It All Depends

One of the things that scares me the most about growing old, is the fear of peeing in my sleep. When I was a kid I couldn't go an entire night without taking a leak. Unfortunately that was also the period of my life where I could sleep through a nuclear bomb. As a result, much of my childhood was spent trying to figure out how to hide the evidence of the night before from my mom. Thankfully I tend to sleep pretty light now that I'm older, and that's a big help because I've found the frequency of my nocturnal pees have increased to a minimum of three per night. So far I always make it to the bathroom, or at least near it.

Aging is tough. Just this morning as I walked out the front gate with Chandler, a feeling of panic came over me. For a moment I actually thought that I had forgotten to put my pants on. A quick glance down, and a just for good measure tug on my zipper, put my mind at ease. I probably should have a checklist before leaving the house. Pants on, check. Zipper up, check. Keys, sunglasses, Chandler, check, check, check. I should also make sure I go to the bathroom before leaving because on more than one occasion, halfway through the morning dog walk, I have had to run back home.

Incontinence is no laughing matter. Some years ago I lived on the ninth floor of a building in Chicago. One of my neighbors was an old lady named Helen, and for some reason the guy who ran the little grocery store in the basement of the building hated her. Every time I was down there and Helen would walk in, the guy would start yelling at her to hurry up. I never could understand his animosity until one day I was waiting behind Helen at the checkout counter, and I could hear water splashing. Looking down at my feet, it was obvious that Helen was taking a leak right then and there. She seemed oblivious to what was happening, but the store clerk knew. As he screamed at the poor old girl, I grabbed her purchases and escorted her back up to her apartment. When she opened the door, I just about swooned. I've smelled homes with twenty cats that had a more pleasant odor than her place. It is that picture and smell, etched into my memory, that always keeps me aware of the Depends aisle as I follow Mark through the grocery store. You never know, I might need to find that aisle again some day.