Emily Dawson

The Half-Second Look On His Face Cost Us 3 Years Of Intimacy

My six-year-old granddaughter yelled, “Grandma, you’re peeing!” in the checkout line at Target. She said it loud enough for the cashier to stop scanning. The woman behind us looked down. So did I. There was a dark patch spreading across the front of my jeans. I had felt the urge maybe twenty seconds earlier. One second I was helping Lucy choose between two packs of glitter pens. The next, my bladder was telling me I had to go right then. Our cart was already half empty. My purse was sitting beside the card reader, and Lucy was holding a birthday card we had not paid for yet. The woman behind us had started putting her groceries on the belt. To leave, I would have needed to gather everything, stop the cashier, and get Lucy across the store with me. My body gave me less time than any of that would take. I thought I could wait for the receipt. I was wrong. The cashier looked about nineteen. “You can go,” she said quietly. “I’ll keep your cart here.” I tied my sweater around my waist and nodded. Lucy followed me to the bathroom, still carrying the birthday card. She kept asking if I was hurt. I cleaned myself up with wet paper towels and pulled my sweater lower. Then I took her through the clothing section and bought the first pair of black sweatpants I could find. Lucy stood beside the sink while I changed. Every few seconds, she pushed another paper towel under the stall door. “Are we in trouble?” she asked. “No, sweetheart.” I could hear people coming in, washing their hands, and leaving while we stayed behind that door. When we came back, the same cashier rang up the sweatpants with the rest of our things. She didn’t mention what had happened, and I was grateful. In the car, Lucy was quiet in her booster seat. Then she said, “I won’t tell Mom you peed.” I turned around. “You can tell Mom. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I called my daughter from the parking lot. “Lucy is okay,” I said. “I wet myself in the checkout line.” She came to pick Lucy up that afternoon. ===== She came to pick Lucy up that afternoon. Lucy went into the living room with her glitter pens, and my daughter sat with me at the kitchen table. “Has this happened before?” she asked. I told her about the small leaks that had started almost four years earlier. A little when I sneezed or laughed. Once while lifting a bag of potting soil. I blamed having two kids and bought thin pads. The sudden urges came later. I could drive home feeling fine, then put my key in the front door and have to pee right then. Some days I barely made it inside. Other times I reached the bathroom and hardly anything came out. I couldn’t understand why I felt so desperate when my bladder was almost empty. Before long drives, I skipped coffee. I used the bathroom before leaving a restaurant, even if I’d gone when we arrived. At the grocery store, I chose the checkout closest to the bathroom. “How long?” my daughter asked. “Almost four years.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I thought I could handle it.” She told me she’d noticed I was taking Lucy out less often. I’d blamed traffic or the weather. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to keep her as much anymore.” “I love having her.” “I know,” she said. “Have you seen a doctor?” “Once.” ===== By the time I went, I’d already spent eight months doing Kegels. I did them while brushing my teeth and sitting at red lights, though I was never sure I was squeezing the right muscles. I bought a trainer that connected to an app. It gave me a low score every time, so I kept trying to do the exercises better. After a few months, I still couldn’t tell any difference. My doctor asked about coffee and whether I used the bathroom before leaving home. I told her I skipped coffee before trips and sometimes went twice before I got in the car. “It still hits when there’s hardly anything there,” I said. She suggested bladder training and gave me an exercise sheet. Medication was another option if the urges kept getting worse. Back at the kitchen table, my daughter asked, “Would you see someone else?” “Yes.” She found a women’s health clinic and texted me the number. At the clinic, I told Denise, the nurse, about Target. She asked when the leaking began and whether it happened when I coughed or laughed. When I mentioned the sudden urges, she asked how often I woke at night and whether much came out when I reached the bathroom. Then she asked, “Does it get worse when you put your key in the front door?” I looked at her. “Yes. How did you know?” “I hear that one a lot.” She asked when my periods stopped. “About five years ago.” “So about a year before the leaks?” I nodded. I’d never thought to mention my periods when talking about my bladder. “That timing matters,” Denise said. “Weak muscles may be part of it, but they don’t explain everything you’ve told me.” She told me the urethra is the little tube urine comes out of. Soft tissue around it helps keep it closed. Estrogen helps keep that tissue thick and flexible. When estrogen falls, it can get thinner. Then a cough or a laugh can be enough for a little urine to slip through. I thought about the leaks I’d blamed on having kids. She said the bladder has a thin lining inside that keeps urine from irritating it. It’s called the GAG layer, and she wrote GAG on my visit notes. Hyaluronic acid was part of it. When estrogen falls, that lining may not protect as well. Then the urge can hit even when there’s hardly any urine there. “So why didn’t the Kegels fix it?” I asked. “They work on the muscles,” she said. “You were dealing with more than the muscles.” For years, I thought every accident meant I lacked control. Denise was the first person to connect the leaks, false alarms, and timing around menopause. I had been working on one part because it was the only part anyone had told me about. “So what should I do?” I asked. Denise wrote Elavie at the bottom of my visit notes. “You could try this,” she said. “It has the hyaluronic acid we were talking about, along with pumpkin seed for the sudden urges. She wrote the name on my visit notes so I could find it when I got home. That night, I looked up the name Denise had written on my notes and ordered it. When it came, I put it beside the coffee maker and took it with breakfast and dinner. For the first two weeks, nothing felt different. I still used the bathroom before leaving home, then headed straight for it when I got back. One afternoon, I came home, put my purse on the kitchen counter, and started opening the mail. Halfway through, I realized I hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Usually, I headed straight there the moment I got inside. The next day, the urge hit when I turned my key again. I barely made it inside, so I figured I’d just had one good day. After that, I got home without rushing more often. I still had to hurry some days, so I kept a pad in my purse. About two months after the accident, Lucy stayed with me again. She needed glue sticks for school, and Target was the closest place that had them. I glanced at the checkout lanes when we walked in. Lucy was already headed for the school supplies. We found the glue sticks, picked up a few groceries, and looked at the toys. Lucy found a stuffed turtle almost as big as she was. The checkout lines were long. I stood there listening to Lucy explain why she needed a stuffed turtle almost as big as she was. Then she looked toward the back of the store. “Grandma, you didn’t go to the bathroom.” Until she said it, I had not thought about my bladder once. “I guess I didn’t.” She studied me for a second, decided this was no longer interesting, and went back to arguing for the turtle. We left with the glue sticks and without the turtle. I still keep a pad in my purse. Some days I still have to hurry. But I can take Lucy shopping without spending the whole trip watching for a bathroom. https://elaviedaily.com/products/elavie-bladder-support