The Unfriendly Night....
Incontinence in Women and Children: The Trauma of Bedwetting

A cold, wet-bodied night monster called on me when I was four years old.   The monster has a name that sounds like a Greek myth - Enuresis.  Enuresis is the clinical term for bedwetting or incontinence.  I wet the bed and soaked the lace panties beneath my flannel pajamas.  This was not a very ladylike thing for a small girl child to do, but in my later years I have learned it has nothing to do with poor manners or insolence, it has to do with the act of incontinence.  And incontinence does not only occur in children, it follows millions on into adulthood.

My story is not unique; the lack of bladder control affects over ten million people.  This is a massive number of people to have what is considered a socially unacceptable disorder.  It does not make for easy tabletop conversation by any stretch of the imagination.

When a child wets the bed, both child and parent become frustrated.  By approaching the situation unemotionally, life can be made easier for both. This is because bedwetting is a fairly common, temporary occurrence.

Is bedwetting really just a normal part of growing up?  Research indicates that transient wetting, a form of Enuresis, can strike a young child, often a toddler during a stressful time in their life.

Today, I am a fifty-two year old successful businesswoman but I still feel the emotion of a bedwetting incident.  It was not a very ladylike thing to do and my punishment was harsh  - the picture unfolds for me.

I am the small, chubby, blonde-haired girl child standing on a bright flamingo pink metal kitchen chair. My panties are white cotton with small blue and green petal flowers.  The kitchen is bathed in morning sunlight, filled with the fragrance of morning coffee.  There is a copper pot on the stove with cooked oatmeal, cooling.  A large metal serving spoon is lying next to the pan of oatmeal in the middle of the stove.

 The blue gas flame is flashing on the burner directly in front of me. I can feel the heat from the burner.  I am lifted over the burner and my long blonde ringlets are singed off to the nape of the collar of my nightgown.

With this experience came the knowledge of how the soggy, urine soaked tip of a child’s night clothes can shoot shivers up the spine of an adult.   

I had never wet the bed before. My older brother and I were staying with a neighbor while our mother was in the hospital giving birth to the third of what would become a “batch” of six children.

 The feeling that crept up my back and left a tingle in my ears was cold.  I was cold and wet, a soaked, squishy kind of wet.  But I was still drowsy with sleep, so the fact that I had wet the bed did not immediately register in my adolescent mind.

My brother, sleeping next to me, sat up and looked at me as if he was startled.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.  His eyebrows crinkled and his nose turned up, causing his lips to purse together.

It was a very peculiar look for a five-year old boy.  He smelled something unpleasant and it was associated with me.  Before I could understand what had happened, the door opened and the sitter came into the bedroom.  Her face was drawn in a look of disgust. She pulled me out of the bed and drug me across the hard wood floor where I landed in a small furry lump.

 I wet the bed again that night.  My brother awakened me, staring at me with a look of sibling annoyance.  I tore the bed blanket back desperately hoping to find the bed dry but there was no hope.  The telltale stain was bright yellow.  The odor was the most incriminating evidence of all.  I paid the price of the day before, but the silence was more deafening. I was a repeat offender.

No matter how hard I tried to stay awake the next night, my body filled with exhaustion and I fell into a drug like sleep, only to awake cold and wet.  I became the most truant of children, a bed wetter.

On the fourth morning, the sitter came into the bedroom with a small white towel. She grabbed me by the arm. Dragging me to the kitchen, my small chubby legs hurrying to keep up with her angry pace. 

The room was whirling around me - spots of color before my eyes.  And so came my punishment - the brilliant blue of the flame from the gas burner and my golden banana curls forming a rainbow of colors. 

Over the years I have talked with other women about this childhood incident and found soul mates that were bed wetters as children.  Eyes mist over and lips quiver as the pain is shared, woman-to-woman.   But, I am the one most humbled as many of these women carried their burden into their adulthood, their womanhood.

I was a lucky one, only a minor childhood incident, no lingering after effects.  My hair grew back and the burn mark on my neck is virtually nonexistent. I outgrew the malady- the distasteful, unladylike deficiency.  There are many stories, literally thousands of them that make my bed-wetting trauma ordinary.

While my memories are that of a young girl, bedwetting or incontinence touches boys and men, too.  Bedwetting is no longer a generational problem either - it extends beyond adolescence to incontinence and old age.  The elder body welcomes a new bed partner; it comes with another package - geriatrics deluxe.

A female associate listened to my story one day in silence.  She looked away from me as I spoke.  She simply and gently let out a small gasp of pain - a sob, and shared that she, at 33 years of age, still faced night terrors.

She went on to tell me that she had “weak kidneys” as a child.  She related numerous examinations by a family doctor to attempt to remedy her problem.  There were diets designed to deal with her problem nutritionally.  There was special clothing to assure there could be no evidence of any “accidents.” She told me how she watches her daily intake of fluids and carefully monitors how strenuously she exercises so as not to jar her insides like jelly. “I am careful, oh so careful,” she whispers.

She went on to speak of the nights she has awakened in her husband’s arms frightened that she has had an accident.  Often she slips out of bed quietly to grab a towel to cover the wet spot so as not to wake him.  She explains, “It’s not all of the time, but it’s too often.” Incontinence is the thief of her womanhood.  There seems to be no cure for her. 

She no longer sees her family physician to try new remedies.  She has given in and given up.

But, what of the young girl who say no to the invitation for an overnight slumber party because the nights are too long, too difficult, and too shameful.  What about the boy who longs for the weekend camping trip with friends, but who says no out of fear of “them knowing.”    What are the consequences?  Are they as dark as those I paid?  I pray they are not.  In my case, I never wet the bed after I returned home from the baby-sitter’s house.

My parent’s grief at what happened to me while in another’s care far outweighed my suffering.  My injuries were slight really, the intent had only been to singe off my hair.  That had been accomplished really quite easily.

But what about other women?  Are they damaged by their disorder?  Why must they be? Can it be chalked up to a lingering childhood malady...to a weak bladder...to something other than their fault?  Is it carelessness?   Is it an act of laziness?  I believe today we know better. 

More information has become available, new medical treatments and products for those who live with incontinence.  There is knowledge to fight the mystery and force it into the daylight of awareness - without shame.   It is no longer uncommon to go through the checkout line in the grocery store and see sanitary products next to a bag of carrots in the grocery cart.

The web is a wonderful research library to begin the journey of knowledge. Arrange a visit with your child’s pediatrician.  Much work has been done by the Academy of family physicians.  Don’t let ignorance bully your child or you.

Excellent Internet Resources
http://www.kidney.org
http://www.kidshealth.org
http://www.familydoctor.org
http://www.nafc.org