MinnesotaWriter

Thanks! Thanks! It was hard for me as well. As I was writing these last few chapters, I was definitely thinking about how I could easily have continued this story for another 20-30 chapters, going into detail with Sarah's recovery and return to school. But at the same time, the story was always about her relationship with her mother and her eventual escape, so it made sense to end it when it did. And I have several other stories that I want to tell, so it is kind of nice to be digging into some new characters and plots. I nearly considered ten to be on the high end, especially considering a plea deal, but it's hard to tell. These types of sentences vary a lot in real life. Depends on a lot on the specific state laws and what judge does the sentencing. As far as back child support, that's an excellent question. Not something I get into in the sequel either. I would assume that if it is the case, it would be covered by the equity in the house. The Mom has lived there for 15 years, so, when you factor in housing values rising and the fact that she is halfway through the mortgage, selling that would net a sizeable amount of money. Thanks!

Have two new stories to announce, including the sequel. Will have another post this evening to share some thoughts on the story. All My Girlfriend's Rules This is a standalone sequel to "All My Mother's Rules" It's available on Amazon. Sarah’s story continues six years in the future. Now nearly finished with college, she must confront her incontinence and the lingering trauma of her past while embarking on an unconventional relationship that has the potential to radically alter everything she thinks she knows about herself. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CVJQK85L ratings/reviews appreciated The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers This is the new project I'm starting today. The first chapter is out already. The second will be out on Thursday. The one thing 12-year-old Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true, even if that means faking bedwetting to convince her parents to purchase pull-ups for her. The plan is simple. What could possibly go wrong?

We’ve made it to the end! It’s crazy to think it has taken nearly four years to get to this point, but thank you so much for reading, especially those of you who picked up the story shortly after I started writing it back in 2020. Will have a follow-up post about the sequel in a little bit. Chapter 70: Demarcation What makes someone a big girl? That was the question I wrestled with for the first week of living with Lisa and her family. If the criterion was being able to successfully use the toilet, as those ads on TV liked to remind parents and young kids, then it wasn’t a label I deserved. Yes, I had followed through with my plan of wearing pull-ups during the day. Lisa still had plenty of the extra-absorbent ones in her closet. That extra absorbency was very much needed. I didn’t make a single successful trip to the toilet during my first day with the Higgins. I really was trying, but months of neglect had made my bladder almost impossible to manage. On that first Monday, Mrs. Higgins stayed home with me while Lisa and her uncle went off to school each morning. I mostly stayed in the bedroom and played video games, and she gave me plenty of privacy, checking in once in a while to see if I wanted to come out to get anything to eat or drink. But on Tuesday, it was time to talk with my therapist again. Mrs. Higgins dropped me off at the hospital. I had finally gotten used to that maze of the building and was able to navigate to the therapist’s office, even getting there a few minutes early. We spent a lot of time talking about the ads for pull-ups that would show on TV, with the sing-song catchphrase that would accompany them: “I’m a big kid now.” The therapist told me about how she disliked the way that slogan was used for toilet training, and it was one she had worked hard to avoid using for her three young children. The problem, according to her, was that using shame to get a kid to use a toilet could often work, but if the kid failed to use the toilet for any reason at all, there was the risk of emotional damage with the additional stigma that had been attached to that failure. Being a big kid, the therapist told me, isn’t defined by what type of undergarments someone has on but by the maturity with which they handle themselves and the situations they find themselves in. There were two sides of me that had merged — the need for protection and being treated like a baby. She told me that they didn’t have to coexist. They weren’t two sides of the same coin. Whatever was going on inside my body should have no impact on whether I could resume living a normal teenage life. It wasn’t the first time we’d gone through some variation of that conversation in the past week-and-a-half, but something about it clicked this time around. Later that afternoon, after returning home from the appointment with the therapist. I made it to the toilet successfully for the first time since the day Mom had put me back into diapers. It was a tiny victory, but it told me all hope wasn’t lost for my bladder. That night, for the first time since moving in with Lisa, I didn’t suck on my thumb as I drifted off to sleep. The next day, I got some bad news from the doctor. The test results were in. They’d reached a conclusion about what might be causing my incontinence. Mrs. Higgins took me to the hospital to meet with Jane in person. I allowed her to come to the appointment with me. She had been incredibly helpful with getting additional diapers and pull-ups ordered for me, including several sample packs to see if there were some options Lisa hadn’t used that might fit better on me. It had been one thing to discuss my incontinence with my friends and another to discuss it with medical professionals and therapists, but doing so with a parent figure and having it handled so matter-of-factly in a non-judgmental way was an incredibly comforting contrast to how Mom had spoken to me about my bladder issues. So Mrs. Higgins was seated next to me, holding my hand as Jane provided her prognosis. According to Jane, their best guess was that the hard fall I had taken during cheerleading had done something to mess up my insides, which now weren’t fully wired the way that they were supposed to be. I thought back to the pain of that day and how my body had hurt for weeks afterward. Mom had even seen the massive bruise that had been left on my side. I had talked down the injury, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t as painful or as bothersome as it had been at the time. And she hadn’t pressed for any further details. At the time, I simply wanted to stick with the cheerleading. I hadn’t wanted to give up a position on the team that I had worked so hard to get as a freshman. Perhaps Mom should have dug deeper into the situation. But I could have said more as well. If I had spoken up, if I had somehow found a way to get checked out by a doctor, could whatever had gone wrong in my body have been fixed then? Was it another one of those bad decisions I’d made as my incontinence began? It had been like this ever since CPS arrived. Every time my mind wandered off to specific scenes with my mom, the feeling that it still had been all my fault was one I had difficulty suppressing. Jane assured me that was not the case. While I should have been brought to the hospital, even if I had come in that very day, I would still be dealing with bladder issues. The far bigger problem was all the mistakes that had been made while attempting to re-train my bladder. The past few months, where I had completely neglected my bladder, were a setback that could take months for me to recover from, so Jane assured me that I shouldn’t be discouraged if I was still having a lot of accidents in the coming weeks. That didn’t mean that I couldn’t work toward gaining control of my bladder again. But it was something I was always going to have to work out constantly. There wasn't ever going to be a point where it was fixed for good. There was some good news. The bloodwork and other tests they’d done had ruled out any more severe causes of incontinence, such as diabetes, cancer, or other diseases with lengthy names I couldn’t pronounce. There wasn’t anything else wrong with me. It was just my bladder. And it wasn’t my fault. --- I sat alone in the bedroom. I had picked out a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants that hid the outline of my pull-up, even if there wasn’t much they could do to fully conceal the noise. Lisa was in the living room, keeping an eye out on the road. Samantha and Desi were going to be here any minute. I wasn’t sure I was ready for them. I was sitting on my bed. Emphasis on mine. Mr. Higgins had removed Lisa’s old bed and replaced it with two smaller ones, so we would each have our own bed on opposite sides of the room. But I wasn’t able to sit still. Eventually, I got up and started pacing back and forth across the room. It was stupid of me to be nervous. I had seen all the texts Samantha and Desi had sent me. Their worry and concern over my well-being. Their joy and excitement at knowing I was OK. Their eager anticipation for the long overdue sleepover that was set to begin any minute. I knew that by tomorrow morning, everything would probably be OK; just like with Lisa, our friendships would settle into a new equilibrium. It was what needed to happen before then that was making me so antsy that I couldn’t stay still. Lisa had strictly adhered to her aunt’s advice over the past week. She hadn’t once pestered me with any questions about what had happened with my mother. She hadn’t once steered our conversation in a direction that would have made me uncomfortable. But just because those questions had gone unasked didn’t mean they were gone from her head. She had to be thinking about it, even if she wasn’t saying it. But I didn’t know what to expect from Samantha and Desi. Surely, the same questions were bouncing around in their heads. And they weren’t bound by Mrs. Higgins’ prohibition on discussing the topic. And really, even if they were, there wasn’t any way the topic of my mom wasn’t going to come up at all. Not when we had plans to basically be spending a day together. So what was I going to say? I thought back to the conversations I’d had with my therapist the past week. I think I knew what I needed to do. I turned around as Lisa came dashing into the bedroom. “They’re here!” I remained standing awkwardly on the other side of the room. “Come on,” she said. “There isn’t any need to hide.” Lisa was right. I walked toward where she was standing at the doorway. She took my hand, and we walked through the hallway and into the living room. I was dreading going through an awkward silence like the one I had been forced to endure when I had arrived at the Higgins’ place last week. But Samantha and Desi didn’t allow there to be any awkward silences. The second they were through the door, both girls sprinted at me, embracing me in a pair of hugs that caused us to fall backward and tumble onto the couch. I looked down at my pants as we lay on the couch. The sweatpants had gotten pulled down a couple of inches, revealing the waistband of the pull-up I had been attempting to keep concealed beneath it. I tugged the pants back into place as Samantha and Des both finally eased off of me. I was pretty certain I’d wet myself in all that madness. “Why don’t you guys bring your stuff over to the bedroom,” Lisa said, motioning for all of us to vacate the living room and get some privacy away from her aunt and uncle. Samantha and Desi took in the newly arranged bedroom in silence. I think the reality of my new circumstances was finally sinking in for them. We settled into sitting on the beds and couches while I got filled in on the latest gossip from school. “What have you been doing all week?” Samantha asked. “Lisa seemed to suggest that you’ve been at home playing video games all day.” I gave Lisa a mock glare. “Thanks a bunch for outing me.” I sat down on my bed. “OK, I did spend a lot of time playing video games, but I did have other things to do, going to the hospital for doctors’ appointments and therapy.” I knew right away that I shouldn’t have mentioned seeing the therapist. “So, what happened with your mom?” Samantha asked. And there it was. The question. They hadn’t even been able to hold it in for a half-hour. I thought back to the answer that I had settled on, one that reflected the realization I had arrived at after what I had discussed with my therapist about being a big girl. I took a deep breath, steadying myself to make sure I gave the answer exactly the way that I wanted to. It wasn’t something that I wanted to have to say more than once. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready to,” Lisa said. She turned to look at Samantha. “Sorry, I should have mentioned that my aunt said not to pester Sarah with questions.” “Hey, It’s OK. I think I know what I want to say.” Not another word was said. All their eyes were on me now. I had my friends’ complete and total attention. “It’s been a really weird six months,” I said, talking slowly, making sure I was following the script I had planned out in my head. I needed to draw a mental line in the sand. On one side was being treated like a baby. On the other side, incontinence. “You remember that time I fell and hurt myself in cheerleading practice? That massive bruise I got?” “Yeah,” Samantha said. “They really didn’t have a good track record with freshman. I mean, Desi broke her leg, too, before you replaced her on the team.” “So that’s kind of why all these things have been happening with my body,” I said. I fidgeted a little, noticing how my pull-up was becoming warmer. “At least that’s what the doctors think. I started wetting the bed again around the same time as the accidents had started happening in the day.” “I still can’t believe I didn’t notice that you were wearing pull-ups then,” Desi said. Was my decision about what to say – and not to say – next the right thing? I’m not who I was before. I couldn’t be who I was before. I was going to draw a clear line of demarcation between events then and now. That was the only way I could see to move forward as a big girl. I had to leave the past behind, cut it off clean and neatly, never to be returned to or re-visited. But I also understood that I couldn’t do that alone. That’s what I needed my friends to understand. I needed them to help me return to some sense of normalcy, not get stuck on what had happened to me. “So, about my mom,” I continued. Lisa was beside me on the bed. She reached out and rested a hand on my leg. “She got arrested. Emilia is now living with her bio-dad in Wisconsin. And I’m living here with Lisa. I don’t want to say anything more about it than that. What I need most is to find a way to return things to normal. I need your help to do that.” It was that last admission that my therapist had encouraged me to understand. If there had been one thing I hadn’t been willing to do much of the past six months, it was to ask for help. That didn’t mean that I couldn’t do it on my own terms, with the boundaries I needed to help me move forward, but I wasn’t going to be able to go through this recovery alone. Lisa’s hand moved from my leg to around my shoulder. Samantha and Desi came over and sat down next to me on the bed. We stayed like that for several minutes with their arms around me. They didn’t say anything. But I didn’t need them to. Epilogue The lives of myself and my friends reversed at the beginning of summer. They were off of school, free to begin their summer vacations. I found myself back in the classroom three days a week. Mr. Higgins was teaching remedial history lessons over the summer, so I had him as one of my teachers for the three courses I was taking to help cover what I had missed in that semester I had been held out from school. I hadn't been forced to try to return to school during the middle of the semester. For one thing, I was having a hard enough time as it was trying to manage my incontinence at home, and with how much I time I had missed, catching up over summer was a far better option. So summer school was the first time in a classroom since Christmas. I understood why Lisa had reverted to diapers when high school had begun for her. I had managed to make some progress with re-training my bladder the past three months, but not so much that a diaper didn't come in handy for getting me through the four-hour days of classes. If I could be back in pull-ups for my sophomore year of high school, I would consider that to be good progress. But there were no classes to attend this Saturday afternoon. The pool in Samantha's backyard was a welcome relief from the summer heat. My two-piece swimsuit felt off, and not for the normal reasons a teenage girl might feel uncomfortable in that type of outfit. The lack of padding between my legs left an absence that was noticeable as I walked around the pool, headed for the deep end. Samantha and Desi were already in the pool as I stepped up to the edge, trying to time my cannon ball jump correctly to splash both of my friends. Samantha turned to look at me from where she was treading water in the deep end. "You're going to come in like that? Aren't you missing something?" "Missing what?" I asked. I got in position to jump. Samantha looked around. It was just us out by the pool for now. Her little brother wasn't in sight. "A swim diaper. What if you pee in the pool? "Don't be silly," I said. "That is what chlorine is for." I launched myself to a spot right between Samantha and Desi, bringing my knees up to my chest to make the biggest splash possible. Neither of them managed to get out of the splash zone. There was a sense of freedom in swimming in the pool. I had been mostly joking about peeing in the water. I'd used the toilet right before changing out of my pull-up and into the swimsuit, so I should be safe for the short amount of time I intended to spend in the water. Lisa had chosen not to join us in the pool. She hadn't ever learned how to swim and was off in a plastic chair a safe distance away, tapping on her phone. There was a hint of cotton fabric peeking out of the top of Lisa's low-rise shorts. She was a completely different person than the shy girl I'd met at the start of the last school year, who wore full-length dresses to obscure the diapers she had on underneath to manage her incontinence. Lisa was wearing underwear for the summer. If she made it through those three months without any accidents, then it would be underwear for school as well. Nighttime was the one time we were still equals, as we lay in beds on the opposite side of the room, each with a diaper secured snugly around our waists. Samantha and Desi both got out of the pool. I should have anticipated what was going to happen next, but it wasn't until they were both in the air aiming for each side of me that I realized that they were out for revenge. We spent the next ten minutes trying to out splash each other with crazier and crazier dives into the water. I rushed back inside to dry off and change the moment I got out of the pool. It would have been one thing to have an accident in the water, but I wasn't going to wet myself on the pool deck. When I returned outside, Samantha and Desi were sunbathing on towels. I took a seat in a chair next to Lisa. Sometimes when I hung out with my friends, I wanted us to all be involved in activities together. But there were also days like today, where their presence alone was enough, a simple reminder that they were here for me. My two CPS case workers, Amanda and Jodie, had continued to check in with me a few times a month. Their latest visit had brought news of Emilia, who they said was adjusting extremely well to her new life in Wisconsin with her dad, stepmother, and step-sister. That was good news. It would be better if she were young enough to allow all of those events to fade from her memory. I sighed. I knew from the dreams I still had that it wasn't going to be that easy for me. Rules and consequences. That was a lesson my mother had never failed to teach me. But rules aren't only for little kids and teenagers who are having difficultly using the toilet. Adults have rules to follow as well, as my mom discovered after she pleaded guilty to numerous offenses related to what she had done to me. It meant her punishment wasn't going to be as strict as if she had held out for a trial. But I told the prosecutor I was OK with that when she asked me for my opinion. A trial would have meant needing to stand in front of a jury, forced to recount the events from the fall to Mom's arrest. I wasn't prepared even to share those details with my closest friends, so a jury was out of the question. Still, I was pleasantly surprised when I found out my mom had been sentenced to ten years in jail, a ruling that also prevented her from ever gaining custody of Emilia once she was released. Just as adults had rules to follow, they had to deal with the consequences as well. As for me, I was free at last from all my mother's rules. --- Links to all of my stories are available at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com

The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

You're welcome! And yes, I suppose that title does raise a lot of questions. I think it's important to consider Lisa's backstory when looking at how her interactions with Sarah have evolved. She was homeschooled through the start of high school in a way that kept her isolated from most of her peers. In "Diapers Never Lie," it's clear from the inner monologue that she isn't a super introverted personality. So, at the start of this story, Lisa is put in the position of needing to start high school (that can already be a challenge for teens under normal circumstances) while also needing to play catchup on her own social/emotional development, and, of course, that is all complicated by her incontinence. Then we see her get more confident as this story progresses, and her friendship with Sarah (and later Samantha and Desi) plays a large role in helping her to get out of her shell. The way the pendulum has swung for her from being shy and reticent to overly enthusiastic and pushy is, in my experience, a fairly realistic depiction of some of the challenges a kid would face when trying to adjust socially like that from being homeschooled for a lengthy period of time. Kids need socialization (especially apart from their parents) to learn how to pick up on normal social norms and cues. There really isn't any way to learn that otherwise. When kids are deprived of that, you get situations like what Lisa is going through as she adjusts to normal life. And yes, that can definitely be annoying to others in the meantime. No, just on Amazon.

That was answered in an earlier chapter, they basically described a fairly generic scenario of severe abuse. There are a number of scenarios that could happen that would protect Sarah's privacy. But we'll get info on that in the next chapter or epilogue. I think being a "big girl" with pull-ups is partially an acknowledgement that her bladder issues aren't going to go away overnight. Lots of things to tie up in the next chapter. Sarah's diagnosis, how all of the friends react when they are back together again, there may be some info about the Samantha/Lisa conversation, but I've moved more toward some of that being discussed in the sequel. I felt it was really important to have her see all of the messages because one of her ongoing struggles has been her unwillingness to accept her friends help or believe that they would stick with her if they found out what she was going through. I try to include things like that when they are able to advance a number of goals. The sleepover had Sarah/Samantha both being forced to come clean or partially clean about their needs/interests in diapers, set up the tension between Lisa/Samantha with the ABDL side that Lisa changed her mind to being accepting of, and the tension between LIsa/Sarah with the start of potty training and how Lisa is succeeding at it while Sarah is failing. Thanks, and I got that part fixed! That is the general timeline at the moment. Still am finishing up the ending this weekend. I think the age-gap between Sarah/Emilia is as big of a challenge as the distance gap in terms of maintaining a relationship going forward. Also, giving them space is going to help with getting Emilia to re-set and think of Sarah as more of a big sister again the next time that they meet. I had toyed with the idea of doing a full re-write of this story and putting it on Amazon as well, but decided that wasn't a good idea. Too many people get the wrong idea about ABDL stories even when the characters are all adults. And even though there isn't anything inappropriate about this story, I'd be hesitant to put it in front of a wider audience like that. That said, there are lots of teens who read ABDL fiction. I think for most people, an interest in ABDL often develops in the early teens (as was the case for me). I lurked here and a lot of other places as a teen reading most of what I could get my hands on. That was extremely helpful at that time in my life with knowing that I wasn't alone in those interests. As I've mentioned before, a number of the stories from that time period served as some inspiration for this one. Of course, minors/adults shouldn't be actively interacting in any way regarding ABDL content, so lurking and reading is as far as that should be going (which isn't something that could be easily policed, anyways) Thanks! CPS hasn't told most of the details. They were simply informed of the general situation. They know she was held out of school without being educated, and they are aware of her medical issues. Perhaps if Sarah were a lot younger they might get told more, but I had CPS strike a balance between telling the Higgins what was necessary to care for Sarah while also protecting her privacy as well. As far as additional chapters remaining. We will have one chapter and an epilogue left. But, there will be a sequel coming out right away. And you will get to read it all at once without needing to wait for one or two updates a week. Figured now is as good a time as any to share some details about it. The title of the book is: “All My Girlfriend’s Rules.” The story is set six years in the future and focuses on how Sarah deals with the long-term effects of her incontinence and the abuse she went through. I am going to be putting it out as an eBook on Amazon. Plan is to have it available right when the last chapter for AMMR is posted.

Chapter 69: Reunited Jodie held open the car door for me, but I didn’t immediately get out. That had been Lisa I had seen looking out for me through a gap in the curtains in the living room window. My heart was pounding. I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Every script I had attempted to rehearse on the way over felt completely and totally inadequate for this moment. I wondered again what the CPS officers had told the Higgins in preparation for my arrival. What did they already know? What would be left for me to explain? What did I even want to explain, even if I could somehow manage to find the words to do so? “It’s going to be alright,” Jodie said. “They sounded extremely excited to have you come live with them when we spoke on the phone this morning.” She extended a hand to help me up. I took hold of her wrist and stepped out of the car. I heaved the backpack over my shoulder and grabbed the handle of the tote bag of diapers I had been given in the hospital. Jodie and Amanda each took one of the suitcases as we headed toward the front door. Amanda set the suitcase she was carrying down on the front step and reached over to ring the doorbell. The door opened before she could do so. Mrs. Higgins ushered us inside. I found myself unable to meet her eyes, I instead paid extremely close attention to where my feet were treading as we followed Mrs. Higgins inside to the living room and I set my things on the floor next to the window overlooking the driveway. Amanda and Jodie were standing next to me. The Higgins were on the other side of the room, standing next to the couch. Lisa was nowhere to be seen. What followed was a moment of awkward silence that stretched uncomfortably long. I took a small amount of comfort in knowing that I wasn’t the only person who was having trouble figuring out what to say. I shuffled my feet on the carpet, finding it difficult to completely close my legs because of how full my diaper had become. That my diaper was wet was a given. The only times my diapers were ever dry at this point were during the first fifteen minutes or so after changing. And had now been a couple hours since I had last changed myself back at the hospital. I heard something creaking on the wood floor in the hallway around the corner. Then Lisa was peeking her head around the corner. I almost didn’t recognize her at first with her new haircut. Her lengthy pitch-black hair had been trimmed back significantly. It only barely reached her shoulders now. She ducked back out of sight again, before coming all the way out of the hallway and taking several steps into the living room, where she paused again, standing next to her aunt. “Hey, I um. Sorry.” I tried to say something to Lisa, but I couldn’t manage to string a coherent sentence together. Lisa ran forward to give me a hug, nearly knocking me backwards against the window. Even if I had known what to say now, I wouldn’t have been able to with how tight her grip was around me. “It’s OK,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve been so, so worried about you.” I looked up at her face. There were tears running down it. If the adults in the room were saying anything, I was too focused on Lisa to take note of any of it. We kept holding onto each other, neither of us wanting or allowing the embrace to end. I found myself crying into her shoulder as well. Lisa’s aunt finally interrupted the silence, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’re really glad to have you here, Sarah.” I broke off the hug with Lisa just enough give a tepid nod in response. I was still at a loss of what to say. A simple thank-you felt wholly inadequate for how they were willing to take me in like this. She simply smiled back at me, as if she understood how difficult I was finding it to express myself. She tapped Lisa on the shoulder to get her attention. “Why don’t you help Sarah unpack and get settled in. Your uncle and I have a few things to discuss with Amanda and Jodie.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder and grabbed the tote bag and a suitcase. Lisa took the remaining suitcase and headed toward the bedroom. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s a bit of a mess,” Lisa said as I entered the room behind her. That was a bit of an understatement. There were piles of sorted clothing on the bed. Some of the dresser drawers appeared to have been fully emptied out. The same was true with one of the closets. It appeared as though Lisa had been attempted to consolidate all her stuff into one side of the room “Sorry, we didn’t find out you were coming to stay until this morning. I’ve been rushing to try and make room for you.” She pointed to the empty closet. “That’s all for you, and then you can also take the top two dresser drawers. We’ll have to share a bed for now, but my uncle said he can get separate ones set up for us next weekend.” We set all my things down by the empty closet. But with Lisa’s explanation finished, there was another long moment of silence while I stood staring at the closet. The gap that had developed between us the past several months again felt unbridgeable. I turned to look at Lisa. She had a controller in each of her hands, one of which was stretched out toward me. “Video games sound like a good plan?” --- That turned out to be exactly what I needed at the moment. An activity where we could be together without being forced to engage in a conversation that neither of us were ready for. Whatever it was that the CPS officers had needed to talk with the Higgins about, the conversation had stretched on for quite a while. Lisa and I were able to finished a pair of Mario Kart races – each of us winning once – before Jodie tapped on the side of the doorframe to grab my attention. I left Lisa sitting on the small couch in her bedroom while I followed Jodie to the front door, where Amanda was getting ready to leave. Amanda pulled a business card from her wallet and gave it to me. “It looks like this is going to be a good situation for you, but if there are any questions or issues, or just things you need to talk about. You can reach out to me at any time, OK?” “Will I be seeing you again?” Amanda nodded. “We’ll be in touch for any legal updates about your mom and working to get some time for you to still see your sister. We’re also going to be working on a plan with Mr. Higgins for how to best get you started in school again.” The each took a turn giving me a hug before they left, leaving me alone with Mrs. Higgins in the living room. “I’m going to go ahead and start getting lunch prepared in a little bit,” Mrs. Higgins said. “If you need help with cleaning up or anything before then, just let me know.” I shook my head fervently as the realization of what she was offering to assist me with. “I’m fine. I just need to start with unpacking,” I said to Mrs. Higgins, searching for an excuse to head back to the bedroom. I wasn’t actually read to unpack or change my diaper yet. It was just that if there were going to be more awkward silences, I’d rather spend them around Lisa. Lisa was attempting to organize what was now her half of the bedroom when I returned. I noticed something about her that was missing. Something that I hadn’t caught on when I had first arrived. I was standing still. She was moving. I couldn’t catch the faintest tell-tale sound of crinkling. Pull-ups might be quiet, but not so quiet that there wasn’t at least some noise there. I stared at her bottom as she turned to take some shirts from her bed to hang them in her closet. She definitely had no protective padding on. “Are you not wearing pull-ups any more?” I asked before I could help myself. Lisa turned around, a hanger in one hand and a shirt in the other. “Oh, yeah. But only while at home. I probably would be fine at school, at this point, but I’m still too nervous about what would happen if I had an accident in public.” I was so jealous. How could so much have changed in a little under three months? “Nice,” I managed to mumble at last. My heart really wasn’t in that compliment. Lisa set the hanger and shirt back down on the bed and walked toward me. Her hand brushed against my bottom. There had been little question in my mind that Lisa was aware that I had a diaper on beneath my sweatpants. Now there was no question about it. I had perhaps gotten used to how crinkly they were over the past week that the noise didn’t stand out to me as much as it once had, but for Lisa, it must have been a blaring alarm. And even that brief bit of contact with my bottom would have told her enough about the state of my diaper for her to realize that it was soaked. There wasn’t any question that I was going to need to get changed soon. I should have done so as soon as I had arrived, but it had been too embarrassed to ask for the privacy to do so. “You don’t have to worry,” Lisa said. “I’ve still got a bunch of leftover pull-ups you can use until we can buy more for you.” Lisa glanced back at the closet. “Is there a certain one you’d like? I think I still have some from all the same brands from when you were here for the sleepover.” I remembered that. Lisa had insisted on me trying a few of the pull-ups brands she preferred to wear. Both of which were much better than the ones Mom had been having me use, a few of which were tucked in one of my suitcases. No, I wasn’t ready for that yet. That was the thing, I wasn’t so much jealous of the pull-ups and underwear themselves as much as I was jealous of her ability to be able to control her bladder enough to justify wearing them when I couldn’t. “About that. Um, could I have a diaper instead?” That remark caught Lisa by surprise. Her eyes widened as she turned back around to face me. “Don’t you want to work on toilet training?” She asked hesitantly. I sighed. “No, can you just get me a diaper. The ones they had at the hospital suck.” But Lisa didn’t head back toward the closet. “What happened? You were all gung-ho about working to use the toilet before Christmas.” “A lot of good that did me,” I muttered. “Sarah, what happened during the last two months?” I hated how Lisa had a way of cutting right to the point. But there it was. The one question I had absolutely no desire to answer, even if I had been capable of coming up with a suitable explanation. “Can you please just get me a diaper from the closet and give me some fucking privacy to change?” Lisa was about to reply when Mrs. Higgins appeared in the doorway. She glanced back and forth between us, taking in the scene of the hastily interrupted argument. How much had she been listening in on? She turned to look at her niece. “Lisa, you need to slow down. I know you have a lot of questions. But why don’t we give Sarah some space before lunch.” Mrs. Higgins moved to the side to give Lisa a path to exit the bedroom, and then stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I’m sorry about my niece,” she said. “I don’t know how much Lisa’s told you, but her parents had homeschooled her until last year. Sometimes she doesn’t always pick up on social cues and can be a bit blunt about things.” “It’s fine,” I said. “I mean. It isn’t fine. But I it’s fine. Oh, I just don’t fucking know.” I collapsed down on the couch. It was a minor miracle that the diaper didn’t burst open at this point. Mrs. Higgins took a seat next to me. “You’ve been a really good friend to Lisa,” Mrs. Higgins said. “She was absolutely devested when she found out your mom had pulled you from school.” I sniffled, and then rubbed my face on my shirt sleeve. “But you shouldn’t need to feel like you have to talk about things before you are ready to.” Mrs. Higgins got up and walked to the closet. She came back to the couch with one of Lisa’s bedtime diapers in her hand. “Amanda let us know about the medical issues you’re dealing with. Let’s see if these work, but if there is anything else you need us to order for you. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of.” With that last word of encouragement, she left the room, closing the bedroom door behind her to give me some privacy to get changed. --- After getting the fresh diaper on, I realized I was going to need to figure out what brand it was that Mom had used for me. Those diapers were a good middle ground between the stupidly thick diaper I now had on and what I had been wearing at the hospital. Perhaps that was something Lisa would know. I picked up my sweatpants from where I had tossed them on the floor and fished out my phone from the pocket. I let the pants fall back onto the floor and looked around for somewhere to charge it. Lisa and I both had the same brand of phone, so I was able to make use of the charger on the nightstand next to the bed. I laid down on my back on the bed with just a T-shirt and diaper on, waiting for the phone to get charged enough so that I could turn it on. A yawn escaped my attempts to hold it in. It wasn’t even time for lunch, and I was already tired. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. Packing my things up at my house and bringing them here hadn’t been a difficult task, especially with Amanda and Jodie’s assistance. I was just mentally exhausted from all the pent-up tension that had been building inside me all the whole way here, the anxiety from trying to guess how Lisa and her aunt and uncle would react to me, and the stress of leaving behind the only home I’d known. I wished Lisa would hurry up and come back in. I really needed to apologize for how I had lashed out at her again. I yawned again. I fought the urge to close my eyes for just a few seconds. I tapped the phone screen. Five percent. Not much, but enough to power it on so long as I kept it plugged in. I pressed the power button until it began to turn on. I swiped my finger, tracing the intricate path needed to unlock the phone screen. I held my breath as a massive flurry of message notifications flooded onto the screen. I couldn’t take my eyes off my phone as I skimmed through the hundreds of messages that had built up in my absence. Not a single day had gone by when Lisa hadn’t sent me a message. Sometimes, she expressed concern about how I was doing. Other times, she wondered if I was even able to read what she was saying. She kept asking if I was OK, assuring me that I could reach out to her for help. There were more mundane messages as well. Updates about school and the Fortnite team. Silly memes. She had proudly shared how she had finally had the courage to wear underwear for a whole weekend and had managed to avoid any accidents. And there were plenty of messages from Samantha and Desi, with similar themes to what Lisa had sent me. They’d had a couple of sleepovers without me but had all texted to let me know how much they had wished I was there. All my fears that my friends had abandoned me. All my worries that they would hate me for how I had lashed out at them. All the concerns about how I would manage to fit back into our relationships after being gone. The worry about being judged for my condition or ridiculed for how Mom had treated me. All of that faded away. I couldn’t take my eyes off the phone. Here was incontrovertible evidence that Samantha, Desi, and Lisa were all going to be there for me. Eventually, the tears running down my face made it impossible to clearly make out the contents of the messages I was still trying to read on my phone. Two months was too much to try to cram in all at once. My thumb had found its way inside my mouth once again. I couldn’t bring myself to let go of the comforting sensation it provided. Was I supposed to be a big girl or a baby? It was hard to know with all the other emotions surging through my head. I close my eyes. I just needed to relax for a few seconds. --- “Time to get up, sleepyhead.” I looked up at Lisa, who was standing a few feet away from me. Then I realized something. My thumb was still in my mouth. I pulled it out, only to realize something else. I wasn’t wearing anything over my diaper. My hands slid down toward my crotch in an instinctive attempt to cover it up. That only caused me to realize one more thing. I had wet the diaper while I had been napping. Lisa inched toward me cautiously, as if I was some sort of wild animal that might reach out and snap at her. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier,” I said. Lisa sat down on the edge of the bed. “It’s OK. I shouldn’t have been asking you about that.” “Hey, so lunch is ready if you’re hungry. My aunt made hotdog mac and cheese.” Oh good, I hadn’t been asleep as long as I had feared. The short nap had done me some good, though; I wasn’t feeling as tired. But I wasn’t ready to eat yet, either. “I don’t know if I’m all that hungry.” “I can wait to have lunch with you when you’re ready for it.” Lisa settled down next to me in the bed, taking hold of my hand. We sat in silence for a few minutes, which was a welcome respite. “Are you holding up OK?” she asked at last. “You had your thumb in your mouth while you were sleeping.” There was a chance right there to come completely clean, to tell Lisa about how Mom had punished me for my incontinence by treating me like a baby, how I had basically lived in a crib for the past two months while she and the rest of my friends had continued on with their teenage lives. She hadn’t judged Samantha, so you wouldn’t judge me for it, right? But there was another voice in the back of my head, one that urged caution. I wasn’t like Samantha. I couldn’t casually flip back and forth between diapers and underwear, between babyhood and adulthood, between being cared for and being independent. The instruction the therapist at the hospital had given me was that I needed to separate the medical need to wear diapers from the concept of being treated like a baby. So I let the moment pass. I told Lisa I was feeling a lot better. That was the truth, after all, especially with the messages I had seen on my phone. Lisa made no further mention of how she had seen me sucking on my thumb, and I didn’t bring it up. That wasn’t a road I was going to go down. There were no other questions from Lisa, at least not about what had happened back at home. Whatever her aunt had said to Lisa had gotten her to set aside her curiosity for the time being. Lisa glanced over at my phone, which I had set on the nightstand. “When’s the last time your phone was on?” “Just now. But I hadn’t had it on since before Christmas.” “I called CPS for you,” Lisa blurted out. For some reason, that announcement didn’t come at all as a surprise. “I was so worried about you when you weren’t responding to our texts. Samantha and Desi both seemed more annoyed than worried. They told me that you probably had just been grounded and that it was something that had happened before.” “That part is true,” I said. “But, after what happened at the mall…” Lisa’s voice trailed off. I had been so desperate to prevent my mother and Lisa from interacting that I had chased Lisa off, cursing at her and telling her that I didn’t want to be her friend anymore. “Please,” I said, taking hold of her hand. “I didn’t mean any of that. I just couldn’t have my mom talking to you.” Lisa opened her mouth, but she shut it again without speaking, leaving the obvious question unasked. She continued her explanation of how she had gotten CPS involved. “So, when you didn’t come to school again, I asked my uncle to file a report. The problem is, it’s impossible to know if anything comes of it. It just gets tossed into the system, and it’s impossible to get any updates or know if the report was acted on.” “When you still weren’t back in school, I began to fear the worst. I figured out a way to make a call to CPS that wouldn’t be able to be traced back to me. I tried to think of something I could tell them that would sound plausible but crazy enough that they would spring into action immediately, and then, even if they found some other type of abuse, you would be rescued.” I thought back to the sense of urgency the CPS officers had displayed with how they had burst in while Mom was away at work. “And, well, I realized you would need a place to stay, so I had my aunt and uncle reach out to some social services workers. They knew that if they happened to be looking for a place for you to stay, that we would be an option.” “What about Samanta and Desi?” “They helped me come up with how to word the anonymous CPS report at our last sleepover. But I’ve not been able to tell them anything yet that it worked. Those CPS people were really big on making sure we were respecting your privacy. “You think you could text them for me?” “Of course.” Lisa tapped away at her phone for several minutes. Then my phone vibrated with a loud buzz. I swiped down to see the notification. Lisa had sent a lengthy message to our group chat. “Do you know where Emilia is going to live?” Lisa asked. “We had offered to have her stay here as well, but CPS simply said they were only looking for a placement for you. Is she alright?” I told Lisa about how Mom had attempted to flee to Canada with my half-sister in tow. She was not impressed with my mom’s decision-making there. I explained how they had discovered Emilia had a father in Wisconsin who was happy and willing to take her in. “So, you could have gone there instead as well?” Lisa asked. “They did give me that choice. I’m glad I chose to stay with you. I… I saw all the messages you guys had sent. That meant a lot to me.” My phone started vibrating in a rapid-fire manner. Samantha and Desi must have gotten Lisa’s message. Lisa pulled her phone out of her pocket. I took a deep breath and then picked up my own phone to join in on the conversation. Lisa had thankfully asked Samantha and Desi to hold off badgering me with a bunch of questions, but there was still so much that we needed to catch up on. Samantha and Desi asked if they would be able to come over for a get-together. Lisa said that she would need to check with her aunt to see if that would be all right. Lisa jumped off of the bed without warning and frantically dashed into the bathroom. The bathroom wasn’t all that soundproof. Suffice to say, it seemed as though she had made it to the toilet in time. “Sorry, that was just a really close call there,” Lisa said as she exited the bathroom after washing her hands. My stomach rumbled. “I think someone is ready for lunch now.” I pulled on my sweatpants and followed Lisa to the kitchen. I didn’t bother changing the diaper yet. It was absorbent enough that I’d probably be good till dinner. She filled me in on a new video game she had been playing while we ate mac and cheese. Her aunt and uncle had eaten earlier, and they left us to our own devices. The rest of the afternoon was spent getting all of my things unpacked in the bedroom while Lisa worked to organize all of her stuff. It was nice to finally have on a properly absorbent diaper for once. I didn’t have to worry about changing again until right before dinner, and even at that point, it wasn’t even close to being fully soaked. We spent the evening playing Fortnite. A new season had recently started, and Lisa was excited to show me all the updates. Mrs. Higgins had approved of having Samantha and Desi over. But that would have to wait for next week. There was a week of school to go through first. I was going to be staying home for at least a week while a decision was made about when and how I was going to return to school. Mrs. Higgins was taking some time off of work so she could get me to the therapy appointments, which were going to continue, at least for the near future. Bedtime meant diapers for both Lisa and me. Despite her successes during the day, her bedwetting hadn’t let up in the slightest. I slid under the covers. The bed was more than big enough that we each had plenty of room. Lisa said goodnight and hit the lights before joining me in bed. The sound of Lisa’s soft snoring greeted me a few minutes later. But I was having a difficult time trying to fall asleep. I knew why that was. I had spent two months falling asleep each night with a pacifier in my mouth, and that lack of that familiar sensation, combined with what had been a stressful and tiring day, was making it difficult to fall asleep without having something between my lips to suck on. I tucked both my hands between my legs, determined to keep my fingers out of my mouth. Lisa had said there were plenty of pull-ups available for me to use in the closet. Tomorrow, I was going to be a big girl.

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.