High School

When I was 14, I wet the bed. I hadn’t wet the bed since I was a toddler. I was scared and confused. Don’t worry, Mom said. It’s probably a fluke.

But it wasn’t. I wet, night after night.

Mom was great. She was calm and reassuring. She convinced me that wearing protection was sensible and hygienic, not punishment or a sign of immaturity.

I saw doctors — our family doctor, then urologists and neurologists. They all agreed that it wasn’t childhood bedwetting — it wasn’t hormones or a small bladder. I wasn’t going to outgrow it. But they could not find a reason or a cure.

Once I got past the initial shock of the wet bed, the despair at being a chronic bedwetter and the humiliation (and discomfort) of wearing a diaper, however, my bedwetting and diaper wearing stopped bothering me. A diaper took care of the consequences, and wearing and laundering one became as much a part of my bedtime and morning routine as brushing my teeth.

It didn’t affect my social life. I dated and had a serious boyfriend. I didn’t tell him, because he didn’t need to know. I went on sleepovers and school trips. I could discreetly change in a sleeping bag or under covers.

After a year or two of wetting every night, I started to have an occasional dry night. My wetting became less and less frequent until, by my senior year in high school, I was dry for a month or more at a time. When I did wet, it was in streaks of a few nights in a row. It was light enough that I could use a disposable. I stopped wearing protection at home, other than for a week or two after the few times that I did wet. I did wear when I was away from home.


3 thoughts on “High School

  1. Hello Cat,

    Thank you so much for your directness in your blog about a difficult subject. It is so hard to find forthright sharing of experiences and advice. I had experiences similar to your own. I began to have accidents again when I was 11. I had just started 6th grade and had been dry since I was eight. By the time I was 15 or 16 I was dry again…mostly. The “mostly” was perhaps the most difficult part. Though by senior year of high school I was effectively dry, I still had occasional random accidents every few months. Each incident was an emotional letdown. I’d feel “normal” and “grown up” and then I’d wet again. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I still had to have plastic on my bed and needed to wear the “night pants” under my pajamas when we stayed away from home.

    I am dry now and have been for many years. I’ve shared a bed with a wonderful wife for nearly 30 years. Yet I still feel a twinge of nervousness at bedtime, especially when staying at other peoples houses. The shame has never completely gone away.

    • Thank you, David.

      I’ve been promising to write about my recent conversations with my Mom. Your comment touches on something she reminded me of: Contrary to the sound of my post – that I had smooth progress from nightly wetting – it was a roller coaster of hope on a dry morning, with an inevitable wet crash a day or week or month later.

      You’re right: The longer the string of dry nights, the worse the wet morning felt.

      I’ll write more about it soon.


  2. Pingback: Frequency | Bedwetting Mom

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