A road trip! I hadn’t been on one of those in years, always opting to travel by plane as I had entered middle age. But an invitation from an old friend to go bouncing across country with her and her family to a college reunion seemed irresistible. In the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about my codependency on toilets. Due to a medication, any liquid seems to go right through me, and I’m usually the first to head for the restroom at any function. Suddenly, I saw miles of bathroom breaks standing between me and my destination. What to do? Perhaps if I avoided all liquids on travel day, but being wiped out by dehydration didn’t seem like a wise choice.
It was then I remembered my friend Nancy (not her real name). Nancy confided in me that on long road trips, she always wore adult diapers so as not to bother her family with too many bathroom stops. At the time, I had been shocked at this confession and had instantly put her into the crazy-diaper-wearing-astronaut category. Now, suddenly, the idea didn’t seem so loony after all. Dialing Nancy up, I whispered into the phone, “I need to talk to you.”
After reassuring me that it worked great, Nancy suggested that I wear a skirt for easy changing. Changing? I hadn’t thought about that. And even if I’d owned a skirt that would work, I couldn’t picture wearing one on a long road trip.
Casting about for a different solution, I Googled, “Too many bathroom breaks on long road trips.” To my surprise, I discovered my friend wasn’t the only swaddled grown-up driving around. Quite a few toilet-dependent travelers were sporting adult Pampers, and some even suggested the most dapper diapers to don to avoid puddling while carpooling. Clicking onto a suggested site, I found myself staring at a pair of diapers that an infant would wear, side tabs and all, only twenty times larger.
“Crazy absorbency,” the site proclaimed. To my surprise, even manly truck drivers were secretly sauntering around in their nappies. One such driver boasted he had driven a straight 16-hour haul without a single stop, downing coffee the entire time. Sixteen hours?! My trip wouldn’t be anywhere near that long. And if macho truck drivers could wear such things, then, by gum, why couldn’t I? Thankfully, the site suggested only buying two for your first purchase. Great! Two was all I needed.
As I anxiously awaited the arrival of the contraband, I plotted the next phase of my plan – wearing the right clothes. Almost as if the fashion industry had anticipated my conundrum, Swing T’s had recently become all the rage. I found a nice long one that completely covered my behind, along with a matching sweater.
When a plain package arrived at my doorstep, I tucked it under my shirt and tiptoed into my room. Ripping it open, my breath caught as I held up the large “Huggies.” “Tall in the legs,” it had claimed. I had no idea what that meant, but I hoped it was a good thing.
Flopping onto the bed, I slid the diaper under my naked derriere. I had diapered many a baby in my day, so this should prove a cinch. Little did I know how wrong I was as the unwieldy diaper waffled around my body, making me feel like a new mother trying to change her squirming little monster. I grasped the back, then the front, trying to manage the slippery, padded plastic napkin. The fit between the legs seemed altogether too large as it bunched up like some gigantic super soaker maxi-pad. In fact, although I had bought the smallest size, the entire thing seemed altogether too large. Frustration ensued as I jumped up from the bed, clumsily clasping the diaper to my body, trying to get the right fit. I slid it forward then backward, awkwardly grasping the loose sides, all the while performing Sumo Wrestler-like squats. The task seemed impossible.
Once again, I flopped onto my back, grappling with the swiveling nappy, legs flailing in the air, elbow jutted out, hands gripping the elastic waistband. Feeling like it was now or never, I held the thing in place and detached the right tab, quickly fastening it to the front. Just as swiftly, I did the same to the left. Then I lay there huffing and puffing, staring at the ceiling, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Now that I was finally swaddled, I stood up.
Looking at myself in the dusty mirror (making a mental note that I needed to clean my dresser when I got back), I appeared as a large teething toddler in dire need of a diaper change. I grimaced at the image. Thinking my sweatpants might make a difference, I slid them on. From the front, things looked pretty good, but then I turned around. Either this kid was carrying a load, or else they had found a new hiding place for their Legos. With a frown, I twisted this way and that, pulling and pushing at the offending seat, cringing at the crinkling cellophane noise that emanated from my bottom. Nope, nobody was going to notice this. What was I thinking?!
I decided to risk everything (or at least the stickiness of the tabs) and ripped the right tab from the front, cinching it tighter around my waist. I did the same to the left. Then I folded down the waistline and slid back into my sweats. To my delight, I now only looked like a toddler with a clean diaper. Thank goodness for the swing tee. I pulled that over my head and then shrugged into the swing sweater. And Voila! It worked; you couldn’t tell a thing. Until I sat down and the unmistakable crackle of crumpled plastic tickled my ears. Suddenly, an image flashed into my mind of all eyes in the vehicle turning towards me and my friend’s teenage daughter whispering in her ear, “Mom, she’s wearing diapers!” I comforted myself with the thought of the engine’s roar engulfing any other sound as we hurtled down the freeway. At rest stops, I determined to be the last one out of the car and to move as little as possible when standing next to someone. Perhaps a plastic water bottle that I could crumple at awkward moments could be my saving grace. Still, I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling. What if I needed a change?
I thought I was ready until two weeks later, I watched in horror as the weather report predicted a heat wave on the very day of travel. Sweat pants in the heat? Now, my diaper’s “crazy absorbency” would be used for sopping up my post-menopausal perspiration rather than the anticipated wee-wee. Dare I actually wear these things with shorts?
The good news came that we would be stopping for lunch at the home of a mutual friend. I could easily change in a home bathroom! And just like that, I had graduated from regular diapers to pull-ups. I marched to the supermarket to buy my “big-girl” pants. Smuggling them home, I slipped one on. I was delighted to find they fit like panties with no tell-tale noises.
When my friends picked me up in the early morning on the day of travel, I had already downed a cup of coffee and 16 oz. of water. Confidently, I ordered an iced coffee at our first stop, sipping and laughing with my friends, knowing my little secret was well-kept. Then, as we jostled down the highway and the liquid worked its way through my anatomy, I finally could feel that the moment of truth had come. Now, after weeks of preparation, after finding just the right diaper, after shopping for just the right clothes, the “void where prohibited” sign was flashing brightly! I heeded its call and prepared for lift-off.
And then…nothing
I tried to relax.
Still nothing!
I relaxed more.
Not a drop. It seems that a lifetime of training was working against me. My body simply would not allow me to wet my pants!
I sat baffled and frustrated. After a while, the urge left me. I wasn’t comfortable but could definitely wait until the next bathroom stop.
I arrived safe and dry at my destination with a lesson learned. The call of nature can play tricks on you, and you shouldn’t let it keep you from having fun.
Perrier anyone?