You may ask how I know that I am incontinent. When you get the urge “to go,” and you are running for the bathroom and your leg starts feeling wet, you are incontinent. When leaving the bathroom, if one or both of your shoes squish, you’re incontinent. On a cold winter’s day, if the front of your pants looks like you have worked up a sweat, you’re incontinent. If your wife comments that the bathroom floor has a puddle before the toilet, you are incontinent.
My problem was exacerbated by the fact I couldn’t feel when I was “going.” Ergo, wet floor, wet leg, and “I don’t know how that happened” was a lame excuse.
We tried to find a diaper that I could wear. When I told the salesman at the diaper emporium my size, he laughed for about five minutes and ushered me out the door. I could get a diaper but it would only fit on one leg.
My wife Diane (the seamstress) designed a belt that could be attached to a pad with buttons. It worked great in handling the intense impulses of “gotta, go, gotta go.” If you hadn’t reached the bathroom by then, the microfibers in the pad would be overwhelmed and things would “feel damp.”
Now I had the problem of changing the pad. I always got the front buttons confused with the back buttons and after I pulled the belt up all I could do was walk sideways.
During my stay in the hospital down in Myrtle Beach, we tried to put on an “external catheter.” (Hold onto your sides.)
An external catheter is pulled over the “member,” which wasn’t easy. We finally got it on and I settled down to a nice long relaxing rest.