Women's Natural Wellness

Stop the Urgency at the Source. Naturally.

I heard my daughter-in-law tell my son she didn't want me holding the baby anymore. “She smells like pee, Mark. I'm not putting him on her lap.” I was in their laundry room, matching the little socks that never seemed to come out in pairs. The kitchen was right around the corner. Mark said something too low for me to hear. Then Claire said, “His pajamas smelled like it last time. I had to change him.” I kept looking for the other blue sock. There wasn't much I could say. She was right. I'd showered before I came over and put on clean clothes. There was a fresh pad in my underwear. Somewhere between getting out of my car and putting their towels in the dryer, I'd leaked again. I hadn't thought anyone could tell. Their little boy, Owen, was eight weeks old. My first grandchild. When Mark called to say he was born, I left my grocery cart with a woman at the service desk and drove to the hospital. The frozen chicken could wait. Claire let me hold him before her own sister got there. She took a picture of us and sent it to me that night. I had it printed and put it beside my bed. So please don't picture some awful daughter-in-law who had been waiting for a reason to push me out. Claire was tired. Her baby had come back smelling like urine. She wanted him clean, and she hadn't known I could hear her. That made it harder to be angry. A few minutes later, she walked into the laundry room with Owen against her shoulder. “Could you stay a little longer? I haven't eaten yet.” “Of course.” Usually, that meant she'd hand him to me and eat something while it was still hot. This time she called Mark in from the garage. He took the baby. I made her a sandwich. We all acted like that was how we'd planned it. On the drive home, I tried to remember whether I'd smelled anything while getting dressed or sitting beside her. I couldn't. The next day I bought heavier pads, the scented kind. Before visits, I washed everything twice and skipped my morning coffee. Mark called later that week. We talked about his job. Then he went quiet for a second. “Mom, we're trying to get Owen settled into a routine. Maybe for now, we could leave him with Claire when you come over.” “Of course, honey.” He sounded relieved. I asked about work again so he wouldn't have to keep explaining. They still wanted me there. Claire asked what time I was coming and saved me a plate if I was late. But when she needed both hands, she called Mark. I started doing the dishes without being asked. One Sunday, her mother stopped by. Owen went right into her arms while Claire finished eating. I asked if anyone wanted more coffee. After that, I stopped waiting for someone to offer me a turn. I'd put away his clean clothes, setting aside the things he'd already grown out of. Some of them were outfits I'd bought while Claire was pregnant. He'd worn them and gotten too big for them while I was still being careful not to ask. I told myself I was helping. Their laundry was done, and there was dinner in the fridge. At home, I'd look at that hospital picture. He was getting bigger in every new photo they sent. The baby in my arms was still a few hours old. I'm sixty-four. The leaks had started years earlier, around the time my periods stopped. At first, it was a little when I coughed or picked up something heavy. I blamed having two kids and getting older. Then I'd get a sudden need to go that barely gave me time to stand up. Sometimes I'd just been to the bathroom. I'd hurry back and hardly pee. Even running water at the sink could set it off. I did my Kegels. A physical therapist checked that I was doing them right. They helped some with coughing. The sudden urges kept happening, though, and eventually I stopped expecting much more. A pad was easier than explaining it all again. Over the years, I'd gotten good at hiding it. There was spare underwear in my purse. Before a long drive, I'd drink just enough water to take my pills. I knew which stores had bathrooms near the entrance. None of that had seemed like a big problem when I could still do what I wanted. But getting ready to see Owen was taking longer each week. I'd shower, dress, check myself, and change the pad again before leaving. Then I'd get there and spend the visit in the kitchen. About a month after I heard Claire in the kitchen, I developed a rash where the pad sat. It burned when I walked, and I couldn't get it to settle down. That was what finally got me to make an appointment. My regular doctor was booked. I saw a nurse practitioner named Susan. She examined the rash, then asked how long I'd been using scented pads. “About a month.” “What were you using before?” I told her. She asked why I'd switched. “The smell.” Then I told her about Owen before I could decide how much to say. “I wash,” I said. “You probably hear that all the time, but I do.” “I believe you.” She waited while I got through the part about his pajamas. We talked about the rash, the leaks, and how little I'd been drinking before visits. She said cutting back on water could make my urine more concentrated and the smell stronger. I needed to stop using the scented pads, too. They could be making the irritation worse. Then she asked when my periods had stopped. Nobody had asked me that when we talked about the exercises. I told her the leaks had started around the same time. She checked for an infection. We went through the leaks when I lifted something and the times I barely made it to the bathroom. She asked whether those sudden urges came even when I'd just gone. “Yes. I go back, and there's hardly anything.” I'd thought it all meant I couldn't hold my urine anymore. Susan explained that estrogen helps keep the soft tissue around the urine opening thick and moist. That tissue helps the little tube urine comes through stay closed. After menopause, estrogen drops. The tissue can get thinner and drier, so the opening may not close as firmly when you cough, laugh, or lift something. I'd spent years thinking I just needed to squeeze harder. Nobody had told me the tissue itself could get thinner. Then she explained the sudden urges. The bladder has a protective lining inside. If it gets irritated, the bladder can become more sensitive and start telling you to go before it's full. “Your bladder can start overreacting,” she said. “The feeling is strong, but there may not be much urine in there.” That was what had confused me. I'd hurry to the bathroom, barely pee, and wonder why I hadn't been able to hold it. I had blamed the muscles for that, too. Susan explained that Kegels work the pelvic-floor muscles. They don't directly treat thinning tissue or an irritated bladder lining. Those were different things we needed to look at, and I'd been answering all of them with the same squeezing exercises. Susan went through the options with me and suggested I look at Elavie. “I'll send you the link,” she said. “Take a look before our follow-up. We can go over any questions then.” That evening, I opened the notes from my visit. Her link was there with the instructions for the rash and the bladder diary. I read the page, then looked up the ingredients one at a time. I wanted to understand what they were supposed to do before I ordered anything. Hyaluronic acid helps keep tissue moist. Pumpkin seed and soy germ extracts had also been studied for bladder control. Magnesium glycinate supplies magnesium, which muscles and nerves need to work properly. I didn't know how much difference it would make for me. But after years of exercises and buying pads, I wanted to give it a try. Mark and Claire didn't know I'd ordered a bottle. There was no reason to get their hopes up, too. The bottle arrived a few days later, and I started taking it every day. For a while, I couldn't tell any difference. I was still doing the dishes on Sundays. One morning, I finished washing the breakfast things before going to the bathroom. Usually, the running water had me leaving them in the sink. I figured I'd had a good day. Then I leaked at the grocery store and came home needing to change. That nearly put me off the whole thing. But over the next several weeks, those afternoons weren't happening as often. I still hurried to the bathroom sometimes. More often, I had enough warning to put down what I was carrying first. The rash cleared up. I drank my water and kept doing the exercises. Getting ready for Sundays started taking less time. I could get dressed and leave without changing the pad once more on my way out. Owen was getting bigger, and I still hadn't held him. Then one Sunday, Claire was opening a box of baby clothes her sister had sent. Owen was wriggling on her hip. She tried to pull the tape off one-handed, gave up, and turned to me. “Here, take him.” I set my coffee on the end table and reached for him. She went back to the box. There was a pair of overalls big enough for a two-year-old, and she held them up, laughing. Owen grabbed my finger with both hands and pulled it toward his mouth. I told her Mark used to chew on my knuckles until they were sore. “Was he a drooler, too?” “Terrible. Your couch wouldn't have stood a chance.” She kept unpacking while I held her son. By the time Mark came in, Owen was asleep against my chest. He asked if I needed anything. “Just move that coffee where I can reach it.” I stayed until he woke up, and I didn't think about my bladder once. I still have an occasional bad day, and there's spare underwear in my purse. I've put the page Susan sent me below. It's the one I read after that appointment.