Trading Post

It's morning and you know what that means for me; sitting here in a very very wet purple MegaMax USA diaper and I just messed my diaper. I had to stand and relax to go poopies in my diapie.

I hope you plan to update this. It's really sweet

Awesome 

Sorry - it does now.

Part 5 Monday morning and with school over and an upturn in the weather Bruce and I were out and about enjoying the first days of summer break. Off the leash and scampering through the wood and sniffing just about every tree (with an occasional cock of the leg) it was Bruce and not me leaving a trail of pee everywhere he went... I chuckled at the thought. I’d woken up to my now usual thick drooping nappy. Even though school was over for another year I had responsibilities to exercise Bruce and the noise he was making that morning to get out meant there was some urgency. Because the sun was out, and it was fairly early, I didn’t think about my comfort. I pulled a pair of cotton rugby shorts that were on top of a pile of freshly washed clothes over my sagging nappy, slipped on a hoodie and, as Bruce was jumping up eager for relief, put him on a lead and headed out the back gate and into the nearby woods. Today held a particular significance for me, as at 11:30am I finally had my long-awaited appointment with the doctor. Over the past couple of months I had been continuously trickling into my undies and protective wear, patiently counting down the days until this consultation. The sense of urgency I’d felt a few weeks earlier—prompted by the realisation that my condition was worsening and needed to be addressed—had slowly faded. Now, I found myself quite content to wear a wet nappy beneath a pair of shorts. With no school or exams to think about, in many respects, I felt surprisingly uninhibited by my situation or attire. It was as though all restraints had fallen away, much like Bruce when he’s let off the leash, and believed I could simply do as I pleased.  My parents had noticed the difference but put it down to my enthusiasm for this new quirky literary outlet. Recently, when I returned home from school or at weekends, I paraded about the house just wearing a nappy, sometimes with plastic pants other times I wasn’t that bothered. Mum couldn’t believe the amount of time I was now putting into each review or how committed I was to trying new things. Asking her and dad what they thought such and such an item looked like and what their views were. I’d then watch myself in the mirror to see if their observations were the same as mine or alter my opinions accordingly. Spending time wearing nappies and the assorted paraphernalia that came with them, thanks to the ever persuasive Avril, had become a pleasure and so my comments and reviews also became more detailed... and glowing. My social life was diminishing, my literary output increasing. Occasionally they’d see me with the dummy in my mouth though usually I kept that for night time; it was a great boon to sleep... I thought it even better than Horlicks. My dreams were colourful, childish and happy. It was a place I was always keen to return to when bedtime called. ...I appreciate the comfort and range of the new designs of Dreamtime wear that’s now being offered. Meanwhile, the new FruitiZuckers I never thought I’d take to at all BUT I’ve found it an aid to sleep and has helped me to relax in general. Not only that, but the different flavours oddly make me want to collect the entire array. Who knew I’d love a dummy as much as any baby? Although the pharmacist still supplied me with products every now and then, I’d got into a routine whereby I liked the comfort of the fleecy fabric nappies and so tended to wear those particular fuzzy items the most. I’d also been given the complete range of flavoursome dummies to try, which was yet another pleasure I was happy to rave about in reviews. The main thing that seemed to happen was that I slept much deeper, dreamed more but also produced more pee. I regularly needed my nappy changed and not just in the soggy morning. Incredibly, I didn’t mind. I was permanently in a happy mood and thought my situation was just natural. You may be thinking “What does your father think about all this”? Well, dad goes with whatever mum says and as she’s the one to keep up with laundry and discussions with the pharmacist, he tends to keep his comments to the minimum (ha-ha, mini mum again). Once and a while he’ll ask if I’m sure about ‘all this’ but realises I’m not complaining so usually shrugs at my response. If he does have concerns he chats to mum, she puts his mind at rest, and those worries evaporate. So, my nightly wetting hadn’t decreased over the period (if anything it had gotten worse), but I’d been waiting for the doctor’s appointment for so long I’m now less stressed about it. In fact, I was so used to wearing a nappy these days and nights that the thought of losing it, perhaps oddly, made me uneasy – I’d come to rely on the security it offered to contain everything no matter how much my bladder leaked. I wondered if I should admit this at the consultation or was it better to keep quiet and see what the doc had to say. # All these thoughts were running through my head as Bruce led me further into the wood investigating every root and branch, sniffing each intoxicating smell that I couldn’t detect. At one point Bruce did his business so I was there with a little plastic bag to scoop up the poop. It again occurred to me that I was wearing plastic pants myself and thought they were basically there to do the same thing. Oddly, as if in some symbiotic connection I could feel my bowel bubbling and knew if I didn’t return home soon it wouldn’t be long before my ‘plastic pants/bag’ would be put to use. I amused myself with thoughts of Bruce wearing a nappy, thus I wouldn’t need a supply of poop bags. However, on the occasion when I’d woken up to a messy nappy I’d not been keen on repeating the experience. Though I’d found that on several recent occasions my relaxed state had meant a few near misses. At that thought a burst of anxiety ran through me and unconsciously I reached for the dummy I now kept near for just such occasions. # Since their arrival, and despite what judgement I thought a lad my age should have about such things, I found myself happily sucking on the flavoursome teat and enjoying the experience more and more. It filled my head with happy thoughts and relieved even the most basic worry – I simply wasn’t bothered. Mum had said that Avril had told her that quite a few other ‘teens’ had found them a comfort so knew I wasn’t alone in my thinking. No matter which flavour, a few slurps and the feeling of bliss and total relaxation immediately followed and I’d find myself still instinctively sucking on it hours later. Babies seemed to enjoy the activity so I assumed they must get the same feelings as I did and that’s why it’s so popular with them. Daft reasoning I know but when sucking on a soothing dummy it made sense. That was the thing about them, I constantly had a feeling that everything was satisfactory and as it should be... therefore, no need to stress. Unfortunately, no stress meant regular soggy nappies. So often now the first indication I need to pee is when my nappy is already warm from a piss I hadn’t known I needed. The leak guards were exceptional and surprisingly comfy. They retained any major leaks, which together with the new Retro range of plastic pants made me feel safe and secure. There was a softness to the material that seemed to offer immediate comfort and it was wonderful to feel that much thought and effort had gone into producing such a special and delightful-to-wear disposable. # We’d hardly met anyone else as Bruce and I meandered around so felt unashamed as I slipped the dummy between my lips and appreciatively sucked on this new green soother (apple flavour) and continued on our way. I was still thinking about Bruce’s inhibitions when it came to taking a dump and thought how wonderful it was not to be worried by such social conventions. Suddenly, because I felt relaxed the urge to just let loose became strong. Perhaps strong is the wrong term, it was as if I felt it didn’t matter and the normal thing for a lad who needed a shit to do. So, encourage by Bruce’s lack of concern on such occasions I crouched down and let go.   # As I did it I was fine but the moment I stood up - Why the hell have I done that? I hadn’t liked it when I’d done it accidently so why would I...? This was stupid... one moment I was happy to dump in my protection the next quite disgusted with myself. This was very confusing but now it was confusing with a large mess in the rear of my already sagging nappy. I just hoped my plastic pants would contain it all. As soon as I noticed people approaching, I quickly slipped the dummy back into my pocket and clipped Bruce’s leash on again, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to myself—especially given the uncomfortable situation in my padding. The walk home from the woods felt considerably longer than usual, each step reminding me of the sticky, unpleasant sensation clinging to my skin. Even though I’d made the decision myself and, in a strange way, it felt almost normal at the time, I couldn’t help but shudder at just how horrible it actually was—bluurrgghh, there’s nothing nice about it. Despite the discomfort, I was genuinely grateful for my nappy and plastic pants, which had done their job by containing the mess and sparing me any outright embarrassment. Now, the responsibility for cleaning up fell squarely on my shoulders. I knew I couldn’t expect Mum to rush in and sort it out for me, as helpful as that might have been. After all, I’m sixteen. I shouldn’t be doing this—I shouldn’t be messing myself, even with protection in place. Yet, the undeniable truth was that I had, and there was no avoiding it. Although I was thinking what a terrible and childish thing I’d done, strangely I sensed my nappy was hugging me in a most pleasant way. Like it was making it clear that no matter what I deposited in it, that fleecy material would cope and still ‘protect’ me and make me feel good. This was a weird argument to have with myself, one second positive about my nappy yet a moment later negative about what I’d done. I wasn’t sure how I could feel both at the same time, was I conflicted about it or... that’s just what happens. Back home in the bathroom I popped in my dummy and sucked furiously as I changed out of the mess. Now I felt calmer it didn’t seem so much of the trial I thought it would be and in next to no time I’d actually cleaned myself up and got myself nicely fitted into a fresh disposable, which had pretty coloured cuffs and waistband. I shuffled up a pair of thick blue plastic pants and was pretty pleased with the results. Meanwhile, Bruce was standing next to me all the way through the procedure wagging his tail as if he was as pleased as I was in what I’d done. We had something in common – do bears shit in the wood?  Yes, and so do me and my dog. # At 11:20 I was sitting in the doctor’s reception with a load of other ‘sick’ people awaiting my appointment. For the doctors I was wearing jeans over my padding and hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to speaking with Doctor Simmons, the physician that I’d seen for just about every medical matter I’d had since being a baby but at least he would know my history and I’d not have to share many details with someone new. At 11:40 John Benedict - Room 4 appeared on the screen and I toddled over and into the doctor’s office. I was greeted at the door, not by my old, experienced and trusted doctor but a fresh faced locum who introduced himself as Doctor Answah. “Hello, come in and please take a seat,” he offered politely, “what can I do for you today?” “Erm,” I said as I took the offered chair, “Is Doctor Simmons coming to join us...” “No,” he said matter-of-factly, “he’s away on sick leave so... you have me today... so... what seems to be the trouble?” A doctor being sick was a strange thing to think about but for a brief moment my own problem seemed irrelevant. How do doctors get sick (I thought to myself distractedly) surely they can take precautions before that could happen?  Now mum and dad have always told me to be polite (which I am) and not waste time (which I try not to do) but this young Asian doctor was looking directly into my eyes and I dried up. I mean, how could I tell this young chap about wetting and dribbling all over the place but that was exactly what I was there to do. “Erm.” He peered at the computer that was open at my file and he took a look. “Oh, sorry, I see from the notes that you are suffering from a little incontinence.” He turned back and gave me a fleeting smile, “Not to worry, there are many possible causes and some are easy to fix so why not tell me what stage we’re at... take your time.” Of course this was the NHS and ‘taking your time’ was not the way these things worked. I needed to tell him my problem, get a prescription or whatever he advised and get out of there as quickly as possible. There were other ‘sick’ people waiting who possibly needed his services because of a real medical emergency... but I froze. However, he indicated the paper covered examination couch behind me and said why don’t I loosen my jeans and he’d examine to see if there was any physical damage. I flinched at the fact he’d see my thick nappy and plastic pants but it was too late and I had to go through with it, no matter how embarrassing it might be for me. Before I opened my pants I told him that I was wearing protection and hoped that didn’t put him off. Why I thought it might I don’t know? He was a professional doctor and had no doubt seen all manner of strange and possibly exotic underwear in his time. I just hoped he didn’t fall about laughing when he saw mine. He didn’t. “Very sensible,” is what he actually said and after that I felt a little more relaxed. The blue nitrile gloves were the next edition to his medical skills and I lay back and hoped I wouldn’t piss myself whilst he was at it. Over the next few minutes he prodded and poked, listened and took blood pressure and pulse, heart rate and a few other checks to my general health status. He questioned me about ‘lifestyle’ (which completely passed me by) and I told him about the pharmacist and mum signing me up to do reviews and such, which he made a note of on the computer. He also said I was not the only person my age who needed to wear a nappy because over the few weeks he’d been a locum at the practice he’d seen a couple of teenagers who also had need of them. He wondered if perhaps there was something else going around. He seemed most interested in the fact I was receiving ‘free’ protective wear and made further notes about what and where I did what I’d been doing (reviews) for the past few weeks. However, I didn’t mention how much I was enjoying the experience or that I’d recently taken to sucking on a dummy when I got agitated (and often when I didn’t). He enquired if I’d been having dreams or nightmares. Did I drink alcohol? (I’m sixteen and it’s something mum and dad wouldn’t have allowed, still he knew that not all teenagers stuck to the law). We discussed a few possible situations which might lead to ‘unintentional’ wetting. He tried to make it so that I didn’t think I was doing it on purpose but now he’d put the thought in my head I wondered if I was. “All in all Mr Benedict you seem quite healthy but I’ll run some blood tests,” He looked at his computer and rolled through a file that said Phlebotomist. “I can book you in for a blood test first thing next Tuesday morning if you can make it?” I nodded so we agreed a time and he made the appointment. Whilst typing in the information he asked a few other questions like - did I share my room with a baby or brother or sister who wet? I smiled and told him I only had Bruce and he suddenly looked serious. “Hmmmm,” he seemed to find from that information some kind of basis for a possible source. “I suggest you sleep without having the dog in the room.” He made further notes. “It’s possible,” he continued, “that some animals can be the cause of various reactions to their slumbering owners.” He continued his explanation. “You might be allergic to his fur, or something he’s brought into the room, dust, pollen the like...” he said. “Give it a try for a few weeks and see if that improves the situation. If not, come back and we’ll try something else. In the meantime, I think the, erm, ‘protection’ should be OK but I suspect, without the dog sharing your sleeping arrangements you’ll find a big improvement.” And with that advice I was out of his office and wondering how I was going to explain to Bruce he was no longer allowed to share my room... especially after he’d just taught me to shit in the woods. # However, on my way home the only thing that had grabbed my attention was - who were these other people, teenagers, wearing padding? Was the pharmacist doing a large survey and was I really just a small cog in a huge enterprise? Then my thoughts turned a little more suspicious. What if my wetting was part of a conspiracy of some kind? What if all teenagers in this area (and maybe worldwide) were intentionally being made reliant on wearing protection. What if we’re all being turned into a nation of pants-wetters? Nappy-making companies would dominate the world and we’d all have our toilet habits proudly displayed on the washing line each day. Hell, I’m not sure where that stream of consciousness came from but it got me wondering. When I got home I looked at the pile of stuff that now occupied my bedroom and questioned how I’d let myself become so entrenched in all this... this... whatever it was? At that moment mum came into my room carrying a whole batch of freshly laundered nappies and I voiced my concerns to her. She came over, sat down and hugged me because she could see, despite having been grown up about all this so far, I was now quite despondent. That cuddle felt nice and just what I needed. Like wearing my nappy, it made me comfy and the brief touch of anxiety drifted away. In fact, mum and dad, nappies and onesies, plastic pants and dummies, hugs and kisses all made me feel... safe. “Look love,” she gently patted my back as she released me from the hug, “is it possible the doctor only said what he said so that you didn’t feel like the only boy... sorry... teen who was wetting?” That pulled me up a bit as I hadn’t thought of that at all. “And maybe he just didn’t want you worrying about wearing a nappy.” Having dispensed that thought she thought for a moment. “Anyway, did he say anything else or give you a prescription” I looked at mum feeling like a bloody stupid twit; of course the doctor had said what he said so I didn’t feel bad about wearing a thick nappy. I mean that’s what I’d been worrying about when I saw him so he was bound, ethically bound, to try and relieve my anxiety. Even if he discovered others wearing nappies it could be down to the simple fact, as I thought it was for me, exam stress. Mum, as I’ve mentioned before, is the font of all knowledge and put a different slant on my worries that made me think. “He said he thinks I’m quite healthy but wants me to have a blood test next Tuesday at 9am.” Mum nodded as if she half expected that. “Ohh, yes, he also said I shouldn’t let Bruce sleep in my bedroom as, and I wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but according to him, animals have been known to cause bed-wetting.” “Oh well I never knew that.” She sounded puzzled. “Me neither.” I simply shrugged. “However, I do know in general that dogs on and in the bed is probably not the greatest idea,” Mum shrugged. “I suppose it’s worth a try and see what happens but suspect Bruce isn’t going to be very happy about finding a new place to sleep.” “No, I’m sure he won’t.” I affirmed. The dog’s bed he rarely used was still at the foot of my bed so that had to go as well. Meanwhile, mum went over and patted the pile of clean nappies on the dresser. “You do know sweetheart that I’m very proud of you, don’t you?” She was arranging the canisters and tubes of ointment in to something a little tidier. “I think you’ve dealt with your problem very well and I’m sure Avril, and the company, are very appreciative for all you’ve done.” Avril, yes Avril, I needed mum to check out that I wasn’t part of some huge plot, and that there wasn’t other’s my age wearing nappies and... Actually, when I thought about it, did I want to be the only one? # Mum said she’d check with the pharmacist to see just how big this ‘survey’ was and how many in our area were involved. So that took care of that matter but Bruce certainly wasn’t happy about being kept out of my room come night time and barked and then whimpered when he saw the door closed to him. I felt awful because since he’d been a puppy, he’d more or less spent most nights in my room keeping each other company. However, come the morning and the incredible revelation – I had still my thick wet padding. Perhaps oddly I was glad, I didn’t want to make Bruce the scapegoat (scapedog) for my willy dribbling but the doctor had said to make sure I kept him out all the time and not just as a one off. Sorry Bruce, but you’ll have to stay in your basket downstairs for a little longer to test the doc’s theory. I’d fallen asleep sucking on one of the dummies and which had produced the most amazing and colourful dreams – it was a mix of Disney’s Fantasia, Yellow Submarine, Minions and UP – all movies that I’d seen over the years though not recently. The dream was full of action and fun with an amazing soundtrack but with none of the music I recognised.  The main thing I remember from it was that everyone I met was a little kid; in fact, more like toddlers wearing thick nappies and to whom all these amazing, weird and wonderful childish adventures were happening. I think I might have even woken up giggling behind my dummy. My pillow was soaked with all the drool that had dripped from my mouth so I was wet both top and bottom... so to speak. However, I was euphoric because it had been such an exciting experience and wanted to get back to it. It would appear that I didn’t mind being a toddler with a group of other toddlers. In fact, the nappies, plastic pants and onesies were getting more and more juvenile and I wasn’t in the least bit concerned. I liked all the colours and cartoon animals. I was one very content sixteen year old... baby? # “What on earth are you so excited about?” Mum was standing at my bedroom door looking in as I was out of bed and doing pirouettes around the room and giggling. The fact that my nappy was soaked and limp behind the plastic pants had hardly registered now I was up and continued having the fun that started in my dreams. “Murrmmy... erm... mum,” I spat the dummy out and corrected myself, “I’ve had the most amazing dream.” I came to a spinning stop right in front of her and gave her a huge morning hug. “And a good morning to you sweetheart,” she said patting my flabby nappy. “Bruce can’t take responsibility for this now can he?” I felt her pull the back of my nappy to check I’d not done more than just wet myself but she seemed happy as the elastic on my plastic pants ‘twanged’ back with a little slap. “Well dear... I think...” But before she could continue I broke the hug; said I was hungry and headed downstairs to the kitchen for some breakfast. It didn’t concern me in the least that I was wearing such an obviously soaked nappy because mummy, erm, mum had checked and all was well. We were all sitting at the table enjoying our different breakfasts; mum and dad were having coffee and toast and I was having a bowl of Shreddies. I’d been telling daddy, erm, dad about my dream and how wonderful it was when I stopped talking, stood up and, according to him, looked very serious and intense and then, inexplicably dumped a load into my already super-soggy nappy. He said he couldn’t believe what he was seeing because once I’d finished, I sat down and took up the conversation where I left off as if it was nothing unusual. “WHOA” dad exclaimed. They both looked at me in disbelief for a moment before mum grabbed my hand and dragged me back upstairs to the bathroom. “Oh dear... oh dear... oh dear,” I heard her mumbling under her breath but it was only halfway up when I realised I had a very full and sloppy nappy because it rubbed against my bum as we climbed the last few stairs. She held me at arm’s length just looking into my eyes as if trying to fathom what was going on with me. I had nothing to say except I was suddenly aware, extremely embarrassed and could feel the weight of the nappy. However, I was only feeling embarrassed because of the way mum was looking at me not because of what I’d done. Well, erm, at least I think that’s what I thought. Meanwhile, mum took charge and was busy pulling down the plastic pants and unfastening the messy fabric, turning on the shower and pushing me under the spray. It all seemed to be one continuous movement but once under the warm spray I felt myself tear up and I began to sob uncontrollably. What had I just done? I’d never felt so stupid or childish or in need of mummy to comfort me. # I stood under that warm plume of water for ages, mystified, not really being able to grasp what had happened. The thing was, I hadn’t felt like this when I did the same thing in the woods, I suppose that was because I knew I was doing it then but this... THIS... this I hadn’t realised until dad commented and mum grabbed my hand... so it was different. What the HELL! In my dream, all the children wore nappies and used them without a second thought. Parents were there to help out, becoming just as involved in the joyful parade as we children were. As I tried to make sense of this dream—which didn’t seem logical but was enjoyable—I carried that happy feeling with me to the breakfast table, where I was suddenly surprised by what I'd inadvertently done. Eventually, the shower ran cold and the jolt made me take stock. As I dried myself and returned to my bedroom I felt more like my age than the silly little shitter I’d been just moments before. Mum was waiting. “Okay love,” she said as I eyed her suspiciously waiting to be interrogated, “that seemed unexpected.” I shrugged because I didn’t want to confirm that it had happened before... on purpose... even if I thought it was funny because of Bruce... hell... I can’t blame the dog for crapping in my nappy in the woods. However, this was different but didn’t know why I had no control. I just didn’t know how to explain what felt so natural when it so obviously wasn’t. “Have you eaten something that might have gone off?” “Not that I know... but I’ve only eaten what you’ve given me.” “Oh well, as we’ve all eaten the same so doubt it’s that.” She invited me to sit by her. I was still drying myself but sat next to her on my bed... it crinkled under the plastic protection the mattress had over it. My dummy was on the bedside table and at that moment could really have done with it to calm me down but I held back. “You’ve really gotten into wearing all this stuff now haven’t you?” She was looking around at the piles of nappies and equipment on just about every surface. “Well mummy, hmmm, mum, you’ve encouraged me to wear it all, enjoy it and report the results.” I smiled but not very convincingly. “I’m not sure my dribbling willy is getting any better during the day and certainly at night I need the full protection that these nappies can give so... I’m pretty keen to keep them as I wet a lot.” Mum just offered a thoughtful “Hmmmm”. I’m sixteen and was defending my right to wear a nappy but because of what I’d just delivered in my messy nappy there was a frightening prospect I might lose them. I could feel my features change and mum caught the fear in my eyes. “Yes, yes, of course love,” she patted my arm to console my rising anxiety, “and most mornings we’re grateful for them.” I nodded but felt my heart rate increase and breathing change... “I was just wondering if you’d maybe become a little too reliant on them and forgotten you can use the toilet?” I felt a cold shiver run throughout my body because I knew I was reliant on them... and I liked and wanted that reliance. I felt like if I lost them then I wasn’t worth anything. My existence orbited around all the lovely, comforting things with which mum and Avril had provided for me. I needed them and the comfort and security they offered. “Please mummy, please don’t take them away,” I begged and held tightly onto her with my head buried in her bosom. “Oh sweetheart, no one is thinking of taking anything away...” that reassuring pat on my naked arm helping a little. “But” she pulled me slightly away, “I have an all-but-naked son who needs a change so how about I help him into a nice fresh nappy, eh?” I nodded; grateful that mummy, erm, mum was still okay with everything and watched as she gathered the lotions, powders and a fresh fabric nappy from the pile on my dresser. Once my towel was removed it only took her moments to have me well-nappied and waddling gratefully. “How about some lovely vinyl pants... any preference?” She held up a pair of blue ones with little baby rabbits all over them... I loved my mummy. # Things were changing in the way John was reacting to his situation. I know I’d encouraged him to wear all this stuff and to be keen on reviewing each item but when I met up with Avril, once again I was concerned about the way the drastic new developments were going. I explained to her the latest sequence of events and told her how childish my sixteen year old son was becoming and of course asked the most basic question – should I be worried? She asked for more details and I told her as much as I knew, she also confirmed that there were others involved in the survey (it was nationwide) with ages ranging from three to twenty. But she said, probably to bolster my ego, John and I were providing the best feedback and as such it was greatly appreciated by the various companies, which was why they were happy to supply all the new and different products. “But should I be worried about John’s sort of ‘regression’?”  I spoke low and seriously to Avril, I needed answers. The problem I had was this conversation was taking place in the pharmacy and customers were coming and going all the time. Our ‘chat’ was in-between these ‘interruptions’ but I wanted to keep it looking like we were simply having a social exchange rather than the intense one we were actually having. When there was a lull in customer activity she looked at me seriously and said, “Look, I’m going to let you into a little confidence regarding someone else who is taking part in the survey.” This was a first as she’d never really spoken about ‘others’ before and this sounded like she was involving me in an intimacy she shared with no one else. Once she saw my interest she spoke low and very quietly about ‘Sarah’. ‘Sarah’ wasn’t her real name (for obvious reasons, confidentiality for one thing) and she was just slightly older than my son. Since ‘Sarah’ got her period when she was twelve her attitude towards her family changed. Whereas once she’d been a lovely agreeable little girl she turned into an absolute monster. She argued nonstop with everyone and her school grades dipped so low her parents wanted to get her special teachers. However, the girl threw tantrum after tantrum so in the end she was just left to her own devises. As she got older she, like John, developed a urinary problem which meant she wet the bed every night. She would have no dealings with wearing what her mother suggested, a nappy, to at least keep her bed dry and ended up stinking her bedroom out. However, as her friends stopped coming round and her mattress became a horrible mass, she eventually (thanks to advice and persuasion from Avril herself) managed to get her to wear special disposables aimed at teenagers (and crucially, not babies, which was the main thrust of her argument not to wear them in the first place). The effect was immediate. ‘Sarah’ settled down, became less angry, more compliant and, more importantly, kept her wetness contained in a nappy and behind a pair of robust vinyl pants. Things improved and eventually her parents were able to have a proper discussion with their errant daughter. “Like I think it might be with your son,” Avril touched my hand in reassurance, “they found that ‘Sarah’ was full of anxiety. She found the prospect of growing up scary and didn’t want things to change. For years she hadn’t been able to put into words exactly how she felt and as things got worse it became harder and harder to voice anything but anger.” I nodded because this seemed like something I could identify with even if it wasn’t John’s problem exactly; he was full of anxiety because the doctor had said as much but a more amiable boy would be hard to find AND he certainly wasn’t having a period. In fact, if anything, over the last few days he’d become even more loving and seemed to enjoy our little intimacies when he needed a change. “It was the nappies!” Avril smiled at this announcement. “She remembered how wonderful it had been when she was a toddler and mummy used to love and change her and that was where her mind returned and why now, since she’d been convinced to wear them, she didn’t want to lose their comfort and security.” I remembered John saying he was scared I was going to take them away even though I’d not even thought about doing such a thing. “She’s such a happy girl now. I supply her with similar things that John receives... although she loves everything pink and girlie,” she giggled at her own observation (I suppose thinking John wouldn’t want any of his items to be that colour. Although in truth I don’t think it would worry him) so now the family have a daughter who’s in bed by eight and happy to snuggle down in her thick anxiety-alleviating padding.”   She paused for all that to sink in. “She loves being a little girl again. She loves her nappies and frilly plastic pants and the rediscovered love she thought her parents didn’t offer because she was getting older.” Then as if adding an aside, “Her parents seem happy to have their nice little girl back, maybe it’s because they get the TV to themselves once she’s in bed.” Avril smirked at her own joke. I wasn’t sure if this addressed any of my concerns but at least I now saw that John wasn’t alone in his anxiety fight and that others (possibly thousands) had found a similar way to combat it. In the past Avril had said teenage angst was a growing area of concern (what with social and media demands on them) and that bed-wetting was on the rise so maybe something as simple as wearing a nappy was, if not the answer, certainly some kind of support mechanism. I mean, the doctor John saw hadn’t thought him wearing protection was a bad idea. So, perhaps it was the very thing, like the pharmacist said, that eased the mind and took a person back to less anxiety-filled times and should therefore be applauded for the work they do. Maybe they should be on prescription for everyone who’s under stress? “You know Susan,” Avril added, “I’ve found that once a person has established a sort of relationship with their chosen course of action, whether it be for wetting the bed or simply dealing with any other stressful conditions, they may well look to extend that contentment in other ways.” She tilted her head knowingly. “Some find that delving back and remembering how things used to be, especially if their parents had given them a wonderful childhood, that is a place to return to when things get a little too much.” She paused for me to think for a moment. “I’m sure you and your husband have provided John with nothing but happy memories so, is it any wonder that he might find it a lovely place to retreat to from time to time?” Of course, now I was thinking of the type of childhood we had given him and I’d like to think it was as near perfect as we could manage. Avril was more or less saying that because we’d been such good parents that it was no wonder he might want to return to his childhood when under stress and that was a good thing. “In John’s case,” she had more to say, “and with several other young people involved in this most recent of surveys, nappies have been just the catalyst for their basic needs but sometimes, just sometimes, there’s a desire to go deeper. Maybe that’s what John is doing now. I wouldn’t worry it might be just the exploration he needs.” This seemed madness and yet the pharmacist had tried to see it as the next logical step, an obvious progression... to regression. Seeing my son, my sixteen year old son, wearing a wet nappy every morning had become common place. I wasn’t worried about it because he didn’t seem worried by it though surprisingly did seem to enjoy wearing all the stuff. And now, with the dummy added, he just looked like he had when a two year old. It was difficult not to sneakily enjoy such sights and the delightful memories they brought back. I still wasn’t sure if she’d explained or dealt with any of my queries but she’d given me quite a lot to think about. The idea that my son might be exploring something, but that only he knows what, I found a bit troubling. Nevertheless, Avril had said not to worry, the doctor had seemed not to be overly concerned and was sure getting the dog out of John’s room would help. I’m certainly not qualified to administer advice on my son’s bedwetting other than to offer support to whatever it is he needs. So, that’s what I’ll do. # tbc #