, blah, I shouldn't leave the computer on, vampire energy drain, blah, blah...

I walked into the dining room to check on the computer and make sure it was still alive so I could shut it down. Windows had also done an update, so there were open dialog boxes, and jee-zus, I had to pee. Just a second. This will only take a second. I actually crossed my legs like a dramatic six-year-old. I was shaking my sock-clad foot in an attempt to distract my brain from the messages being transmitted by my bladder. Just one more second...

I slid my foot back and forth on the floor. The socks are really cushy, and it feels intersting to slide my feet on the floor. Sometimes I do that Risky Business thing.

Finally, OK, computer's done. And the...I coughed. I coughed just as I've coughed thousands of times in the past few weeks. Except I leaked. My initial reaction was one of annoyance, but it was short-lived since I continued to leak. A lot. I was horrified. I crossed my legs hard at the thigh and sort of bent over, praying that Frank wouldn't walk in the room and witness my contortion.

It didn't stop and was getting worse. I needed to get to the bathroom immediately. It's at the opposite end of the house. I tried to sort of slide-shuffle toward the bathroom, still clamping my legs at the thigh, desperately trying to Kegel, to no avail.

I picked up the pace and could tell that in no uncertain terms, I was peeing my pants. I felt a warm trickle down my left leg. Having cleared the entrance to the kitchen where Frank was at the sink, I saw this as my opportunity to bolt down the hall to the bathroom, unseen. Peeing was now very much in progress. This is what I get for not going to the bathroom first. Stick to the damn routine, May. You know better.

I tried to run-hop with my legs slightly crossed and my thighs kind of wrapped around each other. I was so close, so close. I prayed I wasn't leaking onto the floor because I didn't want to explain, and I also didn't want Frank to think that Sparkle had another urinary tract infection. He would call the vet, and then I would have to make a surreptitious call later and explain it all to her.

My lurching, thudding pants-peeing, wet-pajamas-clad self barreling down the hall scared the enormous cat. He cowered and instead of running into the bedroom, panicked and ran toward me. That was the catastrophic moment. The cat got tangled in my feet, my stocking feet slid out behind me as I lunged for the bathroom door, causing me to fall, splayed flat out like a large May Voirrey trophy rug hallway runner.

The sound of my collapse was profound and the entire 1200 square feet of ranch house shuddered. The cat tore off to quieter corners, but Sparkle ran to me. She knows it's her job to help a distressed sheep. She couldn't figure out the next step, though, so she just stood there at my shoulder, panting...hhh. Hhh.Hhh.Hhh.

Frank bellowed from the kitchen. "What happened? Is the dog OK? Did the cat make her lose her footing in the hallway?" Is the dog OK? That was his first concern?

I called back that the dog was fine and the cat had actually tripped me. "Oh. Are you OK?" He still hadn't poked his head out of the kitchen, and at least I had some shred of dignity intact knowing that once assured the dog was OK, he wouldn't be checking up on the thunderous boom that had just come from the hallway.

I suppose that since the front of me was very wet, I had just, in fact, created my very own, self-contained Slip-N-Slide.

My knees hurt. I got up and hobbled into the bathroom to finish what my bladder had started. Was this going to be my future then? No ability to contract my pelvic muscles and prevent abject humiliation? Could I handle that with poise or would I have to handle it with Poise from now on? Had I just joined the ranks of middle-aged female incontinence, the stuff of daytime TV commercials?

After I showered, I discreetly rolled up my wet PJ's and put them in the wash. Trust me when I say, this is not a good way to start the morning.

I saw the urologist later today, and she explained what happened. She was very sympathetic and she told me that this probably wouldn't happen again, as long as I never let my bladder get very full. Then she jabbed me with very large needles full of nerve-numbing medication.

As soon as I got home, I headed for the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I went. With a big sigh, I peed happily until I realized that being so numb, I couldn't tell if I had finished or not. I didn't hear anything, but had the urge passed? There was no way to tell. It was akin to getting novocain at the dentist and worrying for the next four hours if you're drooling but unaware of it.

I fear gravity now and I am afraid to drink anything or stand up. I will die of dehydration and sedentary behavior, fossilized in one dry spot on the sofa.

The intial humiliation has passed. I keep going over it in my head, and the visual of literally flying down the hallway while peeing my pants is just...funny. So I shall laugh, at least, until next time when I will weep and hide indefinitely.