Well, I'm asking for it now, am I not? But, a title either fits or it doesn't and this one does.
Today was one of those crazy days where too much was on the plate and there was just not enough time to pee.
Liv is snack manager this week at school. This means that for one week she (we) is responsible for bringing a snack for her entire class. 16 kids. Not a biggie, really. But not a smallee either because I can't just go out and buy muffins. No. Liv's school is not only very green, they are very nutrition conscious. So, the treat must be nutritious. I bought clementines for today but figured that I would figure it all out one day at a time.
As I was making Liv's lunch, I discovered that we were nearly out of baggies. So, I made a mental note to add that to my morning chore list along with
1) picking up dry cleaning
2) buying a new ink jet refill for the printer
3) wandering the grocery store for the other four days of treats (granola bars? grapes? something that wouldn't bankrupt me?)
4) walking the dog
5) making it to my 9:00 appointment with my pain management team (yes, I am so far gone that I actually have a team)
6) cleaning the bathroom, which was filthy
I took Liv to school and bowed out of my Monday morning coffee group (the bad mothers plus one bad dad, Jack.) This killed me as I totally love this weekly get-to-gether and find that it keeps me sane in more ways than one.
I didn't have time for breakfast, but took a can of Atkins with me in the car while I drove Liv to school. I was feeling guilty because I let her eat two doughnuts for breakfast while I cleaned the bathroom instead of making her a nice hot bowl of cream of wheat or oatmeal or something. Bad mother! Bad mother!
This would explain why she was acting like she had just taken a fistful of uppers in the car. She fiddled with the radio stations, incessantly (I thought) talked ALL the way there.
I sent a brief, heartfelt thought of apology to her teacher. I'm so sorry that I am sending you a child who is behaving like she is on crack. No, she just ate two krispy kremes for breakfast because I couldn't stand my fucking bathroom for one more minute and had to clean it rather than spend thoughtful bonding time with my daughter, eating oatmeal together and reading to her from The Little House books....
I dropped Liv off, checked my watch and figured that I could just make it to the dry cleaners on my way to my doctor's appointment.
I kept gulping down the Atkins shake as I drove.
I noticed that I really had to pee while I was handing my dry cleaning stub to the attendant, but I just had like...no time, so I ignored it.
Squeezed my legs together a bit. Soon I was back in the car and that helped. Sitting is easier when you have to pee.
I got to the medical building and checked my watch as I ran in. It was 9:07. I was already late. I took the elevator up, trying to be patient as an elderly lady with a walker limped in with her husband, who was even slower than she was. He fretted all the way up to the third floor, apparently she had forgotten to make sure that he brought his gloves and his hands were cold. He kept showing them to her over and over.
"Would you look at these hands, Myrtle? I asked you and asked to please remind me to put on my gloves, but do you ever listen?" he berated her in this haughty, scolding voice.
I made a mental note to just shoot Bing in the head if she ever acted like that with me when we are doddering old biddies. Well, when we are older doddering old biddies.
Myrtle and My-shit-doesn't-stink got off the elevator at my stop and I ended up stuck behind them until they finally turned off into a kidney specialist's office.
I rushed into my doctor's outer office and knew that I had exactly two minutes to pee before it was coming whether I was sitting on the toilet or not. I signed in and made a bee line for the restroom. I got in and
the zipper of my pants got stuck.
I desperately crossed my legs and did a fast jig while I tried in vain to unstick the zipper. No luck, it was jammed but good.
And then, oh-please-no-nooo...NO!
I peed my pants. I tried to stop the stream after an initial squirt but my bladder stubbornly refused to close the doors.
I finally got the zipper down. But by that time, I had peed myself but good.
I gingerly stepped out of my jeans and underpants. Checked my socks. Dry.
I wondered what my next move should be. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the doctor's office. Nancy, whom I had just seen at the front desk, answered.
Nancy: Hello, this is Dr. Zhivago's office. How may I help you?
Maria: Um, Nancy? This is Maria.
Nancy: Um...I thought you went to the bathroom, honey. Where are you? The doctor is ready to see you.
Maria: Well.....um, Nancy, I am um..in the bathroom, but I sort of...um...have this problem.
Nancy: Uh..yes. How can I help you, Maria?
Maria: I had a little accident in here. I, well...yes, I...well, I peed my pants, you see.
Another silence. This time there is a stifled noise. Was she laughing, snorting, what?
Nancy (slowly): I see. Well, um, let's see how we can fix this.
She was only silent for maybe ten seconds but it felt like ten minutes.
Nancy: Okay. How about if I bring you some scrubs? Would that be acceptable?
Maria (quietly and with complete and total humiliation): Yes. Thanks.
A few moments later there was a knock at the door. I opened it just enough to make sure that it was Nancy. It was. She had blue scrubs in her hands. I took the pants. Thanked her, not meeting her eyes. She also handed me a paper bag for my "other belongings."
I took everything gratefully and put on the scrub pants which were WAY too long and had to be rolled up. I tied the string carefully at the top of the pants, but made VERY sure that it wasn't in a knot that could not be untied easily.
I slid back into the waiting room where Mindy, the nurse came and called my name almost immediately. She stared at my scrubs but didn't comment. She weighed me. Unfortunately, I had not peed out five pounds that were not there the last time I was here.
We went back to a cubicle and she did the whole dance of taking my blood pressure, asking me what "number" my pain was today and if any of my meds had changed.
Dr. Zhivago came in soon after. Smirking. He and I are pretty comfortable with each other, so the first sentences out of my mouth were: Don't say a fucking word. Please. This is embarrassing enough, okay?
He nodded, held back a chuckle. We talked about my pain, how the pain patches were working, if I was doing my exercises, etc. And then he looked at me kindly and said, "Okay, I do have to ask this. Are you having....incontinence problems?"
No, I told him. I am just lazy. I knew that I had to pee and waited too long and then my zipper got stuck.
His face reddened. He was trying very hard not to laugh.
Dr. Z: Your..zipper got stuck?
Maria: YES. My ZIPPER got stuck. Don't you DARE laugh!
Well, that was it. We both started laughing. Because, yes, I had to acknowledge that this was pretty funny. And then he patted me on my shoulder and told me to consider the scrubs a "gift" and shaking his head, he left.
I went home, showered and finished my errands. The scrubs are in the laundry basket. Maybe I'll keep them. They really are pretty comfy cozy.
Boy howdy, do I have a story to tell Bing tonight.....
It was my Lucy Ricardo moment of the day.