MinnesotaWriter

That's certainly fair. I was trying to come up with a scenario to explain how Sarah's incontinence began that would be both obvious to the readers but not obvious to her. That is a good point about the back pain. In retrospect, that would have been something clever to include to further hint at the cause of her continence issues. Of course, that still is an unlikely scenario for becoming incontinent, but also better than "healthy 14-year-old begins wetting her pants for no discernable reason." It has been a week. I think I noted that the Mom was caught trying to go to Canada, so Emilia would already have been in the relative area of Wisconsin, which in my mind could speed things up some. Probably a little faster than real life still, though. That would have been deliciously evil, but I can confirm it wasn't the Mom that Sarah saw through the window. The phone is going to get powered up at some point. The timing with that is intentional. It was one of those things where the protagonist needs to wrestle with a decision that, from their perspective, is really difficult, whereas an audience has a good sense of what decision she is going to make. Storywise, she has to reconnect with her friends. This is where I'm very much influenced by the story "Mimi's Struggle." There was an alternative ending written -- though I'm not even sure where to find it anymore, it's been ages and ages since I read it (and in retrospect, I don't really endorse doing that without an author's permission) -- where Mimi goes to live with a friend from school and learns to handle her incontinence issues independently. I always really preferred that conceptually to having a kid get trapped with a crazy parent who isn't allowing them to develop and mature despite their disabilities. Yep, and Samantha has some baby stuff of her own at her place as well. I think the biggest challenge for Sarah will be figuring out her relationships with all her friends evolve/change based on

Chapter 68: The Right Choice Amanda let me sleep on the decision. That didn't make it any easier. I didn't get much sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night to a soaked diaper, my head spinning from dreams that I could only remember bits and pieces of. As accustomed as I was to just going back to sleep in that scenario, the hospital diapers weren't trustworthy enough to ensure that there wouldn't be a leak by morning, so I was forced to get up and change. That had been enough to fully wake me up, so I ended up staring at the dark hospital room ceiling for an hour or so, contemplating the pros and cons of the decision I needed to make in the morning. I had been running from all of my problems since that first day I had wet my pants this fall. That would have to end now. But that was true regardless of which choice I made. There would be no hiding my incontinence, regardless of which family I chose to go live with. If I were to go live with Lisa, that would be just a half-hour drive to the Higgins' place. Wisconsin was a lot further away, but Amanda said they had plane tickets reserved if I were to choose to go live with my half-sister. There were still too many questions to deal with. Did I want to reunite with my friends? Would they be able to accept me again or understand what I'd gone through? How was I supposed to apologize for the way I had so hurtfully distanced myself from them? What about school? How was I to explain my absence this semester or get caught up in time to graduate? But did I instead want to live with my sister again? How would she react to how our relationship had changed again? Would I be reminded of Mom every time I looked at her? And could I entrust the secret of my incontinence to these total strangers I would be living with? I wasn't able to come up with satisfactory answers to all of those questions, but I managed to figure out enough to finally reach a decision as I at last drifted off to sleep. I woke up to the smell of bacon, the feeling of the nurse's hand rubbing my shoulder, and the sensation of a wet diaper between my legs. I didn't want to open my eyes just yet, but Debrah continued to rub my shoulder gently. "It's time to get up. I've got a special breakfast for your last day here." I yawned and opened my eyes. It had apparently not been a restful night of sleep. My blanket had fallen to the floor, and I was barely covered by the sheet. My bare legs and wet diaper were fully exposed. "Amanda and Jodie will be here in about thirty minutes, so you should have enough time to get cleaned up for the day and eat your breakfast before you go. I put it on the desk for you." I rolled out of bed after Debrah had left and shut the door behind her. I decided that I'd rather eat breakfast before getting in the shower. The room was warm enough that I didn't feel the need to put on any additional clothes, as I sat at the desk in just a t-shirt and a wet diaper. It was the best breakfast I'd had so far at the hospital. Pancakes topped with strawberries and banana slices, syrup, and whipped cream, along with a side of bacon and eggs, a cup of yogurt, and a tall glass of orange juice. I felt a bit like a prisoner on death row, receiving their last meal before meeting their fate. Though, weren't they supposed to be allowed to pick out what they wanted to eat for that final meal? Not that I would have chosen differently for the breakfast. Last night, Amanda had said that they were ready to take me to the Higgins place or Emilia's new family today and that I would just need to tell them what I preferred. Had I made the right decision as I was lying in bed last night? All the questions were rattling around in my head as I tried to focus on my food so as not to continue second-guessing myself. I made it about halfway through the meal before I was stuffed. I didn't want to be wasteful, but there simply wasn't any way I could eat any more. Then it was time to get cleaned up. The wet diaper was tossed in the trash, and I squeezed into the tiny shower stall. I needed something to distract me from the choice I had made. Standing underneath the pouring water wasn't helping. I could still change my mind if I wanted to. It wasn't as though I had told Amanda yet. My mind went back and forth several times in the few minutes it took to quickly scrub myself down, but that mental exercise only ended up at the same conclusion I had reached last night. I estimated that I had about five minutes to finish getting dressed once I had gotten dried off from the shower. I laid down on the bed to put a new diaper on. I managed to get the fit exactly right without needing to adjust any of the tapes, even a tiny bit. I'd become quite the expert at diapering myself over the past week. Debrah said I could take one of the hospital outfits with me if I wanted to. I did put on a pair of gray sweatpants. They were quite comfy. But I didn't care for the bland t-shirts that went with them, opting instead for one of the Fortnite shirts that had been brought from home. I looked around the room one last time, taking my eye off the clock I had been impatiently staring at while waiting for Amanda and Jodie to arrive. The hospital room was tiny, but it had given me more freedom in the past week than I'd had in the previous two months. The Nintendo Switch was plugged in on top of the dresser where I had left it last night. I would have to leave the gaming system the nurse gave me behind. That was a bummer, but I was sure I would be able to get another one. Everything I had brought with me was tucked inside the backpack that I had tossed onto the unmade bed, which was mostly a couple of changes of clothes that Amanda and Jodie had packed for me from home, which they had managed to get washed for me yesterday. There was also a tote bag sitting on the floor that Debrah had put together for me with diapers and changing supplies inside, more than enough to get me to either destination. There was a knock at the door. I yelled for them to come in. A little over a week had passed since I had arrived, and it was time for me to leave the hospital. I told Amanda the decision I had made last night. --- Before we could do anything, we had to stop at home first. From the outside, the house looked exactly as I had left it. It wasn't possible to tell that no one had lived in it for the past week. All the Christmas ornaments had come down about a week before CPS had shown up, so the house was as bland and boring as any of the other ones on the street. Jodie got out of the front passenger seat first and then opened the back door for me to get out of the car. The weather had warmed considerably in the past week. Even with my jacket unzipped, I didn't feel all that cold as I trailed behind Amanda and Jodie up toward the entrance to the house. The door, which had been knocked in when they had come for the emergency visit last week, had been repaired. I wondered briefly how we were supposed to get in now, but Amanda produced a key from her pocket to unlock the door and let us in. While the exterior of the house had been unchanged, there were some subtle and not-so-subtle signs that no one had been living there the past week. I sneezed a couple of times in the entryway because of the dust. We passed the kitchen, where unwashed dishes had been left sitting for a week. I could smell them even from the hallway. "You said your mom had some suitcases we could use in the basement?" Jodie asked me. I nodded and led her down the stairs to where two large suitcases had been gathering dust in the back of a closet. When was the last time I had been on a vacation? It must have been before Emilia was born. The suitcases were already quite hefty, even without anything in them. We managed to heave both of them up the stairs. Once I was packed, I was going to need some help to lug them around. And that was the easy part of what we had come here to do. I followed the two women down the hallway to my bedroom, apprehension building up inside me as we neared the doorway to my old room. I paused outside the hallway. I was still far enough from my bedroom that the crib was hidden from view as I peeked inside the room. I didn't think I could bring myself to walk another step. Amanda put a hand on my shoulder. "If you don't want to go in, we can bring out all your clothes and things to the dining room, and you can sort and pack them there." I shook my head. I needed to do this. No more running away. Besides, I didn't quite trust them to be able to decide which clothes would work best to wear over my diapers. I stepped into the bedroom, catching the faintest hint of baby powder as I took a deep breath and surveyed the room. Everything was exactly where it had been left. The crib sat against the wall. Its side door was still slid open. A pacifier was sitting abandoned in a jumble of blankets inside it. Some of my dresser drawers were still ajar, having been left open from when Amanda and Jodie had conducted a hasty search for clothes to bring with me. As I stood in the middle of the room, I realized something. I was probably never coming back here. I didn't know how to feel about that. This was the house I had lived in my whole life. The thought of moving away from it had never occurred to me before. But here I was, in my bedroom one last time, and I would never be here again. But before I worried about that, I needed to pack. I sifted through all the clothes hanging in the closet and what remained inside my dresser. There wasn't much that I wanted to take with me. I grabbed a sampling of different outfits, ignoring anything that was too tight-fitting to likely work with a diaper. I set clothes out on the bed as I found things I wanted to keep, and Amanda and Jodie helped organize them into the suitcases. I finally opened the top dresser drawer where the underwear and pull-ups had been kept. I wasn't sure when, if ever, I'd be ready to try to move on from wearing diapers again. I still hadn't gotten a diagnosis back from the urologist, but I didn't have much hope for good news. I ran my hand through the pile of underwear. Packing it felt silly. The idea of being potty trained was too far-fetched. I compromised and grabbed a half-dozen pull-ups instead. I wasn't ready for them yet, either, but I would have them available in case I changed my mind. Besides my clothes, there was really only a few things that I wanted to pack, which were my computer, monitor, and other gaming items. It took some finagling to get them into one of the suitcases, but afterward, we were able to pack a bunch of clothes all around them to make sure nothing would break on the journey. We were at the doorway when I realized there was one more thing I needed to grab. I hoped it was where I expected it would be. I ran back into Mom's bedroom. When I had been grounded in the past, there had been times when I had sneaked into her bedroom while she was away to play with my phone. She had never caught on, and the hiding spot was still the same. My phone was tucked back in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Did I want to know what I would see once it was turned on? How many missed messages would be waiting for me? I pressed the power button anxiously. Nothing happened. That was almost a relief. I guess it made sense that it wouldn't have a charge after sitting untouched for a couple of months. I tucked the phone into my pocket and went back to join Amanda and Jodie in the entryway. They carried the suitcases to the trunk for me. Not that it was much easier for them, but I wouldn't have managed to get it down the front steps myself without tripping. I was relegated again to the passenger seat as we backed out of the driveway and sped down the road. I didn't look back. Had I made the right choice? --- We pulled off of the highway on what was now a familiar exit. A few turns later, we were on a winding gravel road. I slid my hands under my dress, gripping the fabric tightly in my hands. I had spent the drive trying and failing to figure out what I was supposed to say when I arrived. I had run through a bunch of different ways to try to explain things, but each felt more unsatisfactory than the last. As we pulled into the driveway, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face looking back out at me through the window.

Nope. Had a fairly normal, healthy childhood and upbringing. I just have a pretty creative imagination and lots of real-life stories on from reddit to get a sense for the types of crazy situations that kids can find themselves in with NPD parents. The exact details of that conversation may remain private, but there will eventually be an explanation from Lisa to Sarah of what led to that change of heart. You're almost making me wish I wasn't wrapping this story up. There's a lot that could be covered during Sarah's recovery. A trial, if it were to happen, would be fascinating, along with all the details about how she gets re-integrated with school. I could probably find a way to outline another 20 chapters that would inevitably turn into 40, but at the same time, I think we'll get to a clear ending to her story arc and they main premise of the story. Yes, I could continue writing about all the characters and keep it going as a long soap opera, but that wasn't ever the intent of the story. There's always a balance between ending too abruptly or over-explaining, and I don't want to venture too far to the latter option. At this point, I can say fairly confidently that we've got three chapters + an epilogue to be posted here, with things wrapping up early next week. I'm also just about finished with the sequel, which jumps ahead six years, skipping past a lot of the immediate recovery to look at how things are for Sarah a long way down the road. I'll have some more details about it when I post the next chapter sometime tomorrow evening.

It's OK, as a writer I wasn't aware they were half-sisters until several dozen chapters in, when I realized that was really the only way the story would make sense. There are a few reasons for that. Hospitals are pretty big on protecting patient privacy, same with kids in CPS custody. It would be doubtful that any of her friends know for sure that Sarah has been taken in my CPS, let alone know where she is for sure. As far as the Higgins' offer to care for Sarah, that's something they could make from their end without CPS or the hospital confirming directly to them that Sarah is in their care. I envisioned it more as them telling CPS "If Sarah happens to be in your custody, we'd be open to being foster parents for her if she wants that," rather than CPS explicitly confirming any private information from Sarah. But, just as importantly, Sarah does need some time to recover, both medically and with therapy, and having some time to do that before having to deal with seeing her friends again is probably for the best. She also doesn't have access to her phone yet, so doesn't have any means of communication with them at the moment.

Thanks, need a way to write myself out of not having explained it earlier. The mom wasn't so crazy as to have anything to do with Sarah's Dad's death. It's obviously been a while since we've had a chapter with all of the friends. We will get to that, and their reactions, pretty soon. I'm very familiar with that subreddit, I've stumbled across it before. Even if you take personal stories on reddit with a large grain of salt (which is advisable) there's some pretty chilling stories on there. Yeah, there isn't any way Emilia would be staying with the Higgins, not over the choice of being with a biological parent. It's actually a real thing. And it really isn't that big of a deal. E-sports competitions are already a big thing with adults. And frankly, Fortnite is quite tame compared to other video games out there. But even then, there is no research that shows there is any link between video games and violence, and that's something that has been extensively studied. That doesn't mean that some games aren't age-appropriate for certain kids, but there wouldn't be any reason a teenager shouldn't be allowed to play Fortnite. I chose Fortnite specifically because it happened to be what I was playing at the time, so it was easy to describe. And I wanted an activity that allowed Lisa and Sarah to meet and began to develop their friendship with that common interest. It certainly is going to be a tough choice for Sarah, but I wanted it to be up to her to make that decision, rather than having someone make it for her. Emilia also seemed to enjoy being a big sister, even in a way that wasn't healthy. So to be an actual one to a younger half-sibling would be a better dynamic for her.

Chapter 67: Decision Time The bed was dry when I woke up the first morning in the hospital, but just barely. I found that the diapers provided by the hospital were not nearly as high quality as the ones Mom had purchased or I had borrowed from Lisa. I was curled up tightly in a ball when I awoke. I guess I had become so used to not being able to fully stretch out while sleeping in the crib that my body had subconsciously contracted while I was asleep. I remained in that position for a while. My thumb again found its way inside my mouth. There was something in the back of my mind trying to tell me that I should remove it, but I didn’t feel like doing so yet. I eyed the button that was on the wall next to the bed. Amanda had said that she would bring a nurse if there was anything that I needed. What I needed more than anything was a diaper change. Amanda had very much been encouraging me to wear a pull-up during the day, but I didn’t see the point of that. I had no desire to deal with any forced and pointless attempts at potty training today. I pressed the red button. It lit up. Someone must be on their way. I rolled over onto my back and stretched my legs out underneath the covers. That felt quite good. I didn’t have to wait long for a nurse to respond to the button. The nurse who came in wasn’t one that I recognized. But that made sense. There were probably a lot of them at the hospital, all working in different shifts. She introduced herself as Debrah and didn’t seem the least bit surprised when I calmly told her that I needed help changing my diaper. She left for a few minutes and returned with a bag of diapers, along with wipes and powder, which she placed inside one of the dresser drawers. Unlike Amanda, Debrah knew exactly what she was doing when it came to changing me. The diaper was replaced with a clean one methodically, in a manner that suggested Debrah could have handled the whole process in her sleep. With a dry diaper on and no more worries about any more leaks or accidents, Debrah left me to get dressed, promising that she would be back with breakfast in a little while. I eyed the clothes that Amanda had brought for me. None of it seemed quite right. I then checked the tiny dresser where she had retrieved pajamas for me the night before. There were some pairs of gray sweatpants in various sizes, one of which was the right size for me. The baggy pants worked well to hide the diaper from view, but if I had thought other diapers I’d worn before had been super crinkly, I was sorely mistaken. The sound the plastic made from each step I took around the room was insanely loud. I hoped that was just because I had a quiet room to myself and that the noise from the hospital would drown it out some. There were some plain blue T-shirts provided by the hospital., but I instead went with one of the Fortnite shirts that Amanda and Jodie had brought along for me from home. I felt a sudden desire to play video games as I eyed the graphic on the front of the shirt. I had just slipped it on when Debrah came back with a breakfast tray. She took a look at my shirt. “You like to play video games?” “Yeah.” Debrah set the tray down on the desk before heading back toward the door. “I can probably get you something to help pass the time.” It was a feast. French toast sticks and a cup of maple syrup to dip them into. Orange slices. Yogurt. Chocolate milk. I sat down at the desk to eat my meal. I was nearly finished when there was a knock, followed by Amanda opening the door. “Good morning,” she said, looking at my breakfast. “Nice to see that you are up already. Did you sleep well last night?” I nodded. My mouth was too full of French toast to give an immediate reply. “You really should get changed when you get up in the morning. Do you need me to help?” I didn’t immediately understand what Amanda was getting at. Then it made sense. I looked down at my waistline. The telltale white plastic of the diaper was sticking out over the top of my sweatpants in a spot where my shirt had gotten bunched up. She could tell I had a diaper on but was thinking that it was because I hadn’t changed at all after getting up. “It’s all dry.” “That’s great. Did you make it through the night without an accident? Why don’t you go use the toilet then, and we can get you changed into a pull-up.” She had completely misunderstood what I had meant. “It’s dry cause Debrah came and changed me this morning.” I could tell that Amanda wasn’t exactly thrilled about that answer. But she seemed to accept it, even if not all that willingly. Amanda sat down in another chair and explained what we would be doing today. I had a follow-up visit with Jane, the urologist. Then, I was going to be spending the afternoon with a therapist. The police might want to ask me some additional questions, but this time, it would be with a detective more familiar with these types of cases. I asked if there was any news about Mom or Emilia, but Amanda shook her head. I tried to imagine where they could be or what they would be up to now. That convinced me that Mom had indeed seen CPS on the baby monitor. But her first instinct had been to grab Emilia and run, completely abandoning me. Why? Amanda had brought a smaller drawstring bag so I could bring some stuff to change into while we traveled around the hospital for the appointments. I put a couple of diapers, wipes, and powder inside it, along with a change of pants, just in case. At her insistence, I also tossed in two pull-ups, but I had no intention of wearing them today. --- Jane was waiting for me in an open room. This time, Amanda dropped me off, saying there were some other things she needed to do today but that a nurse would come along when I was done with Jane to get me to where I needed to be next. I was worried about what Jane would say in response to seeing me in a diaper. But I didn’t face any judgment from her. “There isn’t anything wrong with wearing a diaper right now if that is what you need and feel most comfortable with,” she said. “I understand how embarrassing it can be to be dealing with leaks.” Even with the knowledge that Jane was wearing a pull-up, I couldn’t tell that she had one on. The baggy scrubs were a perfect camouflage for whatever lay beneath. It was comforting to know that she had been in my place before. I asked right away about the test results, only to have Jane tell me that there likely wasn’t going to be any news for a week or two, at a minimum. In the meantime, she wanted to talk with me about how to manage my incontinence. Most of the additional advice I received from her wasn’t new. In fact, it only seemed to confirm my suspicions that she was the source of most of the medical information that Lisa had on managing incontinence. The first thing I did was get a lesson on how to tape on the diapers properly. Jane had a bunch of them in the office and didn’t find it wasteful that we went through a half-dozen as she helped with learning how best to tape the diaper on while sitting and standing. It felt good to know that I wasn’t going to need anyone else to assist with changing me anymore. After I was done meeting with Jane, a nurse led me a short distance away to an adjacent section of the hospital with doctors who specialized in bowel issues. I wasn’t thrilled that it was a male doctor I had to speak with about that issue. But, like Jane, he was understanding and non-judgmental. He agreed with my theory that the change in diet was the cause of those complications and sent a note to the nurses responsible for bringing my meals to make a few adjustments that would assist in helping my bowels return to their normal routine. Then, there was a long journey back to my room. That was followed by lunch, which was interrupted by a rather urgent need to poop. That’s where having a private restroom came in handy. I was able to rip the diaper off in time to avoid what would have been a big mess to clean up. I still had some time before the therapist appointment that afternoon, so I took advantage of that to hop in the shower before putting on a fresh diaper. The therapy appointment wasn’t like anything I had expected, but my only prior experience had been what I’d seen on TV shows. There were so many questions that I felt like I was back being interviewed by the police officers, except that this time, I wasn’t being judged for my responses. The only good thing was that the therapist seemed to have been fully informed about everything that had happened so far. I got the impression that Amanda had spoken with her for a while. But we didn’t spend time talking about much of that. She made note of my T-shirt, and we spent quite a while talking about what video games I liked to play. I told her about how I had been on the e-sports team at high school. From there, the conversation drifted to other topics. My sister. School. Friends. What TV shows I liked to watch. Favorite foods. The time passed quickly. The therapist told me that she had set up appointments for each afternoon this week. By the time I was walking out the door, I realized that she hadn’t asked a single question about my diapers. I had a surprise waiting for me when I finally made it back to my room before dinner. A Nintendo Switch was set out on the bed, with a few games and a note from Debrah. I inserted a game cartridge and powered the device on. A wave of memories washed over me as I did so. The controls felt foreign after having not used them for months, but the re-adjustment didn’t take long at all. As I lay on the bed, the gaming system held above my head, I thought back to my worries from last night about the uncertainty as to what the future might hold for me. For the first time in a long time, a new day had exceeded expectations. --- The next week was a blur, but not in the same way that the last two months had been. I settled into a routine. I had the occasional doctor’s appointment in the morning. Time with the therapist in the afternoon It wasn’t a bad life. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were brought right up to my room. And I had the evening free to play video games as long into the night as I could stay awake. But a week later, I still had no news about Mom and Emilia. Still no update from all the tests they had run on me when I had first arrived at the hospital. What had been the point of getting poked and prodded like that if they weren’t going to tell me what it meant? Jane had told me to be patient, as lab results could take some time to return, and even then, she would need to look at all of them carefully to try to see what conclusions she could draw from that data. During the first few days, I’d had a couple of close calls with having a messy accident. But with a private toilet set aside for my own use, I’d been able to avoid a repeat of the disaster that had taken place during the police interview. But aside from going number two on the toilet, I was using the diaper for everything else. Debrah had discreetly restocked the dresser a couple of times with additional diapers for me. I caught sight of the pull-ups each time I reached into the dresser to grab a clean diaper, but I could never bring myself to grab one of the pull-ups. It still felt wrong, like something I was forbidden from doing. After a comfortable first day of getting to know each other, the conversations with the therapist delved into the uncomfortable details of what had transpired in the past six months. She didn’t pass judgment on any of the decisions I had made. She mostly asked questions and, in doing so, forced me to think about things in ways I hadn’t previously considered. It wasn’t as though I couldn’t tell that she was trying to direct me to certain conclusions, but she shied away from directly telling me what they were. And then there was the discussion about diapers. The topic didn’t get brought up until the middle of the third day I had been seeing the therapist. We had danced around it before, but it had yet to be brought up by name at that point. Like Jane, the therapist didn’t actually use the word diapers. Her preferred euphemism was protective underwear. It didn’t catch on for me. She didn’t address the medical side of things. But we talked about separating diapers from being treated like a baby. I wanted more than anything to get her opinion of Samantha’s behavior, but I was too nervous to bring it up. What would she have made of that? That wasn’t to say the conversations hadn’t helped. By the evening after the fourth day of therapy, I managed to fall asleep without putting my thumb in my mouth. A number of other things became clear during our conversations together. For one, I learned an important new word: narcissism. That is what the therapist used to describe my mother’s behavior. Mom hadn’t loved me. She wasn’t capable of loving me. And the way she had treated me had been horribly wrong even before my incontinence had begun, with arbitrary rules and punishments, designed not for my own well-being, but to protect her own self-image of a successful parent. Everything Mom had done had been in service to and in preservation of her own self-image. That was the essence of narcissism. Everything that had happened had been about her. Her need to be in control. Her need to shape me into what she wanted to be. She saw my imperfections as a reflection of herself and, therefore, sought to remove them and, in failing to do so, to punish me for them. That didn’t quite explain the difference between how Emilia and I were treated, but the therapist explained that it wasn’t uncommon for a narcissist to play favorites with their children. To have a so-called golden child and a scapegoat. But it was one thing to be told all of that and process it intellectually. That wasn’t the hard part of the process. It was at the emotional level where I struggled to re-write all the feelings I’d experienced during the fifteen years Mom had raised me. I wanted to be angry, to hate her, but I found it difficult to hold on to those feelings for long. There was too much shared history between us. And not all of it had been bad, either. So, I ended up hating myself instead. Being told that what my mother had done was wrong should have made me feel better. But instead, I often felt the opposite. How had I been so incapable of recognizing that things weren’t right? Why couldn’t I have stood up for myself instead of letting Mom continue to take control until there was nothing left to take? Why had I been so resistant to seek help from friends who would have been more than willing to assist me? The increased awareness of what had gone wrong only succeeded in making me feel as though I had failed somehow in continuing to allow it to occur. And now Emilia was stuck with Mom for who knew how long. That was my fault, too. It was a lot to take in, and after the seventh session, I wanted nothing more than to get back to my room and lay down in bed to think it all over. --- Amanda was waiting for me in my room when I returned from the latest therapy session. “I have some news about your mother,” Amanda said. “What is it?” “They found her trying to drive into Canada, of all places. She’s been arrested, and your half-sister is safe. Your mom will be transported back to here to be arraigned. Emilia is in foster care. But they’ve found some info about her biological father. Apparently, your mom never told him she was pregnant.” I hadn’t been quite up to speed on the whole birds and the bees thing when Mom became pregnant with Emilia. She had always been my sister. And that stayed true even when I realized she was just technically my half-sister, that just wasn't a phrase I had ever used when thinking of her. That her father was out of the picture was something that just wasn’t questioned. It wasn’t a topic Mom had ever brought up. It must have been a one or two-night fling, as I couldn’t recall her ever going on any dates. She certainly had never brought anyone back to the house. The same was true for my dad. He’d passed away when I was young before I’d even turned six months old. Another topic never discussed. But in some ways, because I’d never known him, it had never felt as though something was missing from my life. It had always been Mom and me, and then Emilia. That was all I’d ever known. “So, he had no clue?” “None whatsoever. It was a one-night fling. He met someone else and is now married. They have an infant, but are willing to take Emilia in.” Amanda paused. “They’ve also said that they would be happy to have you come and live with them in Wisconsin as well.” That was a lot to take in all at once. For starters, how had Mom managed to get all the way up to Canada? And now my sister, half-sister, as this situation required me to think of her, had a new family lined up already? What was most stunning of all was the offer to take me in. “Do they know?” “Know about what?” “About everything. About this.” My hands slid down between my legs. I think Amanda realized what I was referring to then. “All they know is that you’ve been in a really tough situation the past couple of months and have some catching up to do with school and medical issues that need to be managed. They said they would be happy to take you in and were willing to make whatever adjustments were needed for that.” I was too flabbergasted to speak. “There is another option,” Amanda continued. “There’s a local family that has been foster parents for us a number of times in the past that’s been specifically asking about you. I haven’t shared any of your information with them yet because that would violate your privacy, but they seemed to know you and had some awareness that there were things you were going through.” Who could that possibly be? “Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t place you in foster care with someone that you previously knew. However, if that was something that you specifically wanted and were comfortable living with them, that is an option that would allow you to stay in the area and be with your friends. “Who is it?” “The last name is Higgins. Is that familiar to you?” My heart stopped. I nodded. If they had been asking after me, that could only mean one thing. Lisa must have told her aunt and uncle about me, but how would they have figured out I had been taken in my CPS... unless. I finally managed to put two and two together. There had been an anonymous call to CPS, but one that hadn’t correctly identified what was happening in the home. Someone had wanted to make sure that CPS checked on me no matter what. Could it have been Lisa who had made that call? “May I ask how you know them?” Amanda asked. “I was friends with their niece, Lisa, at school. Her uncle was my history teacher. Lisa already knows a bit about, um, the bladder things I’ve been dealing with.” “That would be more unusual for you to stay with them, but if that was your preference, and you were comfortable with it, it is something that could possibly be arranged.” “Are those my only two choices?” “No, we could try to set you up with another foster family, but you would likely end up in a group home for quite a while before we find one. There aren’t nearly as many families willing to take in a teenager.” “So my best choices are either the Higgins or Emilia’s family?” “Yes.” That was a lot to consider all at once. I could go live with Emilia’s family. But that would mean entrusting the secret of my incontinence with people that I barely knew. It was one thing for them to take in Emilia, but for me, there wasn’t any direct relationship. On the other hand, it would be a fresh start. Somewhere where no one knew me or my mom, somewhere where I could begin again completely anew. But did I want that? That would mean leaving Lisa, Samantha, and Desi behind. Would I even get a chance to give them an explanation? Would I want a chance to give them an explanation? Could I handle the possibility of never seeing them again? But if I stayed? Would they accept me? Had the way I had pushed them away ruined things between us forever? But could I accept leaving Emilia behind? Amanda placed a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to make a choice now. Why don’t you get ready for bed, and then you can sleep on it?” That sounded as good a plan as any. Tomorrow, I would have a choice to make. [A note for this chapter: I've left the dad situation for Sarah/Emilia unanswered for quite a while. They were always intended to be out of the picture, but in hindsight, an explanation toward the beginning of the story would have been a good idea. But rather than go back and add that in retroactively, I figured it would be better to wait and include that information at a time when it was relevant]

The media does tend to be pretty good about not identifying information about minors. They might report that the mother was arrested for abuse, but they wouldn't include Sarah's name or the exact details. While still not ideal for school, I don't think she will end up being known as the girl who got treated like a baby for a month. The Mom has been consistent with coming home from work to feed/change Sarah at lunchtime. I think she'd have much worse issues with rashes by now if that weren't the case. Staying in a diaper for four hours without a change is on the long end, but not super terrible. But going nine+ hours during the day would be problematic, especially over the course of a couple of months. I think the ABDL is a fairly broad category of stories. I've never viewed it as just limited to having protagonists who are a DL or AB. It can encompass characters who are incontinent, but don't like or enjoy having to wear diapers, or characters who are forced into wearing diapers or being treated like a baby against their will. They may come to like/accept diapers later or find themselves cured of the need for them. For me, an ABDL story needs to have a character who is wearing diapers/pull-ups in an atypical situation (i.e. they are old enough to where they wouldn't need them outside of a medical condition) and the diapers have to be a central component of the plot, not a one-off gag. That doesn't mean that an ABDL story can't be in other genres, like a thriller, or drama, or sci-fi, in fact, those stories tend to work better because the "protagonist begins to wear diapers again and is treated like a baby" gets old pretty quickly unless the plot is compelling for other reasons. In that case, I wouldn't consider Rugrats to be an ABDL story. But there are certainly cartons, like Tom and Jerry, that have episodes that might be classified as ABDL.

Running certainly doesn't help, but will depend on whether she continues running once she is aware that the police are looking for her. I think she has been accurate in answering what has gone on with her sister, even if she has been presenting it as this was bad compared to what happened to me. I would say the bowel accident is very much due to an abrupt change in diet, as Sarah was suspecting, though that doesn't mean that will resolve immediately, but even while being babied, she never really lost any control of going number 2. Thanks! We're getting close. Some of these scenes, especially CPS arriving and the hospital, have just taking up a lot more chapters than I initially expected. Yep, just needed to change a word there. As far as whether the nurse will need to change anything in the middle of the night, time will tell on that one. Yep, she knows that what she is doing is wrong, but that could be seen earlier in how she was always very careful not to do anything that would be exposing how Sarah was being treated to others. There wasn't any public humiliation that might be seen in other stories from a parent babying their kid. When I was putting together that backstory for LIsa, I did have the thought of what if this was the Mom's backstory instead, which could have been an interesting insight into what could be driving her behavior, but ultimately I decided I wanted to use Diapers Never Lie to tell Lisa's story. There isn't any relation between LIsa's mom and Sarah's mom. I think this chapter answers part of that. I don't think there is really a lot of research on that, but my best guess is it messes with your digestive system, so that switching back to a regular diet (and in this case, greasy fast food, could cause some bowel issues while re-adjusting)

Chapter 66: Rules and Punishments I gritted my teeth, fingernails digging into my palms as I clenched my fists. I was staring off to the left as a nurse prepared to stick a needle in my right arm for a blood draw. My wandering eyes had finally focused on one of those promotional posters on the wall talking about the importance of donating blood. I couldn’t bear to look. I had told the nurse just to stick the needle in when she was ready, without giving me any type of countdown or warning. Knowing it was coming was only going to further fray my already unraveling nerves. Then the needle was in. The pain of being stabbed with a needle was never as bad as the anticipation leading up to being jabbed, but that didn’t mean that my arm didn’t hurt, or that I wasn’t going to be really sore for a couple of days. Amanda had her arm around my back. The social worker been my chaperone as I’d been passed between what felt like a half-dozen doctors and nurses as I went through a run of different tests. The only good thing was I hadn’t been forced to even attempt to pee in a cup. I was able to turn in a pull-up that I’d wet while trying to sit still for a series of x-rays. I’d put it into an opaque bag with my patient ID on it and slid it through a discreet revolving receptacle. I didn’t envy the person whose job it was to get the urine out of the pull-up for testing. And then the needle was finally out. It hurt about as much being removed as it did being put in. “You’ll want to stay in that chair to rest for another four or five minutes,” said the nurse, who had drawn my blood. “You’re not underweight, but you are smaller for your age, so the blood loss is probably going to hit you a bit harder.” Staying seated was perfectly alright with me. I had no desire to get up, not with how my feet ached from all the walking back and forth that I had been forced to do. The hospital complex was massive, and it seemed like none of the tests that I had to do were located in places that were in close proximity to her. “You did so good,” Amanda said, giving my left shoulder a squeeze. Amanda looked over at Julie. The nurse had accompanied us on the journey throughout the hospital. “That should be the last test for Sarah today, right?” “Yep, and we’ve got the overnight room you requested set up for her.” “Thanks for getting that taken care of,” Amanda said. “But police do need to ask Sarah some questions, and we’ve probably put that off too long. We’ll need to get that taken care of first.” So, I wasn’t going home tonight. I didn’t know what I should feel about that. Everything that Jane had said to me was still sinking in. Her undisguised shock and disgust at my description of how Mom had been treating me was weighing on my mind. Had I not explained everything correctly to her, or was her response to an accurate description an indictment of my own inability to recognize that something was wrong? But if I wasn’t going home? What was going to happen to me? I couldn’t live at the hospital forever. Would I end up back home with Mom at some point? That didn’t seem to be an outcome that either any of the social workers, nurses, or doctors I’d seen so far would be happy with. Not from how they’d reacted every time I’d gone over my tale of what had been occurring at home. And it wasn’t as though I had any relatives who could take me in. The prospect of foster care was also daunting, as having to let even more people become aware of my condition wasn’t something I wanted to do. But that wasn’t the question I was struggling with. What was it that I wanted? I had made a decision on New Year’s Eve that I had wanted diapers and had just accepted that with that desire came the need to be treated like a baby by Mom. Everyone was now telling me that this had been wrong. But for them to be correct, that would mean that Mom was wrong. But not only wrong, she had done something intentionally bad to me. But not something that was bad in the sense it was something I didn’t enjoy, like being disciplined for bad grades, but bad in the sense that nothing I could have done, no matter how disobedient, could make me deserve what she had done to me. It was just too much for me to deal with at the moment. I finally worked up the courage to look at where I had been so rudely stabbed with a needle. A plain band aid covered up the entry-wound but couldn’t obscure the additional bruising around that area of my arm. The walk over to where we were going to talk to the police wasn’t shorter than any of the distances that I’d already been forced to walk between appointments already. I hadn’t had much sense of direction earlier when we’d arrived, but certain sights were beginning to look familiar. It seemed as though we were heading in the direction where Amanda had first brought me into the hospital. We stopped outside a nondescript close door, and Amanda turned to talk to me. “Everything is going to be all right. You just need to tell them the same things that you told Jane.” She opened the door and ushered me in. Two men in police uniforms were sitting on one side of a circular wooden table, along with Jodie, who was standing in the corner. There were still two plastic chairs at the table. Amanda pulled one out for me to take a seat in and then sat down next to me herself. One of the police officers had a notepad set out in front of him with a pen, while the other, with a large mustache, was looking between me and Amanda. “You’ve kept us waiting a while,” said the officer with the notebook. “I’m sorry, but it was important to get a medical checkup completed first.” “And?” “The initial call-in to CPS said that there had been repeated beatings and that the girl was being denied food and starving,” Amanda said. “But, except for one possible thing that wasn’t mentioned in the report, everything looks good medically.” “So that anonymous call was a hoax?” Asked the officer with the mustache. “I don’t know.” Jodie chimed in from the corner. “As you saw from our initial report, there was separate abuse occurring. And despite the fact that the mother filed paperwork indicating that she was going to be homeschooling Sarah, there isn’t any evidence of any schooling having taken place in the last two months as well.” “And what does the mother have to say for herself, anyway?” Amanda asked. “Well, that’s why we were really needing to speak with Sarah as soon as possible,” said the officer with the notebook. “What do you mean?” Amanda asked. “Look, just let me talk to Sarah,” He said, and then he turned to face me. “We don’t know where your mom or your sister are, and we were hoping you might be able to help us figure that out.” “They missing?” “Your mom left her work shortly after CPS arrived at your house. She then picked up your sister early from preschool, and they haven’t been seen since.” I knew right away what must have happened. I had never thought for a second that Mom wasn’t watching the baby camera that she had set up in the bedroom. She would have realized that something was off fairly quickly. “So, she was paying attention to the baby monitor, you think?” Amanda asked, saying what was already on my mind. “That’s the theory.” The officer said. He turned back to look at me. “Would you know, perhaps, if there is anywhere your mom might be going to? Relatives. Close friend. Vacation cabin. Anything?” I shook my head. “Don’t know.” None of that applied to our little family. “It’s OK. I figured it was worth a try, but this next question is more important, Sarah. Was your mom mistreating Emilia in any way? Hurting her at all?” Mom, do anything bad to Emilia? Of course not. I shook my head. “So, your mom didn’t punish Emilia for things like she did for you?” “Not really. Not most of the time.” I added, as if it might explain things: “But Emilia behaved.” The questions continued. They focused first on the fact that I hadn’t been in school at all the past two months, asking questions about what, if anything, Mom had been doing to homeschool me. Mom, of course, hadn’t been doing anything in that regard. There were questions about injuries, spankings, times Mom had hit or hurt me in other ways. Questions about how much food I was getting to eat and how often. While the questions focused mostly on me, they did often ask things that also were about my little sister as well. The issue of diapers hadn’t come up yet. They had to know. Amanda’s reference to giving them an initial report would have had to have included what they found when they entered the home. Were they as uncomfortable with the subject as I was? Or did they just not find it as important? I was midway through answering a question about the baby monitor and if I knew how often Mom was watching me on it, when something rumbled in my stomach. It wasn’t because I was hungry. But it was because of what I had eaten earlier today. I recognized what was happening. I stood up suddenly, with the futile hope of making it to the toilet in time, but it was too late to do anything about it. I messed the pull-up. It wasn’t one of those messes that was more easily contained, something solid. No, it was the kind of accident one has when they eat out and have something go through their system that their body doesn’t quite agree with. And it didn’t come out silently, either. The sound was amplified in the small room. The accident cut me off in the middle of the sentence, bringing everything to a pause. I wanted to blame the fast-food meal I had been fed on the way to the hospital. I hadn’t eaten anything fried or greasy in a long time, and it was clear from the stench that my digestive system had been none too happy with the sudden change in diet. I had never messed myself in a pull-up before. That had always happened in a diaper. Now I understood why that had been necessary. These pull-ups were made for older kids who still wet the bed. I doubted that nighttime bed messing could be a thing, so there wouldn’t be a need to design a pull-up in a way that it would need to contain that. The pull-up had failed miserably at its task of containing the accident, but even if the mess had all stayed in the pull-up, the smell alone would have been a terrible problem. I stood up, there was a brownish liquid running slowly down both of my legs, I began to pee. That was an even worse problem. There wasn’t any room left in the pull-up to absorb any of the urine, so it leaked out both sides of the pull-up, running down onto the floor in two separate streams. Tears dripped off my face, adding slightly to the puddles on the floor. “What the hell?” the younger officer asked, his hand over his nose. It didn’t sound so much like he was upset at my accident as just completely dumbfounded that it could have happened. “That,” Amanda said, pausing while she appeared to be searching for the right words to say. “Is the medical issue that we’ve had doctors looking at for the past hour.” “So, she isn’t toilet trained?” the officer asked. “First, the medical term is incontinence. And secondly, she was, at least up until midway through this school year. We think the abuse started in response to her medical issues, and the abuse only appears to have worsened the issue.” “Christ,” the officer with the mustache muttered. “That’s really screwed up.” --- For the second time today, Amanda and Jodie were wiping shit off of my bottom. This time, though, it was an even worse accident, the clean-up made even more challenging by the fact that there wasn’t a shower they could have me stand in afterward to make sure everything was completely cleaned off of me. Once the two social workers had figured out where the nearest restroom was, Amanda had wrapped my jacket around my waist, mostly obscuring the visual signs of my accident, though nothing could be done about the smell. Thankfully, the nearest restroom was just around the corner, and we somehow managed to get there without needing to pass anyone in the hallway. Though I suspected there would be a lingering odor outside that would bother everyone passing through for a while. The odor being confined the bathroom didn’t help at the moment, and tossing the dirty pull-up and wet wipes wasn’t doing much to improve things. “Are you attached to this dress?” Jodie asked. I shook a tear-drenched head. She proceeded to toss it into the garbage. That’s when you know a blowout was really bad, when clothing starts getting tossed. The only spare clothes they had packed for me were a pair of leggings and a sweater. Amanda and Jodie did, however, appeared to have packed several more pull-ups. I put the clean pull-up on all by myself, though I got some help with the leggings. These were not ones I would have picked. They were a little thin, and a tiny bit see through. The outline of the padding from the pull-up was visible through them. I remembered how Jane had described her own bladder issues. Her admission that she still wore a pull-up. If she, an adult, could delineate between the decision to wear diapers and being treated like a baby, could I do I do the same? Amanda gave me a hug, which was possible now that I was all cleaned up. “We’ll get another doctor for you to see tomorrow to check with these accidents.” These accidents. I knew she was referring to the fact that I had messed myself twice today. I hoped whatever tests they wanted to run for that tomorrow didn’t require samples like I had been forced to give earlier today. “I don’t think my tummy was happy with the Happy Meal.” “You probably haven’t had any fast food for a long time?” “Yeah.” “There are some private, overnight rooms for kids staying at the hospital. That’s where we are headed next. A nurse will bring you dinner up there. Hopefully something your stomach will like better.” My stomach grumbled at the mention of food, this time because I was actually hungry. Hopefully, whatever it was they fed me would sit better with my stomach. I was more hopeful about regaining control of my bowels rather than my bladder. I had never truly had one of those accidents before outside of laxatives or being denied the chance to use the toilet, and that didn’t really count. Yes, I had adjusted to messing in a diaper the past two months, but I had still needed to make a conscious decision to do so when the urge came, compared to how my bladder was often emptying randomly with no warning. --- The room Amanda led me to probably wasn’t meant for a teenager. The colorful designs and patterns matched something that might have been more aesthetically pleasing to an elementary-aged kid. But the bed in the corner was exactly what I needed at the moment for my weary feet. The mattress was only a foot off the ground. I kicked my shoes off and flopped right down. It wasn’t a large bed, but anything would feel big in comparison to the cramped crib I had been sleeping it. I hadn’t realized how much my body had ached until I had the chance to lie down and fully extend myself, which I could do, as long as I was lying down at a slight angle on the bed. There was a tiny bathroom off to the side, with an even tinier shower stall inside it. I wouldn’t have any excuses for not keeping my pull-up dry with my own private bathroom right there. Amanda was seated at a desk in the corner, typing away on a laptop. I closed my eyes. The sound reminded me of something. Sitting at my own desk, fingers ablaze at the keyboard, in the middle of an intense video game. I suddenly wanted to play Fortnite so badly. A clock on the wall said it was already 8 p.m. That made sense. It had already been fairly late in the afternoon when I had been picked up by CPS. And all the medical examinations and the interview with the police had taken quite a while. A few minutes later, a nurse popped in with the promised dinner tray for me. Mac and cheese, some veggie slices and ranch dip, and a piece of toast. It was all gone a few minutes later. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I took the final bite of mac and cheese and rinsed it down with a sip of chocolate milk, and that was the end of it. Amanda closed her laptop and got up from the desk. “There should be a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom, and soap and shampoo, so you can shower in the morning.” “I have to go home tonight, but I’ll be back in the morning. If you need anything, you can buzz a nurse to come with this button.” Amana pointed to a button on the wall near the bed. “But there is also a nurse on duty overnight night at the desk down the hallway as well.” That answered another question. The door didn’t have a lock on it. But I was sure that the nurse outside was there partially to make sure none of the patients left when they weren’t supposed to. “There are some pajamas in the drawer that should fit you. Is there anything else you might need before I go?” “Did you bring any diapers from home?” I was fairly certain I knew what the answer to that question was going to be, but I felt compelled to ask it anyway. “No, you still have plenty of pull-ups. The rest of them are here in the backpack. If you run out, all you need to do is ask a nurse for some more.” “But I need a diaper. Please.” Amanda looked confused. I don’t think she understood how much difference there was in the amount of absorbency a pull-up provided compared to a diaper. “You have a toilet all to yourself a few feet away. Why don’t we stick with having you wear a pull-up for now so you can get to the toilet easier?” “But I never wore these pull-ups at night because I would always pee too much and they would leak all over the bed.” Amanda pondered my response for a few seconds. “I see,” she said at least. “I’ll find a nurse to check with. There should be something they can bring for you. Why don’t you go potty one more time before bed and get your teeth brushed? I had already used the toilet like twenty minutes ago, but I did so again before beginning to brush my teeth. Amanda was back a few minutes. I poked my head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in my mouth, to see that she was holding a diaper. I hadn’t doubted that a hospital would have diapers, but that was quicker than even I had anticipated. Amanda reached out to hand the diaper to me, but I didn’t take it. “Can you help?” From the look on her face. I got the impression that this, along with a lot of what she had done to care for me today, wasn’t a typical part of her job description. Nevertheless, Amanda had me lie down on the bed. I was a little proud of the fact that Amanda didn’t have to use any wipes to clean me up while changing me from the pull-up and into a diaper. The pull-up had stayed dry since that disastrous accident during the police interview. I had only had two people put a diaper on me before, as a teenager at least. And both Mom and Lisa had done so in a way that suggested they knew what they were doing. That wasn’t the case for Amanda. She stared blankly at the four tapes for a while. I began to suspect she didn’t have all that much experience with baby diapers, either. In the end, we were able to figure it out together. It wasn’t as snug as I would have liked, nor as soft and comfortable as the diapers I had been put into before, but at least I wouldn’t have to wake up to a wet bed in the middle of the night. Amanda offered to get me some pajamas from the smaller dresser next to the bed, but I declined. It was already fairly warm in the room, so I didn’t think it would be needed. Amanda sat down on the bed next to me. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, and I rested my head against her. “What happens tomorrow?” That question had been weighing on me the entire trip up to this room. I had always had a decent idea of what tomorrow might bring for me. Even if I dreaded it or didn’t know which of several bad options were likely to occur, I could at least form a mental picture before going to sleep of what the next day could possibly be like. I was finding myself incapable of doing that for tomorrow. My life had been completely upended, and I didn’t have any ability to imagine what would come next before I could settle into whatever new normal awaited me. “I’m not sure yet. I need to talk to the police and some other people at CPS.” “Will I go back home with Mom?” “You don’t have to worry about that.” Amanda said. “I don’t think you’re ever going to be going back to living with your mother. There’s already a warrant out for her arrest, and, with the other information you’ve provided to the police, that’s only going to make the potential charges against her more serious. She’s likely going to be spending a lot of time in jail once she is caught.” I think that is when the reality of the situation really began to sink in for me. It was one thing for all the adults at the hospital to express indignation at my mother’s behavior, but being told that her actions would mean spending time in jail brought the severity of the situation to a level that I understood. I knew all about rules and punishments. My thumb found its way into my mouth as Amanda pulled the covers over me. That’s how I had fallen asleep every night since I had begun sleeping in the crib. Amanda didn’t look like she approved, but some habits were hard to break.

A very well-handled short interview from Vice with Casey Strom of ABUniverse. Feel like this should be part of something larger, but wasn't able to find anything else.

Last post on this topic. Otherwise, I'm just going to get really annoyed. I'm not judging Reddy. I have said nothing negative about him as a person. I have, however, been critical of a decision he is making. There is a difference. Attacking a person is wrong. Criticizing or debating an idea is perfectly acceptable. And the suggestion that people's ideas should always be free from being criticized is laughably wrong. In fact, I have said both that I support his legal right to make the decision and that it would be far better for him to actually properly prepare for this life-altering event by doing a trial run to fully understand what he is getting himself into. And that I would be a lot more supportive of his choice if he were to show he had thought it out and prepared for it properly. -- Finally, I do have a question for you @padded-nightly Reddy is going to have an irreversible surgery that will forever alter his life. Despite this, he is refusing to engage in the basic due diligence of doing a trial run to fully understand how this decision will impact him. How in the world is this not a foolish decision?

I'm disappointed by the people who are enabling what is, by any objective standard, a really poorly thought-out decision by Reddy. If Reddy had started his first post by saying that he had been wearing diapers 24/7 for a year and was tired of being continent and wanted to do the surgery, the situation would be a lot different. Yes, it would stlil be risky, but at least it would be clear that he knows exactly what he wants and how it woudl change and impact his life (and as an adult, can decide if the risk is worth it). But he doesn't know if the risk is worth it, because he has refused to take the very simple step of actually experiencing what it would be like to wear diapers for a significant time. That's what both frustrates and puzzles me about this situation. Yes, we are all freaks, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't act out our freakish fantasies with at least some level of common sense and due diligence. --- "Just not lest ye be judged." I dislike that phrase when it's being used as an attempt to deflect from valid criticism of a poor decision because the idea decision isn't actually defensible. (As someone raised in a conservative environment who had to suffer through way too many lessons on theology, I'll refrain from a full exegesis on that passage of scripture. Suffice it to say, it doesn't mean don't judge; it just means that you shouldn't be hypocritical in doing so, and you should hold yourself to the same standards as you hold others. i.e. take the plank out of your own eye first)

You're right. The surgery could go off without a hitch. You could completely enjoy your new state of being incontinent. I also think there are some common sense precautions you should be undertaking if you still want to do this. You really need to wear diapers 24/7 for at least a month, if not two. I understand that doesn't interest you. That is beside the point. Incontinence is uncomfortable and difficult to deal with. You will have to make a massive amount of adjustments to your life and lifestyle. There are the physical issues of wearing 24/7. Rashes, chaffing, excessive sweating in summer heat, urinary tract infections. There are lifestyle adjustments depending on whether you plan to be open about this medical condition or hiding it. You'll need to change how you dress, plan out your entire day around being able to change when you need to. There will be leaks in public. There will be awkward moments with friends and strangers. There will be events and activities that will become either inaccessible or difficult for you to do. This is going to completely and utterly change your life. You may think that is what you want, and that it your right to do so. Like I said, I support your right to make the decision, even if I disagree with it. But it is one thing to theoretically consider all the issues with incontinence in your head. It is something entirely different to experience it. That is why I really think it would be best for you to wearing diapers for a significant period of time before you go ahead with this surgery. You need to experience a lot of the hardships that come with incontinence firsthand before you flip a switch that you will never be able to undo. And you know what, if you are happy after that trial period, then by all means, go ahead with the surgery. It has risks, but at least you're prepared for what it is going to do to your life. That's my main objection to this. And two cents of advice for anyone considering doing something similar. If you are going to make an irreversible life decision, at least do the due diligence to understand how it is going to impact you.

I bit the bullet and finally clicked the link to this topic. Wishing I hadn't. But it's like a trainwreck, I wasn't able to look away from any of the seven pages. All I can say is that I greatly hope this is some attempt at elaborate trolling, but the alternative just makes me want to scream. A unique surgery in another country, with no clear picture of what the risks/complications are, unclear plans for post surgery care, and of course you aren't able to tell friends/family easily if something goes wrong. Worse of all, you haven't ever actually fully committed to the lifestyle of wearing diapers full time before. I'm generally of the belief that if someone is an adult, and their behavior isn't directly/indirectly harming anyone else, that they should be able to do as they please. I'm not saying you don't legally have the right to do this. I am saying I legally have the right to describe exactly how recklessly stupid it is. If there is one really important lesson I've learned with kink stuff, be it ABDL, DDLG, other other BDSM things, it is this: Fantasy is not the same as reality. It is one thing to fantasize about doing something, especially something close to 24/7, it is a whole different thing to be doing it (especially if you are locked into it with no way out). Moderation is often far better. If committing to wearing diapers 24/7 voluntarily hasn't been satisfactory for you, then forced incontinence is only going to bring you grief. Seriously, you need to reconsider this. If you, for example, had been wearing diapers full time already for like a year, I'd probably say whatever, but the lack of prior commitment, combined with all the other potential risks, just makes this look like the bad beginnings of some old ABDL story written a couple decades ago in the early stages of the internet.

I think there is a bit of a lack of understanding about how homeschooling works and how completely unregulated it is. As I was homeschooled for a few years (which, I should say, I did have as good of an experience with it as was possible, given that it is a less-than-ideal educational format), it is something I'm quite familiar with. If Sarah's mom unenrolled Sarah from school and filed whatever notice is required by the state (which, while I haven't confirmed that as happening in the story, it's basically the case because a two-month-long, unexplained absence from school is going to get investigated in my opinion, especially since Sarah is an exceptional student without a record of missing school), then there is basically no oversight over what the mom is doing with Sarah, at least as far as the school is concerned. The mom isn't filing any additional information or lesson plans or anything with the school. As far as the school is going to be concerned, Sarah is no longer their student at that point, same as if Sarah had been moved to a private school or another school district. For reference, I pulled up the actual rules for New Mexico (I didn't look at these while writing the story, I wrote just based on my experiences with homeschooling while growing up, but you can see how absolutely lax they are): How to Comply with New Mexico’s Homeschool Law (hslda.org) I'm not suggesting Sarah is getting any credit for work that would be missed, and I understand how missing that time makes it basically impossible to get credits for that semester, but there are options to make up classes, such as in the summer, that could allow her to catch up and graduate on schedule, even if that will make it more difficult. --- Anyway, the point isn't to keep bashing on homeschooling, it just happens to be a useful and realistic plot device to explain how the mom was able to keep Sarah locked up at home without any potential interference from the school, but that is a scenario that can and does happen in real life cases with parents attempting to cover up abuse.

There are some more things that need to happen story wise before we move ahead to that point. Thanks! I really wanted to have their approach directly contrast with the method's Sarah's mother had been using. I guess I didn't think of specifying between a pediatric urologist and an regular one. I would assume it is a regular one, and that it wouldn't be too much of an issue for that, especially given Sarah is much closer in age to being a legal adult than a toddler. You're welcome, it is nice to finally be going the opposite direction in the story, rather than the downhill spiral Sarah was in. And to be finally answering most of the remaining questions. I did think about that the authority situations as well as I was writing out Sarah's interactions with CPS and the nurse and doctor. The mindset of generally following rules and doing what she is told, especially while in a partially regressed state, does show how that comes back to bite the Mom, but I also meant it to show how she has lost some of her independence as well, just going along with things (even if they are good for her) without questioning them. One thing to keep in mind about academics is the Mom was "homeschooling" Sarah for this semester. I think it is safe to say that she filed proper paperwork, otherwise it would have been a truancy officers checking in much earlier than two months down the road. Because of that, Sarah wouldn't be enrolled in any classes or be accruing any failing grades. And honestly, even if she were enrolled in school and was missing all those classes, it seems pretty clear that there would be exceptions made due to the circumstances. It would be a bit absurd to fail a student because they were being prevented from going to school for two months by an abusive parent. That doesn't mean she isn't behind, but not in a way that wouldn't be possible to do some catching up, potential over a summer of two. And no, I'm not all that thrilled about the result of the Packers game (even if I'm glad they lost). I had hoped that with Rodgers moving on, that the Packers would at least spend a decade in quarterback purgatory. But no, Love looks to be at least competent, with the potential to be great. And the idea of the Packers having potentially 45+ years of basically good QB play in a row is incredibly irritating. Also, the NFC was weak as heck this year. You can't tell me that with a healthy Kirk Cousins that the Vikings don't have a good shot at making the Super Bowl (only to lose to the Ravens or Chiefs because it is the VIkings after all, and being the first team to go 0-5 in the Super Bowl is exactly what they would do).

Didn't Amanda ask her to pick out her dress and that is what she ended up picking out? Or did she ask her to pick one out but then ended up picking that out instead? Yeah, I re-worded that so it matches the earlier chapter. Love that line! Thanks, was trying to find the best way for the nurse and doctor to be able to re-assure Sarah about her issues. No worries. I'd rather have someone say something if there is a continuity issue than nothing at all. Went and made those fixes quick. It does feel good to begin answering a lot of questions. Both for the reader and also for things we know (or suspect) but Sarah hadn't learned yet. It does work well for posting the whole chapter here. With Wattpad, the way their algorithm works is pretty funky, but from what I've read, it tends to reward more frequent, consistent posting and is generally best with chapters that are shorter than 3,000 words.

Chapter 65: Testing, Testing We didn’t enter the hospital through the main entrance. Instead, Amanda drove us down into an underground employee parking garage. “Sarah, why don’t you stay in the car for a second and finish your Happy Meal?” I nodded. I had almost forgotten about the meal they’d purchased for me. The nuggets and fries weren’t too hot to eat now. Both Amanda and Jodie stepped out of the car. They were standing to the side of it, engaged in a fairly emphatic conversation while I finished my meal. I was unable to hear what they were talking about. I had just finished putting the last fry into my mouth when Amanda opened my car door. “Jodie needs to go talk with some sheriff’s deputies, but I’m going to stay with you until tonight.” “Go home then?” Amanda turned back and exchanged a silent glance with Jodie. What were they not wanting to tell me? Amanda looked back down at me. “I wouldn’t worry about that right now. That’s what we’ll be working to figure out, OK?” That answer didn’t make any sense. Where was I going to stay if I wasn’t going back home? But I got out of the car when Amanda asked me to, a little bit of dread building up inside at the prospect of whatever tests I was expecting the doctors to perform on me. Please let it be anything but drawing blood. Jodie whispered one more thing to Amanda and then headed off in a different direction. I trailed slightly behind Amanda as she led the way toward the hospital entrance, still carrying a backpack she had filled up with things for me back at home. We passed a couple of women in their hospital scrubs, heading to and from their vehicles. We were nearing a discreet entrance when a sensation in my bladder caused me to stop. Amanda continued walking for a few steps, then turned around to check on me. I stood completely still as I filled my pull-up. With a dry diaper, an accident of that size would almost be unnoticeable, with most of the wetness being drawn away from my skin. That wasn’t the case with the pull-up. It was fully soaked. I could feel the wet urine on my skin and the tug of the pull-ups elastic sides as it sagged down between my legs. At least there wasn’t a puddle on the floor this time. That would have been so much worse out here with everyone else who was in the underground parking garage. “It’s OK. I can help get you cleaned up once we are inside. There’s a nurse who is waiting to see you.” I’m not sure how Amanda knew that I had had an accident. Had the expression on my face changed? Or was it the way I had paused while walking? Was my stance noticeably different? Or had the accident actually been audible? The pull-up squished between my legs as we entered the hospital and made our way through a narrow hallway. Nurses and doctors were eating in break rooms that we passed. There weren’t any other patients in this part of the hospital. Amanda seemed to know exactly where she was going, choosing which hallways to turn down without pausing to look for directions. She held my hand and guided me into a family restroom. This time I was able to do most of the cleanup myself, though Amanda wiped me a few times after I had finished wiping myself, as though she thought I had missed some areas. The dress had been a good choice since I only had to remove my shoes to get a new pull-up on. After leaving the family restroom, we walked for what felt like forever. My feet ached badly. I hadn’t been on my feet this long since I’d been in school, and this hospital complex was even larger than my high school. I started to trail behind Amanda again. It was hard work keeping up with her. Amanda slowed down to keep pace with me. “You’re doing good. We’re almost there.” Two more turns and we were in a small lobby. Amanda had me take a seat in the corner while she went to the front desk to check us in. We must be in the pediatrics wing. There were a couple of kids – both my age and younger – waiting in other chairs. Some with parents and others that appeared to be on their own. I re-adjusted my dress as I sat in the waiting room chair. The one I picked out when Amanda had me select something from the closet was a couple of years old. It was fine for covering my pull-up while walking, but if it rode up even a little while sitting, it might reveal more than I wanted it to. I looked over to where Amanda was standing at the front desk. She had been chatting with the receptionist for what felt like several minutes before she finally turned and waved for me to come and join her. “Julie is waiting for you inside,” the reception said as I arrived to stand next to Amanda. She pointed toward yet another door for us to walk through. I was glad Amanda was with me. I doubted I would be able to find my way out of the hospital all on my own. An older nurse with gray hair was waiting for us as we opened the door to yet another hallway. Julie gave Amanda a hug. “Hi Amanda, it’s been a while.” She then turned to look at me. “And you must be Sarah. Amanda called earlier, telling me to expect you. The exam room is just up ahead.” The exam room was a familiar sight, no different from the one I had been in when I’d gotten the physical that had been a requirement to be able to play sports. Julie had me take a seat on the exam table, which was lined with a large paper sheet. Amanda took a seat in a chair in the corner. “We’ve got another doctor who is going to come and check on you once he is finished with his current patient. But before that, we’re just going to do a few things to make sure that you are all healthy, OK?” Julie began by asking a few basic questions. My full name. Age. Birthdate. The answers were a little easier to answer than when Amanda had been trying to get information from me back at home. My mind didn’t feel quite as fuzzy. Nevertheless, I was stumped when she asked for my Social Security number. That wasn’t something I had ever memorized. I froze up when Julie asked where I went to school. Julie glanced over at Amanda, who gave her a nod as to tell Julie to move on to the next question. Julie continued through a long list of questions. Some of them seemed silly. Some of them didn’t even make any sense as to why they were being asked in the first place. Others touched on topics I wasn’t comfortable answering. I was able to nod or shake my head for most of the answers, except for a few that couldn’t be answered with a simple yes or no. Then I had to try to think of the right big girl words to use. Amanda was sitting in the corner. She seemed to be paying close attention to the answers I was giving to Julie, who was also taking notes on her computer. “And has your mother ever hit you?” The calmness with which Julie asked the question unnerved me. Her tone made it feel so casual, but from the way she was looking at me, waiting for a reply, I understood that it was actually serious. “No, just spankings.” But that wasn’t entirely true. I paused, chewing on my lip. Julie remained silent, as if she was anticipating that I would have more to say. “She hit me in the face.” Julie didn’t appear shocked in any way by my answer. She just continued to ask her next question. “How many times?” That question wasn’t as difficult. “A couple times.” “And the spankings?” “I dunno. Lots?” “OK,” Julie said, apparently done with questions for now. “Thank-you for telling us that, Sarah. We’ve got some tests to run now.” I rolled up my sleeve to let her read my blood pressure, trying to relax as the device tightened around my arm. I think I could manage as long as there weren’t any needles. Julie then had me briefly get up from the exam table so she could take my weight and height on a machine in the corner. “That looks about right,” Julie said. “Only a couple of pounds lighter than in August. And about a half-inch taller.” I was about to sit down on the exam table again when Julie stopped me. “Not yet. I’m going to need for you to get take your dress off, just for a few minutes.” I didn’t want to, but I complied anyway, managing to get it off without any assistance before sitting down again on the exam table. Julie’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the pull-up, but she made no comment on it. I looked down at myself. Both my hands had subconsciously ended up in front of the pull-up in what was a feeble attempt to obscure it from view. They were both shaking slightly, and I wasn’t sure that was entirely due to being cold from taking the dress off. I felt Julie’s warm hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. People don’t usually come to the hospital because their body is working correctly, anyway.” Julie looked me over thoroughly, starting at my shoulders, and working her way down. Feeling my arms, legs, and back. She held a stethoscope to my chest to listen to my heartbeat, which she said sounded fine, despite the fact that I was sure it was racing at this point. Julie then looked at the bruises on both of my knees. “Can you tell me how you got these?” From the corner of my eyes, I could see Amanda sit up in her chair and lean in closer toward me. “Crawling?” “You do a lot of crawling?” “I only crawl at home.” Julie paused, as if trying to figure out how to best phrase her next question. “Do you mean that crawling is something you only do at home, or that when you are home, you only crawl around all the time and don’t walk?” “All the time?” “That would explain how bruised they are.” Julie reached out to touch them, but despite how gentle she was, I winced when her fingers contacted my knees. “I’m going to get you an ice pack for both of them before the doctor arrives once I finished with these notes. You can put your dress back on now.” Putting the dress back on was more difficult than taking it off. I struggled with it for a few seconds before Amanda got up from her chair and helped me put it back on. “You’re doing really good so far,” Amanda said. “Why don’t we take a break to go use the restroom while Julie is getting you an ice pack?” My pull-up was still dry. And it had been a while since I’d had the accident in the parking garage. I didn’t feel like I needed to pee. But at the same time, I had drunk all the apple juice from the Happy Meal, and it had to go somewhere. “That’s a good idea,” Julie said. “I’ll be right back when you are. The nearest restroom is just down the hallway to the right.” Julie left to get the ice for my knees, taking a left turn after leaving the exam room. I followed Amanda off to the right. The individual restroom was only a few doors down. Amanda didn’t follow me inside. I lowered myself uneasily onto the cold toilet seat, taking a peek at the open pull-up between my legs. There was the tiniest of yellow spots on it. I must have leaked just a little, though it wasn’t anywhere close to needing to be changed. But as I sat on the toilet, I tried to remember what I was supposed to do. How was I supposed to tell my bladder that it was time to empty itself? Was that just something I did in my head? did I have to squeeze my muscles in certain ways? Was it a combination of the two? Nothing seemed to be working. Like that was a big shock. I didn’t understand why Amanda was so insistent on treating me like a big girl when all the evidence stood to the contrary. I was already exhausted from nurse Julie’s examination, and that was only the prelude to the actual doctor’s visit, which was bound to be more extensive. A trickle sounded in the toilet. I had actually urinated somewhere other than in my pants. It was still an accident; I had given up trying to make myself pee. But it was a happy accident, for once. --- Julie was waiting in the exam room with a pair of fancy ice wraps for my knees when Amanda and I returned. The ice wraps fit almost like a knee brace. I shivered initially at the cold sensation, but it also felt really good. “I was just filling in the urologist who is going to be seeing you, Jane, about everything we talked about so far. She’s absolutely amazing. I’m going to buzz her to let her know we’re ready, and then I’ll leave you in her hands.” There was a tap on the door a few minutes later, and Julie got up to let the young doctor in. Jane was probably young enough to be the same age as Julie’s kids, if the nurse had any. Julie waved goodbye, and Jane stepped in to introduce herself to me. “So I think Julie mentioned that I’m a urologist, right?” I nodded. “You understand what that means?” The word sounded familiar, like something I had come across while trying to research incontinence on the school computer months ago. But I couldn’t quite place it. I shook my head back and forth. “It means I’m a doctor who specializes in urinary or bladder issues. I help people who have trouble with going to the toilet.” My shoulders relaxed. I felt a bit of tension that I didn’t even realize I was holding in leave my body. I felt a bit of annoyance at Mom that I wasn’t able to suppress. There were doctors who trained specifically to deal with issues like mine? “So, I was talking with both Julie and Amanda, and they tell me that you might be having some issues with having bladder accidents.” It was one thing to have Lisa talk so directly about bladder issues with me. She was my age and was dealing with similar issues. It was something else to hear those same words and phrases coming from an adult. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Sometimes our bodies just don’t work the way that they are supposed to. That’s what we have hospitals and doctors and nurses for. But in order for me to help you, I need to understand what it is that you’re dealing with. I know it can be hard to talk about, but you’re not telling me anything I don’t hear all day long with the other patients that I see.” There were that many people with these issues that her entire schedule was full of them? “So," Jane said, continuing on after her short speech. “I saw from your medical records that there was a visit back when you were five, right before you were starting school. Is says there that you were still wetting the bed at that age, is that correct?” I nodded. Despite Jane’s reassurances, I still found it hard to directly meet her eyes. I focused my gaze instead on a picture frame just to the right of her head. “And is that something that is still happening?” I nodded again. Jane continued to ask for more details. It seemed like she was thinking of everything. How often I wet the bed. Whether it was multiple times a night. Was I wearing any protection for it. “And has this been consistent, or have there been times you have been dry?” I had to think back to when my bedwetting had finally come to a stop in middle school. I couldn’t recall exactly how old I was at the time. “It stopped. Middle school?” And when did it start again? “When high school started.” “And the accidents you’ve been having during the day. Did those begin around the same time?” I thought back to that first time I had unexpectedly peed my pants. How I had barely managed to clean up that mess and get it hidden from mom. I nodded in response to Jane’s question. “I see,” Jane said. She was taking detailed notes about everything I was telling her. “I would think that both the bedwetting and daytime incontinence would be related if they started around the same time.” That made sense. That was the conclusion I had come to as well, though I had no idea what could have started it. Jane continued. “Was there anything that happened around that time? Any other changes? Injuries. Maybe to your head or back? New diets? Anything that was different from before.” I couldn’t think of anything that initially matched what she was describing. Mom hadn’t started feeding me anything different. I hadn’t noticed anything else wrong with my body other than the accidents I’d been experiencing. They had ramped up a little over time. But there was something, but there surely wasn’t anyway it could be related. I had taken that extremely hard fall during cheerleading practice. The one that had caused excruciating pain in my side that had taken weeks to fully heal. But Jane had asked specifically about head and spine injuries. That didn’t really line up with what she seemed to be looking for. On the other hand, Jane had stressed the importance of telling her everything. I told her about the cheerleading fall. Where I had landed. How much it had hurt. She pulled out a pain chart for me to identify how bad it had been. I re-affirmed that this was the only injury I had sustained during the period leading up to my bladder issues. “It’s possible that could be a cause, but we’ll be needing to do a series of tests because there are other things we’ll need to rule out as well.” But it wasn’t time for tests yet. The conversation drifted into topics that began to make me feel more uncomfortable. Jane continued chronologically from when my accidents had begun, inquiring both about the frequency of them, and what I had been doing to manage them and try to regain control of my bladder. “Did your mom ever take you to see a doctor about these issues?” “No.” Not that I probably needed to answer, anyway. I got a sense that Jane already knew the answer to the question, since she had access to my medical records. Then there were more questions. I danced around the edge of the details. I told Jane about how I had begun wearing pull-ups, but didn’t mention how I had been taking ones from my sister. I told her about beginning to wear diapers to bed because of how the pull-ups leaked, and Jane nodded along, as though she understood how that issue could happen. I mentioned that I had a friend with similar issues, and how she had been helping me before Christmas with different strategies to potty train. Kegel exercises, working on holding my bladder. How all those things had worked for Lisa and not me. Jane raised her eyes ever-so-slightly at the mention of Lisa’s name. I thought crossed my mind. There couldn’t be that many doctors that specialized in urology. Maybe Lisa had been her patient as well. I paused in the middle of answering another one of Jane’s questions. “Do you know Lisa? She is my age, but a lot taller. She’s skinny with really long, black hair.” The expression on Jane’s face told me that my guess was probably right, but I didn’t get any confirmation from her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question. I have to respect other patients’ privacy. I’d be breaking the law if I talked about any of my patients.” “OK.” “I can tell you that there are other kids your age who do get treatment for incontinence and bedwetting. You aren’t alone in that.” Then our conversation moved to something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with Jane: everything that happened starting with Christmas break. “I’m not saying this to make you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, but it is something I need to know so I can figure out what is going on with your body and what treatments we might try. Amanda told me some of what happened earlier today when they visited your home.” I turned to look at Amanda, who was still seated in the corner of the room. Even though I understood she was trying to help me, I was still hurt by the image in my head of what she would have divulged to Jane. How I had been lying in the crib wearing nothing but a diaper that was completely messed and soaked. Cleaning me up in the shower. The ensuing accident on the floor. Jane’s next question cut through to the center of the issue. “How long has your mother been making you wear diapers?” Again, though, there was the assumption that the diapers had been forced on me without any say on my part. “I don’t know. Since Christmas.” “I see, so it’s been a little over two months, then.” Two months. That answered a question I had pondered while lying in the crib. It was both difficult and easy to believe that much time had passed since Christmas. “And why did your mom put you back in diapers?” There were a lot of answers to that question. The most obvious was because I was peeing myself, but it felt like that wasn’t really what Jane was digging at. A punishment for breaking Mom’s rules. Failing to succeed at potty training. But I gave Jane the same answer I had given myself on New Year’s Eve. “She didn’t make me. I wanted to wear them.” The look on Jane’s face was quizzical. “You wanted to wear them? But I thought you wanted to work on potty training. You had your friend who was helping you, and you were able to go to the toilet sometimes while wearing pull-ups.” Jane just didn’t understand. “But I failed potty training.” “But how did you fail potty training?” There it was. I’d talked myself into a trap I couldn’t just talk my way out of. I had tried so hard to avoid having to tell Jane – and Amanda, who was still listening intently in the corner – about the more embarrassing aspects of mom and my attempts to manage my incontinence, but there wasn’t any escaping that now. I told her about how I had failed to hold my bladder as well as my younger sister. But that just led to more questions. Questions about Mom’s rules. Her strategy for potty training my younger sister and me. That time with the laxatives. How I’d bought pull-ups for myself. With each new revelation, the look on Jane’s face continued to sour, until the friendly smile she had displayed toward me through most of the exam had been replaced with an angry scowl. What had I said or done wrong now? Jane placed a hand over her mouth when I finished describing how Mom had made me stay in bed all night, not letting me get up to use the restroom until the morning. “Sarah, I’m so, so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. That’s just awful.” “But I deserved it. I couldn’t keep from peeing myself. That’s why I wanted to wear diapers.” “You didn’t deserve any of it. And pretty much everything your mom was doing was only making your issues worse, not better.” “But I can’t just pee all over the floor.” “You’re right. But needing to wear protection doesn’t mean that you are a baby. It isn’t something that should be used as a form of punishment. It’s something that is supposed to help you be able to live a normal life, not be used to make you feel worse about yourself.” “But how can I be normal while I keep peeing myself? Amanda’s phone buzzed. She looked down to check the number that was calling her. “I’ve got to step outside for a few minutes to take this. You can continue. I’ll slip back in once it’s done.” “Sarah,” Jane said. “Ccan you please look at me?” I realized that I hadn’t made eye contact with Jane since she had first entered the exam room. I looked back up at her face. She was no longer frowning. Instead, there was a single tear running down her cheek. “What your mom did was really, really wrong. It isn’t your fault in any way. And you absolutely can live a normal life with incontinence using protection, even if we can’t find a way to cure or treat you.” I suddenly felt like crying myself. I didn’t want to accept what Jane was saying was true. Not because I had any reason to doubt her. But because of the implications that it carried for everything that had happened since the start of the school year. Jane leaned in and gave me a hug. “it’s OK, we’re almost finished with the exam. You don’t mind if I share something personal with you.” I shook my head. “So, there were a lot of reasons that I chose to become a urologist. But one of them is that I had similar bladder problems that began when I was around your age. In my case, it was diagnosed as an overactive bladder, and I had to – and still do – wear protection to deal with it. I had a really helpful doctor who was able to get me through that, and I wanted to be able to help my patients like that.” It didn’t hit me immediately. Then I realized it. There she was. A full-grown regular adult, with a regular adult job. And she was wearing a pull-up. I had to work hard not to look down at her waist. I at least hadn’t noticed anything off when she had stepped into the room. And I realized something interesting. Jane had worked hard to avoid saying either diapers or pull-ups. It was always protection, absorbent underwear, or disposable briefs. Amanda slipped back into the room. “Any news?” Jane asked. “Nothing for now.” “OK then,” Jane said, turning back toward me. “I’m going to have Julie come back. She’s going to take you around to do a couple of tests. There’s going to be some x-rays. We’re going to need a urine sample. And then before you go, we’re going to need a blood sample as well.” I winced. I should have known better that I wasn’t going to be able to avoid that. “Do I have to?” “Yes,” Jane said. “That helps us know if there are any other medical issues going on that might be causing problems with your bladder.” “Will you know what is wrong when that’s done?” Jane smiled at me. “It’s going to take a few weeks for the labs to process all the initial tests. And we’ll have you back for a follow-up exam. But I don’t want you to worry about that. No matter what the tests reveal, we’ll do everything we can to help you live a normal life.” As I followed Julie and Amanda out of the exam room to finish with the remaining tests, I still struggled to picture what exactly normal would mean for me now.

Thanks, and good catch, got that fixed. Wattpad allows to set a publishing time, that isn't an option here, so posting times don't always line up. Also, I often split up longer chapters for Wattpad. So what gets posted here today is going to be more than what will be on Wattpad today.

Appreciate all the comments. Trying to respond to some from everyone. As far as story timing goes. We still have four chapters left, I think. The last two weren't in the outline, but it felt like it made sense to include them once I got to that point (I've done that quite a bit throughout the story). I can promise we'll get an exact date in the next chapter. I think the overall goal with this chapter was to both show some growth with Sarah getting back out into the real world, but also to demonstrate how she still is very confused by everything that has happened, especially since the start of Christmas break. There isn't going to be an immediate, quick-fix happy ever after for her. Thanks, got that fixed. I think the challenge will be when Sarah is going through the hospital tests as well as more rigorous questioning that the police and CPS would want to do to get to the bottom of what has happened. That's true, at multiple points she is thinking about how her mom is going to fit in with everything that has happened. We'll be seeing her friends soon enough. I was almost tempted to have one of them on the bus, but I figured that would be a bit much. That's a good point on how the CPS is behaving, obviously, they show up because they believe something is wrong, but they don't have all the information. Will be interesting to see what they have been told and by whom. There most certainly will be a bunch of tests, both incontinence and otherwise, CPS/doctors will want to make sure Sarah is OK. We'll get a diagnosis about her condition at some point. To clarify the injury, Sarah landed extremely hard on her side, so looking more at something internal that got messed up, rather than any type of brain injury.

Chapter 64: The Wheels on the Bus The wet pants accomplished what I hadn’t been able to find the words to say. I wasn’t potty trained and had no business wearing big girl underwear. From the looks on their faces as they both stared at the puddle on the floor, Amanda and Jodie both now realized that not allowing me to wear a diaper had been a big mistake. I didn’t find myself being embarrassed by the accident. It had been completely expected, as odd as that is to say, about something called an accident. I was more embarrassed by the lack of any protection and the ensuing mess but not by the act of peeing itself. At least they didn’t make me take another shower to get cleaned up. I laid down on the bed as Amanda wiped me clean with a wet wipe. They’d found the changing pad for me to lie on as they cleaned me up. They should have put me in a diaper right then and there, but instead, Amanda grabbed a pull-up that must have been left in the underwear drawer. “Why don’t we try this instead?” Amanda said. She stretched out the pull-up to slide it up my legs and around my waist. “That’s it. I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time.” The only true thing about that statement was that the only way I was going to make it to the toilet on time was if there was a lot of luck involved. I acquiesced to their desire to have me wear a pull-up. At least the next time I wet myself, it wouldn’t result in a puddle all over the floor. The next question was what to wear over the pull-up. I got up from the bed. Walking felt more comfortable now that there was at least some padding between my legs. Amanda led me to the closet. “Why don’t you pick out something that you would like to wear?” My eyes immediately went to a knee-length dress. Long enough to be warm for the winter weather, but it would make changing a lot easier. I struggled with taking my shirt and hoodie off for a moment, and then Amanda assisted in pulling it over and off of my head. Jodie found a pair of knee-high socks and helped me into them. I was nearly set to venture outside. At the front door, Amanda slid a jacket over me, tugging the hood over my head. I shivered as I stepped outside and breathed in a breath of crisp air. The yard was covered in sporadic patches of snow. I could see my breath as I walked down the driveway. There were two cars parked outside. One that Amanda and Jodie had come in, and another for the man who was staying behind at the house. Maybe he would let Mom know where I was, once she got home. Amanda and Jodie had said something in hushed tones to him before they took me outside. The last time I had been in a car had been that trip to the mall before Christmas. And I had been seated in the passenger seat, not the back one. I completely forgot about needing to buckle my seatbelt. Jodie ended up doing that for me. Then we were off. My stomach felt a little uneasy around some of the sharper turns, and I occasionally had to keep my eyes focused on the interior of the car to prevent myself from feeling sick. How far away was the hospital, anyway? I couldn’t recall. I hadn’t gone there very often. An empty sensation in my mouth made me realize that I was missing something. My paci. How had I not remembered to bring that with me? I was beginning to suspect that Amanda and Jodie wouldn’t have prioritized bringing it with them as they grabbed some extra clothes and things to bring along to the hospital. They had packed a few changes of clothes and some pull-ups and had even included two pairs of underwear but had failed to pack a diaper. My thumb found its way into my mouth almost automatically. I didn’t realize it was there until I had already been sucking on it for several seconds. Amanda was focused on the road, but I caught Jodie taking a peek at what I was doing in the mirror. I didn’t remove the thumb even after I saw a look from her that seemed quite close to disapproval. I wasn’t concerned with any disapproval from Amanda or Jodie. They didn’t understand what I needed. But Mom did. What was she going to do when she came home from work to find me gone? What was the man going to tell her? And what would she say when she found me wearing a pull-up when we were reunited? “McDonald's or Burger King?” The question they were asking may as well have been in a foreign language. I turned my attention to the front of the car and shrugged my shoulders. “Alight, if you don’t have a preference, McDonald’s it is,” Amanda said, turning on her blinker and making a right turn toward McDonald’s. My stomach rumbled as we pulled into the drive-through. There were a few cars ahead of us waiting to place their orders. “What do you want to eat?” Jodie asked. I took my thumb out of my mouth to answer her question. “Dunno.” Jodie sighed loudly. Amanda looked over at Jodie. “I think it’s easier for Sarah if we just give her some options.” Amanda leaned over and peered at me through the gap in the front two seats. “Chicken nuggets or a hamburger?” “Nuggies.” “Alright, nuggies it is.” When we finally arrived at the place to place the order, Amanda ordered a happy meal with apple juice for me, an iced coffee for herself, and a soda for Jodie. I reached into the bag to grab a nugget. Hot. I let it slip from my grasp and back into the bag. I would need to wait at least a few minutes before they had cooled off enough to eat. I slipped my thumb back in my mouth, sucking on it to cool it down. We were back on the road again, headed to the hospital with no further detours planned. The car slowed to a stop at a red light. A yellow bus pulled in alongside us. I peered up out the window at the faces in the vehicle next to me. A few were looking at me at first, then lips were moving, fingers were pointing, and more and more faces began to appear in the window, glancing down in my direction. There were kids. Slightly younger than me. Some of them were staring at me. None of them had pacifiers. None of them had their thumb in their mouth. A wave of memories came roaring back. Early morning bus rides to school. Classes. Homework. Cheerleading practice. Eating lunch in the cafeteria with my friends. Playing Fortnite with Lisa. Sleepovers. Game of Truth or Dare. Shopping trips to the mall. I looked down at my hands. They were both on my lap, right above where the pull-up was beneath my dress. I licked my lips. My thumb was no longer in my mouth. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put a name to it. I didn’t belong in that world anymore. I’d made that decision the day before this year began. I chose diapers. What was it that the woman had told me back at home when they had been getting me cleaned up and ready to go? They had said that how Mom was treating me wasn’t right, as if everything that had transpired had been Mom’s fault, as though I was a literal baby, lacking any agency over my life. But that wasn’t true. Was it? Mom hadn’t kept me locked inside the crib or chained to a wall. The baby monitor would have done nothing to prevent me from leaving and being long gone by the time she noticed and was able to get home from work. With my bike, I could have gone anywhere I wanted. I could have left at any time, and yet I chose to stay. And what about before then? There was nothing Mom could have done to stop me from telling Samantha and Desi the truth. There was nothing Mom had done that made me push Lisa away instead of asking her – the only person I knew who had been through anything similar – for help. There was nothing that Mom could have done that would have stopped me from telling Mr. Higgins or going down to the nurse’s office. Nothing that would have stopped me from picking up my cell phone and calling CPS myself. Exit signs had been present at each point along the way, and each time, I had willingly passed them by. Why had that been? Was it because of a determination to handle all my issues on my own? Was it the shame and embarrassment of having my friends find out what I had been through? Was it the fear that any act of defiance wouldn’t be enough to get away from any consequences that might be awaiting me from Mom? Or, at some point, had I already begun to subconsciously accept my fate? Had I known, deep down, with each ensuing accident, where everything was going to lead? That it would end with me knowing that I deserved, needed, and wanted diapers. I’d spent the past who knows how long staying in a crib all day long, pissing and shitting in a diaper because I had chosen to do so. I couldn’t blame Mom for it. I could have ended it at any time if I had chosen to do so. I dared another glance up toward the school bus. Only a couple faces at the window now. The rest had moved on from the spectacle, now that the older girl in the car was no longer sucking on her thumb. That had been me in the bus, not long ago. And I’m sure I would have called Samantha and Desi over to gawk out the window had I seen a fellow teenager doing what I had just been doing. But why had I pulled the thumb out of my mouth? And why wasn’t I able to bring myself to put it back in? A tiny bit of shame was gnawing at the back of my mind. I didn’t know any of those kids. They were young enough to be in middle school. From the name of the school on the bus, it wasn’t the one that I had attended last year. Yet, the discomfort at the idea of them seeing me behave like a baby was enough to prevent me from doing so. Why? Was I just being self-conscious? Or did I actually have something to be ashamed of? My mind kept replaying the reactions of Jodie and Amanda to finding me wearing a diaper and lying in the crib. The shock and discomfort on their faces. But also compassion and empathy. But all those emotions stemmed from the firm belief in the wrongness of what they were seeing. When I decided that I wanted to wear diapers, had I made the wrong choice? But if Samantha could choose to wear diapers, why couldn’t I? Would Amanda and Jodie consider Samantha’s decision to be just as wrong as mine? Or were both Samantha and I right? Or were the circumstances between myself and Samantha too different to be compared? The light turned green. Our car accelerated faster than the bus, leaving the school kids behind. With their eyes no longer on me, I slide a hand under my skirt, feeling the front of the pull-up. Dry still, but not that much time had passed since I had made that puddle on the hallway floor. I tried, for the first time since failing at potty training, to get my bladder to tell me something, anything, but it refused to give me any sense of its condition, whether it was nearly bursting or still in the process of filling up, I didn’t know. And that is where I was stuck, between this growing sense of wrongness in the back of my head and the practical reality that I had no idea of what was going on in my bladder. Between wanting to wear a diaper and wondering how I would be able to get through life at this point without one. Between the comfort of no longer fighting against my condition and the shame of seeing myself contrasted so sharply with my peers. Between the acceptance of what I'd allowed Mom to do to me since the start of the year, and the insistence of the social workers that it all was wrong. The hospital building loomed on the horizon with the sun setting directly behind it. I shielded my eyes as we entered the parking lot. I remembered the plethora of tests that Lisa had described undergoing as doctors worked to diagnose her own continence issues. How I’d attempted to bluff my way through a conversation with her by saying that I’d been through similar examinations. I recalled how I had snuck onto a computer at the school library, all the medical terms and theories about incontinence that I’d read. But I hadn’t undergone a single medical test since my issues had begun. The closest to a medical attempt Mom had made to treat my sister and I had been the laxatives, and there must have been some truth to that strategy as it had appeared to help my sister. The car came to a stop. Amanda turned off the ignition. Was I going to be poked, prodded, examined, tested? What could they tell me that I didn’t already know? What was going to be waiting for me in the hospital?

Yeah, I very much prefer to writefirst-person perspective only. And I'm not nearly good enough to switch between two different characters in the same story like that. (In fact, the only time I've seen an author do that is Robin Hobb in one of the later Farseer books, and it was pulled off perfectly.) That said, we'll get a good explanation for what went down and why with CPS. Though it might be a couple chapters out. I only mentioned it a handful of times at the start. I think I probably just threw a mental dart on a map to select a warmer state than Minnesota. I wouldn't get too caught up on what the exact temperature is. Not the same Amanda, just me being not terribly good at randomly coming up with names for side characters. One way to check is that I always update the title of the story with the new chapter and date within a few minutes of posting the next chapter. It would be a mix. Older videos on tape, newer ones on an SD card. I think you understand how much fun it is to write cliffhangers, though. But don't worry, another chapter is coming later today, but I can't promise that it won't have another cliffhanger. Thanks for catching that, I'll need to take a look at it later this afternoon and see if it needs to be re-worked for continuity.

Not quite, depends on the part of the country. The story is set in New Mexico (Don't ask me why I picked that when I started writing over three years ago, but I did, for reasons long forgotten). So, the winter weather isn't as harsh as what we've had this past week in Minnesota (-30 wind chill) for example. The main thing I was trying to imply was that it wasn't spring/summer yet. But as it started at the beginning of January, that still gives Sarah a bit of time to be babied. Yes, it's nice to move on from writing about all the possible ways the mother could punish Sarah. My initial plan was to pick up with Sarah at the hospital, but decided to add this chapter to give a glimpse of what was happening right at the moment she was being rescued and demonstrate just how far she had regressed during her latest time being treated as a baby. We're going to stick to showing the story strictly from Sarah's perspective, so not likely to get a viewpoint directly into what happens to the Mom, though Sarah will no doubt be informed of it later. That would be nice if it was fully written by now as well. But alas, I think I have more to write than expected. I think I'm going to hit the over on the projected number of chapters left that I made a while back. The sequel will be released all at once (provided that I finish it on time, and I'm making good progress) I think it is understandable that the diapers were viewed as a punishment, it certainly isn't expected that an otherwise healthy teenage girl would need them. And from their perspective, the CPS agents were being compassionate in they way they were trying to help Sarah realize it was OK to wear underwear again. As for why the urgency for the wellness check. There is a reason for that. But that is coming in later chapters.

There are a couple of easy explanations. The first involves modern disposable diaper companies and the fact that they are not incentivized to help with potty training. The companies that make baby diapers, Kimberly-Clark and Procter and Gamble, have no incentive to make potty training easier for parents. There is constant pressure from shareholders for companies to increase their profits year over year (Why the infinite growth model of capitalism is horrible for an environment with finite resources is a lengthy discussion for a whole other thread, but I digress). One easy way to do so is to increase the number of people using their products. And if kids are in diapers longer and longer, you have more customers. Modern disposables are so comfortable that kids don't get the same signals from having accidents in them as they would from cloth diapers, and that no doubt plays a role in delaying potty training. If wetting your pants isn't uncomfortable, why bother with learning to go to the toilet? Disposable training pants are an example of a product that pretends to be making potty training easier, but in reality, probably does a lot more to extend it. Parents would be better off either skipping training pants altogether in many circumstances, or switching over to cloth ones. That isn't to say that there aren't valid uses for disposable training pants, but most parents would be better off not primarily using them for toilet training. The push to "wait until the child is ready" has really gotten misconstrued as well. It's not about waiting until the child wants to toilet train, but waiting until they have the physical ability to do so. If a three-year-old doesn't want to go to the potty and would rather pee in their comfortable disposable diaper, they still need to be toilet trained, so long as there isn't any medical reason preventing it. There are plenty of skills that kids simply have to learn to function in society, and it's up to parents to give children those skills whether or not the child wants to learn it at the moment. But it's safe to say that "Big Diaper," if we want to go with that moniker, shares some blame for pushing that wait for the child approach as well. --- Beyond the diaper companies, you have some other factors. You have more dual-income households, with parents needing to work multiple jobs to get by. With both parents working, it can be more difficult to deal with toilet training. While a fully potty-trained child is more convenient to care for than one that isn't, the process of toilet training is far from convenient.

Yep, adding the jacket wasn't important to give some context for how long. We'll get an actual date in a chapter or two. And of course, some more details on why CPS got involved in the way that they did. That would be an excellent twist, but I'm not being anywhere that evil to Sarah, and that would be pretty bad if things went that long without her friends managing to help. I think it would be hard for them not to notice that something was up, especially with Sarah not returning to school. Yep, but she is going to have the right people helping her with it, this time around. I doubt CPS would be inclined to let the mother have any further interaction with Sarah at this point. They've got plenty of evidence that things aren't right. But yes, we will also find out what happens with Emilia in this scenario. In the beginning of the story, the Mom is passing off most of the parenting duties to Sarah, with Sarah having to do all the potty training and diaper changes. I think that the Mom does want both her daughters out of diapers. She was quite happy to have Emilia fully toilet trained. Sarah is very much being punished for what the Mom views as extreme acts of disobedience. We'll have to see what the answers to both those issues are. Sarah at least is going to get professional help now that she's been rescued by CPS.