Bladders Cannot Be Trusted

It’s not uncommon for kids to have accidents. Especially when you’re very little and have impossibly tricky over-all fastens, as I learned in kindergarten. I was never a bedwetter, but more than one occasion sleeping in my grandparent’s bed — waterbed — resulted in a rude awakening.

The sloshing. So much sloshing. I’m still amazed waterbeds were ever considered a good idea.

I am notorious for holding my bladder much longer than I should. Aside from all the obvious reasons for this being unadvisable, I recently learned the hard way how detrimental it can be. Life tip: Always go pee before getting into a car. Just go whenever you leave a place with a bathroom really. I was in a car accident in January that resulted in a week in the hospital and exploratory surgery, all because I didn’t pee before I left. Since I had a full bladder, the impact from the seatbelt and the airbags actually caused it to burst, throwing me into acute renal failure. The hospital couldn’t use contrast for the scans because my kidneys were shutting down. The scans showed fluid in my abdomen, and then air after a few days, but without contrast they couldn’t see where it was coming from or what it was. Instead, they had to dig around to find any holes, patching up the hole in my bladder. 10/10 DO NOT RECOMMEND.

Aside from an unfortunate “dutch oven fiasco” on a family trip to Mexico when I was 5, none of these incidents really carry any continued embarrassment. The memories are distant and I was young enough it didn’t matter much. There are, however, two times in back to back years that were completely mortifying, and I’m not really sure why I’m deciding to share them.

The Football Game

Middle school had a rough start for me. The summer before 7th grade, my mom grounded me for a year and made me transfer to a new school district. I had gotten very shy and self-conscious at that age, just wracked with social anxiety. My very first day of school, everyone standing around in the courtyard before class started, a group of 8th grade girls apparently felt like I needed a not-so-warm welcome, calling out my clothes and hair loud for everyone to hear. By the time lunch came around, I sat alone at a random table packed with other kids I was too afraid to talk to. Most of these kids had come from the same circle of elementary schools and knew all their friends for years. My not having lunch or any money for lunch made my solitude awkward enough, only made worse by the principle coming to sit with me. She offered to introduce me to some of the other students. She meant well, but only pointed out my loneliness to everyone at the table and those nearby. I immediately felt very hot and was surely blushing as much as my complexion allows, but decline. It did get some of the others talking to me though.

Being grounded made it a little harder to really make friends, but I managed. Still, I was only allowed to leave the house for anything if I was with my cousins. They were two years ahead of me, so that meant I got to hang out with high school kids and go to football games. Pretty shortly after starting at my new school, our district was playing my old school district. My best friend and crush from 6th grade would be there, and I was thrilled! My cousins and I would always be dropped off and picked up after the game, and they were “in charge” of me — meaning they would cover for me while I hung out with my old friends that I wasn’t allowed to have contact with anymore.

I was so nervous and excited I barely said a word the entire game. Instead I occupied my mouth by downing soda like I’d never see it again. And of course, I didn’t know where the bathroom was and was too nervous to ask. It’s incredible how much a preteen brain malfunctions around the person it likes. Because of some irrational fear of admitting I didn’t know where the bathroom was, or maybe that I had to pee in the first place, I resorted to holding it until we saw it wandering around the stadium. I had no idea where my cousins were, who would’ve known, and didn’t want to leave to go find them. We wandered around for at least an hour with me trying to hide my potty dance before I saw the sign for it, and still was too embarrassed to admit I needed to go. Once I finally gave in, the door was locked. I didn’t know if someone was in it, or if I had to get a key to get in, and no clue who to ask. I ran to catch up with the boys and prayed I could hold it until I got home.

No such luck.

Standing in front a group of friends and the boy I desperately wanted to impress, I tried playing off the undeniable dance as being cold. I specifically remember him even commenting on my incessant moving. My whole face felt hot as I watched his look at me with a sort of mocking suspicion. There was no doubt I was being weird and he wasn’t buying “cold” as an excuse.

If memory serves me right, I tried the door one more time. I couldn’t hold it much longer. My brain has blocked out the exact moment of horror, and before I knew it the flush of embarrassment washed over me and soaked through my jeans. In direct contradiction with being freezing, I tied my sweatshirt around my waist as fast as I could. It must have happened during my second attempt to get into the bathroom because I remember walking up to the group and the boy pointing out that I wasn’t shaking or shivering anymore. I have never been more grateful for black jeans.

I asked if we could sit in the stands for the rest of the game. It really was freezing outside, and the warmth down my legs very quickly turned my pants into what felt like painted on ice. I stayed silent for the rest of the game and the entire ride home, and didn’t tell anyone what happened until years later.

Longest Walk Home

The following years’ accident was slightly less mortifying, only for the fact that I wasn’t surrounded by people. I wasn’t around anyone for that matter. Just in full view of several houses.

Since I was going to school outside my district, I’d walk to my aunts house after school every day. Several of us would leave the school together, splitting off at our respective routes. I was the farthest, walking the last half of the way by myself.

It wasn’t a far walk, so I decided to hold my bladder until I got home so that everyone didn’t have to wait for me or leave without me. Everyone was already outside and ready to go, and it was one of those, “do I have to pee?” type situations where you might but it doesn’t really feel like it. The ones your parents always tell you to try anyways, just in case. I didn’t, determining I would be fine til I got home, and set off with my friends. It wasn’t until we’d already separated that it hit me. Those moments you all of a sudden have to pee so bad it almost hurts and seems to come out of nowhere. I still had about half my walk left and started to panic. If I ran, it might make it worse. If I didn’t, I might not make it. And this time my jeans were not at all black.

I think I did try running for a little bit when I started getting closer to the house, and it definitely made it worse. I set out at sort of a half job pace trying to get there as fast as possible without putting too much pressure on my bladder. Then, for a moment, I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn’t make it. I just stared ahead not wanting to see anyone around as I peed my pants in the middle of the street in broad daylight. Once again, my hoodie made it’s way to my waist. I ran the rest of the way home, splitting my energy between going as fast as I could and hoping no one was home — and that I had extra clothes there.

When I opened the door, there was my cousin, sitting on the couch right by the door. She gave me a quick once over, and before she could open her mouth I promptly demanded “NOT A WORD!!” and rushed to the bathroom to get cleaned up. She never said anything else, and neither did I. I had actually sort of forgot about this until she brought it up a few months back.

Moral of the story: Bladders cannot be trusted.