A Bladder Matter

We'd just had a series of cold, grey days. It was a pre-cursor to winter and difficult to shake the tired feeling that accompanies cheerless weather. I felt fatigued, spent.

I was tucked under a big squishy duvet. The kind that gently engulfs your chilled, weary body as soon as you get into bed. Coccoons every part of you in an indulgent embrace. I felt sleep approaching easily and I was ready for it to draw me in like a deep cleansing sigh.

And I slept. Amazingly well. Deeper than the ocean. Hours passed and I remained disengaged from every sound, every stressor, every temporal affair.

Except one.

I had to pee. And some fragment of my brain knew it. But it's voice against the masses was miniscule. A blip on the subconscious radar. The rest of my body wanted to stay right where it was - in a deep, beautiful abyss of uninterrupted slumber. But as minutes passed, the real-life pressure on my bladder persisted, advancing from a feeling of annoyance to anguish. And soon that miniscule voice became a shout and then a roar that could not be ignored.

So, they - the pee part and the sleep part of me - arrived at a compromise.

And suddenly, I was at a toilet. A big, clean, white bowl, mine for the taking. I hurriedly sat down and felt that familiar, grateful, pang of relief. Ahhhhhh... I peed like a pro. Like a racehorse. Like I'd been retaining all the water in all the oceans in all the world since the beginning of time. And I was grateful.

Until I woke up. In my bed. In my pee.

And that feeling - is not one you need ever experience. The relief was almost simultaneously cancelled out by the horror at what I'd just done. I reached down to confirm the worst. My flannel ducky pajamas were soaked. I gasped. The gasp woke up Corn.

"I just peed the bed!" I blurted and threw off the covers. Then I ran bowlegged for the bathroom, clutching my crotch.

When I returned to the bedroom, clean-up supplies in hand, Corn was up and wearily pulling drenched sheets off the mattress. He didn't say much. Actually, nothing. At first I thought he was mad, but quickly realized he was still half-asleep. It was 3 in the morning after all. I, on the other hand was in a complete frenzy. I felt like a superball on speed. I was delirious, incredulous and giddily embarassed. The only other time I peed the bed was when I shared a room with my sister. I didn't know the protocol for doing it in adulthood. And not to mention how to rationalize or explain it to Corn.

But I didn't have to. He was so tired, that he crept back onto his (dry) side of the mattress, turned away from the scene of the crime, pulled a blanket up over his shoulder and readied again for sleep.

But I, having just stunned myself into re-evaluating myself as a fully-functioning adult, was nowhere near falling back asleep. Towels, sponges, sprays in hand - I got to work on the platter-sized stain leeching into my posturpedic. I hopped around, laughing nervously and blathering away to the back of Corn's head about how I couldn't believe what just happened, how I was sorry, how embarrassed I felt, how I was dreaming about a toilet, how that must have been a really deep sleep and would he please please never ever TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS EVERRRR??!!!

He promised groggily.

Then a whole new series of thoughts struck me: What if this isn't a one-time thing? What if this happens again? Will I have to buy rubber sheets? Will I have to wear diapers? What if I have an underlying medical problem? What if I'm incontinent the rest of my life? I went on and on inventing ailments and scenarios as I scrubbed and cleaned and dabbed and sprayed.

"Man," I sighed, shaking my head. "I just can't believe I did this. I'm 31 years old and I peed the bed." It was more a self-assertion than anything.

Corn stirred. He turned to face me, his eyes alert. And with all the earnesty in the world he said,

"You're 31?"

I literally fell to the floor laughing. And not a nervous "I'm a bedwetter" laugh. A real one. Because in all the havoc I had created, in all the insanity of the scene, THAT'S what he singled out as important. And in that moment, I knew my self-induced chaos was irrelevant. Big deal. So I took a whiz in the bed. I'm sure I'm not the only one. It's not like I peed my pants at a job interview. As a matter of fact, I might wet the bed again (not that I have). Maybe just for fun (not that I would). But I chilled out about it and as dumb as it sounds, I felt lucky to have Corn. Easygoing, calm, best-ever Corn. And I'm happy to tell you I haven't wet the bed in 5 months.

And that's why the next day, I told the story to anyone who would listen. Can't let a little bedwetting ruin a good story. Even if it happens to you.