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THE DINER “Sarah, I can't thank you enough for bringing me here.” Ian put his cup down, and settled more deeply into the naugahyde cushion. “Really … I mean … diners like this?” His gaze swept around the dimly lit interior. The chipped formica, the long counter with its ancient stools, the linoleum that had been scrubbed so many times that one could only guess at the original color. He half expected Mel to pop out of the kitchen any second now. And their waitress definitely looked like Linda Lavin. “Mom and Dad … I remember, when I was a kid, eating at places like this when we went on vacation. This brings back some good memories.” Ian's gaze softened, his thoughts drifting back in time to long car rides deep into the night, the brightly lit signs that marked the diners and motels on the outskirts of the small towns on old Route 66. He remembered Tucumcari, the memory that of a small child half asleep in the back seat, struggling to stay awake, imagination fired by the bright lights rushing toward them out of the darkness. “No, Ian … no. I'm the one who should be thanking you.” Gently shaking her head, Sarah leaned forward, trying to keep control of the conversation. There was so much that she wanted to say, and so much more that she wanted to ask. “I was so fed up with that stereo of yours, so angry. I was looking for a confrontation, the louder the better. Next stop the management office, another complaint, this time in writing … I wanted them to evict you!” Sarah was a battle scarred RN, daily suffering the slings and arrows that any large, urban hospital serves up in abundance. Patients were sometimes a pain, but they came and went. Far too many of the doctors were out and out jerks, in it for the money and the endless opportunities to cheat on their wives with the young nurses who seemingly existed only to do their bidding. And those assholes were here to stay. Night after night, Sarah had brought her frustration home with her, to be greeted with the heavy vibration coming through the ceiling from the apartment above her-- a stereo somewhere above her couch, making it impossible for her to relax. Once, she had mounted a stool to pound on the ceiling. She had left notes in the mailbox. She had made a verbal complaint to management, learned that her tormentor was a single male roughly her own age, divorced, a highly educated professional. She was astonished to discover that he was on the faculty of the university she passed every day driving to and from work. And East Asian languages? She had looked up the department's campus address in the phone book. The building was within easy walking distance of her office! Or it would be, she thought, if the city would ever get around to plowing the damned sidewalks! Minnesota winters were not for the faint of heart. She had finally had enough, storming up the stairs to pound on his door. She was completely unprepared for what happened next. . . . . “What the hell?” Ian looked up from the counter, the pounding at the door startling him badly. Slicing up the avocado would have to wait. The good news was that he had somehow managed to keep his fingers out of the blade's line of fire. “Yes?”, he said, easing the door open, not sure what to expect. He looked out at a young woman, about his own age, a bit taller … And if looks could kill, he instantly realized, I'd already be dead! This has got to be the neighbor from Hell! One of the ladies in the office had warned him that there had been a verbal complaint from the RN living below him. It was the same old, same old … turn the stereo down, or was it the TV? Some people simply didn't appreciate Carson's monologue. Too bad, he thought, because we have a Grade A winner here. Nice features, blue eyes, great lips, maybe a natural blonde … Ian's eyes drifted lower, then braked to a halt. Ian was big on foreplay, and this seemingly Scandinavian bombshell was singularly blessed with that asset with which he most enjoyed playing. She reminded him of Bonnie Holbrooke, the blonde beauty with whom he had fallen so deeply in love … in the ninth grade. “Would you puh … lese turn it down, or better yet, turn it off?” Sarah angrily stepped forward, and Ian involuntarily stepped back. Her eyes were on fire, and he had zero desire to get burnt. Still, genuinely puzzled, Ian glanced over his shoulder. Yes, the stereo was on, but it was hardly loud … and besides, who didn't like Fleetwood Mac? Lindsey doing the riff on Go Your Own Way? Oh, come, on! Ian hated confrontation. “Would you like to come in,” he asked in a subdued voice. It was hard not to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Migraines had played a part in the collapse of his marriage, conditioned him to surrender rather than fight for his convictions. And the more readily he gave in, the more shrill his ex's voice had become. His last migraine had erupted four days after their separation. “I was just making dinner,” he added, “and I have a bottle of wine decanting. Please, let me pour you a glass, and, uh, if you haven't eaten, I'm preparing tacos. Do you, uh, do you like Mexican food?” Ian's nervousness was on full display. He was acutely aware of the bulk between his legs, and could only pray that his diaper and baby pants wouldn't leak. . . . . Sarah could only gape, feeling the anger leech out of her. In her imagination, her unseen neighbor was just another jerk, some Neanderthal who would happily join her in making a scene, and to hell with his professional credentials. Doctors had plenty of credentials, and the fancy degrees hanging on their office walls didn't keep most of them from being jerks. It briefly occurred to her that he might be playing her, deftly turning the tables to throw her off balance. Well, if that's his game, it's definitely working! But wait … no … this can't be an act. No one's this good. Oh, God, Sarah, he's just some nice, ordinary guy, and you … you … guess what, you're the only jerk on the premises! God, he probably thinks I'm going to kick him in the balls, or something. Sarah's eyes drifted lower, then braked to a halt. Over the past ten years she had changed thousands of adult diapers, and there was absolutely no doubt in her mind. The bulge was such a giveaway, and then there was the truck from the diaper service, making its weekly pick-up and drop-off at a building in an adults only complex. The two pieces fit so neatly together: she had to be standing face to face with their customer. She idly wondered where he kept his diaper pail, wondered whether his bathroom reeked of stale urine, or worse. And the $64,000 question: is he incontinent, or does he have some kind of weird diaper fetish? No, he has to be a freak, has to be, because he's too young to have … and besides, this is the second floor, and there's no elevator, no way to get down in a wheelchair and, and, no crutches in the hallway. I would have noticed, and … and ... As her preconceptions shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, a new and very different pattern began to emerge from the wreckage in Sarah Haikkonen's mind. He's got to be about my age. Thirty-one, thirty-two, something like that. He's the right age and, and, East Asian languages? Oh, dear God! Sarah took a deep breath, and slowly released it, hoping that he would misinterpret what he was seeing, hoping that he would think she was letting go of her anger. She had spent the first two years of her career at the Veteran's hospital out by the airport, the biggest in the state, but she had fled to the city because she wasn't hard enough, couldn't cope with the despair that awaited her every time she started her rounds. It wasn't the wounds, well, not the physical wounds at any rate. She was trained for that, and for the most part the young men in her care wanted physically to get better, wanted to get on with their lives. No, it was the emotional wounds, the psychic, that she had seen in the eyes of too many men her own age-- men who had come home to be spat upon by their neighbors, men who had come home to be called baby killers. She was badly out of her depth, and so she had fled. There was a question that Sarah desperately wanted to ask ... but how to ask it? “Thank you, um?” “Ian … Ian Grady. And you are ...” “Sarah … Sarah Haikkonen.” “Finnish?” “That's right,” she smiled, “from a long and not particularly illustrious line of Haikkonen's in the U.P. And yes, Ian, I'd love to share a glass of wine with you. It will,” she nervously laughed, “give me a bit of time to work up a decent apology for my outburst.” “Sarah,” he grinned, “in the immortal words of Chick Hearn, no harm, no foul, so no apology is called for. Oh, granted, the circumstances are a bit unusual, but I am genuinely happy to make your acquaintance.” Ian poured the wine, and they gently clinked glasses. “So, a Lakers fan?” “Die hard,” he grinned. “Ian, there's something else I'd like to ask you. Can I? “Why not? Now that we're old friends,” he teased, “you can ask me anything!” “Well, it's my understanding that you're a professor at the U, teaching East Asian languages?” Ian laughed, and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, Sarah, but I'm just in my first year … on probation, so to speak. A newly minted and poorly paid Ph.D.” “Well, what I really want to know is … do you by any chance … do you speak Vietnamese?” . . . . The apartment mystified her. There was no dining room table, and no chairs. Clearly, Ian ate on the floor. She made a mental note to ask if he was a practicing Buddhist. Two oddly shaped tables in the living room housed the stereo components and a TV; the dreaded speakers were, as she had expected, positioned directly above her own couch. His was a plush, two piece design. It looked very comfortable. She had asked for permission to use the bathroom, and he had agreed without hesitation. She flushed and then washed her hands, but her real objective had been to peek behind the shower curtain. The two pairs of vinyl pants hanging on a makeshift clothes line did not surprise her in the least. The labels confirmed that they were from a highly respected local manufacturer with a nationwide institutional customer base. She risked an even quicker peek into the single bedroom. The king sized bed was predictable, and the diaper pail was right where she had expected to find it. Breathing deeply, she smelled the all too familiar scent of dried urine. What she had smelled in the bathroom was more complex-- the unmistakable mixture of feces and urine. So, she concluded with a slight shake of her head, he may be truly incontinent, both bladder and bowel. And he speaks Vietnamese ... how well we'll be able to judge when I get him to the hospital. And we do desperately need interpreters. Sarah knew that she would have to proceed cautiously. The soldiers at the hospital had all behaved like members of a fraternity, only instead of secret handshakes they seemed bound together by a vow of silence. No one wanted to talk about the battlefield. No one. There was still more that she needed to learn. The bedroom was odd, not for what was there but for what wasn't. No headboard. No dresser. No bedside table. Just a hard sided suitcase standing on end and housing an ugly, gray office lamp-- the sort of lamp that a down and out accountant might use. Was Ian poor, or had he come home to join some cult that demanded a vow of poverty? Oddball cults had sprung up all over the country in recent years, and there was even a nurse in her own unit who had joined some sect out in Oregon. The , times, she grimaced, they are indeed a changing. And then there were the paintings. Ian clearly loved bright, bold colors-- but why on earth would anyone have so graphic a painting of the sea giving up its dead hanging on their living room wall? It was the one thing that gave her pause. Sarah returned to the living room. She wanted Ian to put another record on, and then come downstairs to hear at first hand what she had to put up with night after night. All of her spur of the moment planning to seduce Ian Grady-- a nice, intelligent guy with a bright future and a disability that she could easily tolerate and gently manipulate-- would come to naught if she couldn't get a decent night's sleep. . . . . Ian sighed deeply, and turned to face her, palms up in the classic gesture of surrender. “I'm sorry, Sarah. It never occurred to me that this might happen. Damn! I put so much work into getting the system set up just right.” He shook his head, the regret plain on his face. “And the problem is …?” Sarah waited for him to fill in the missing piece. “The bass. It's causing an harmonic vibration. That's normal, but it shouldn't be causing the ceiling to shake.” Ian glanced up. “Do you hear me walking around up there?” “Unfortunately,” Sarah conceded. “So, what are we going to do?” “I have an idea, something so idiotically simple that it might just work! Wait here … I'll be back in a few minutes!” Ian headed out the door, never realizing that Sarah's eyes were riveted on his well padded posterior. Hmm, she wondered, is it my imagination, or is his diaper drooping a bit more than it was when I first noticed it? Standing in the quiet of her living room, a quiet interrupted only by the pulsing vibration of the ceiling (Lindsey was currently pounding out I'm So Afraid), without warning Sarah suddenly started to giggle, one of those helpless fits that caused her to rush into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. She choked it down, with the predictable result. She started to hiccup. This is just too funny, she mused, frantically waving her hand in front of her face. Twenty minutes ago, I wanted to piss him off enough to start a fight, and now … now … how's he going to react when I offer to change his pissy diaper????? . . . . The racket stopped, just the same way it always began. Abruptly. Sarah listened to Ian's footsteps fading away overhead, and rushed to the door. She knew that it would only be a matter of seconds, and she wanted him to feel welcome. He was obviously going all out for her, he was super cute, and she wanted to reciprocate. “Well?” “Just wait,” he muttered as she stood aside to let him pass. “Another thirty seconds, tops.” Ian stopped in the middle of the living room, and looked anxiously up at the ceiling. “I put on Led Zeppelin's When the Levee Breaks, the studio track. It's the one with the drum solo that John Bonham recorded out in the lobby. Mix in John Paul Jones on bass guitar, and there's a good chance the ceiling's gonna crack.” They both continued to look up. I just don't believe this, Sarah marveled, a groupie with a Ph.D. Like any sensible girl from the U.P., Sarah's taste ran to Country & Western. Roy Orbison was about as close to rock as she was willing to get. Still nothing. “It's okay.” Ian breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Really,” he said as he turned to her, “it's gonna be okay.” God, he's adorable! The look on his face? He looks just like a six year old bursting with pride because he got the answer right!“ Okay, Prof, what did you do? What's your deep, dark secret?” Ian roared with laughter. “What I did was … I took four bath towels … my only four, by the way … and I folded them up and put two under each speaker. Et voila! No more vibration!” “Only, now you have no bath towels ...” “Yeah ...” “And that old beater you were driving … the one that's been buried in a snow bank directly outside my living room window for the past month … DOA?” “Yeah … the alternator. I just don't have the money right now.” “Which is why I see you waiting for the bus when I'm leaving for work.” “Yeah … cue the Hollies.” “Okay … well, here's what we're going to do. After we get you changed, we're going to the store to buy you some new towels … my treat. Then, I'm going to take you out to dinner … your choice, but also my treat.” “Sarah ...” “No, Ian, and please let me finish. You kept me from making a complete fool of myself today, and from doing something that I would later have come badly to regret. This is just my way of thanking you for being so … so nice.” “But Sarah? Get me changed?” Sarah pointedly looked down at Ian's crotch, and then looked him straight in the eyes. “Your diaper, Ian. I don't want you leaking all over my car seat, so before we go, we are going to change your diaper. And I want you to bring a couple of extras. Do you have a diaper bag?” “Yes, but ...” Ian began to blush, but he quickly got it under control. He prided himself on his poker face … a face perfected in conferences with senior officers in Saigon who didn't have a clue, hangers on from the Korean conflict whose idiotic orders far too often cost the lives of men in the field that they could ill afford to lose. The bitterness ate at him like acid, the memories sometimes so overwhelming that it felt like he was drowning … the casual construction of strategy over aperitifs on the rooftop of the Hotel Caravelle, the details elaborated behind the barbed wire and the sandbags, the generals and the spooks ignoring the hardened French planters who had been fighting this war for generations … men often seated at the next table. It was Henri Duplessis who had schooled him in the difference between language and culture, Henri who had showed him how the French had lost their empire not in Viet Nam but in Algeria, warned him that America was making the exact same mistakes, the cycle repeating, Saigon the new Algiers, the Pentagon the new ... “No buts, Ian; the subject is closed.” “No, it isn't. Sarah, I've … I can change my own diaper, damn it!” “And you will. Ian, I am not going to interfere, but I am going to watch. In the past ten years, I must have changed at least 3,000 adult diapers, so I'm certainly qualified to carry out an Assessment.” “A … a what? “An Assessment. I am going to evaluate how well you clean yourself, how tightly you pin your new diaper, whether there is any cloth sticking out from your rubber or vinyl pants. And above all, I am going to evaluate how you wash your hands after the fact … even the kind of soap that you use. I'll offer you suggestions if there are things you need to improve on, but the only point at which I would intervene is to refasten your diaper if it looks like it's just going to fall off as soon as you stand up. You will be lying down when you change, right?” Sarah kept her voice detached and professional. She could, and in the future would make this really fun for Ian, but now was not the time. Now, she had to take control, put him in his place, and begin the long, drawn out process of gaining his trust. Ian stared hard at the floor. He couldn't bear to look in her eyes. “I'm trapped twixt and tween, Sarah,” he said in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear him. “I really am. I can see what I'm doing if I'm standing up, but there's a motion involved that is so dangerous … it terrifies me. But lying down, it's all by feel, and you're right … you're so right. I think everything's okay, then I stand up, and the damned diaper is down at my knees! Ugh!” Sarah reached out and gently cupped Ian's cheeks in her hands, forcing him to look up, into her eyes. She was savoring her moment of triumph, but the look that she gave him was innocence personified. “Ian, I can and will help you, but I won't force myself upon you. All you have to do is ask … and, yes, I know that it's hard for a man, any man with an ounce of pride, to ask for help, especially with a problem that's so intimate. I can change your diaper, and keep it strictly professional the whole time. Or we can talk about the weather, your favorite sports team, anything you think would help to distract you. I can even make it light and a bit of fun for you; many of my patients liked being teased when I was changing them because they had the ability to laugh at themselves and the absurdity of the situation we were both trapped in. But you have to talk to me, Ian; you can't shut down or I can't help you. And yes, I know how hard it is … believe me, I've been here before. But I have to know what happened to you out there, what it is that's so dangerous, what I have to avoid.” Sarah reached down and firmly grasped Ian's hands in her own. “Now, let's go change your diaper.” . . . . “Ian, you need to take more time when you're wiping.” Ian was lying down on a changing pad, his used diaper long since banished to the pail. He was blindly wiping his genitalia. Everything was by feel, and he knew that he wasn't getting it right. “Sarah, thank you so much. It was a really great suggestion, and right now I feel more dumb than I usually do for not seeing it myself.” Sarah had said that it would be a lot easier for him to wipe his bottom if he moved the changing mat close enough to the wall that he could walk his feet up it, and fully expose his rear. For the first time, he felt like he was making real progress in managing his incontinence. For her part, Sarah was horrified by what she had learned. The bullet had shattered on impact, and the MASH unit had methodically and efficiently dug out all but one fragment-- a piece lodged so close to the spinal cord at L5 that they judged it best left alone rather than undertake a high risk surgery which, if it went wrong, could leave him paralyzed for life from the waist down. Angry and horrified. She was angry because of the risk that he was running every time he changed his diaper, especially the messy ones. Ian had grudgingly admitted that it was hard to avoid getting a jolt along the sciatic nerve when he bent over and twisted to survey the damage, and using baby wipes to clean his bottom merely aggravated the risk. A shower was the obvious answer, but he routinely had three to five BM's daily. So … obvious but impractical. Now that she at least had a handle on what she was up against, Sarah was also infuriated. She was good at her job, and a messy diaper was an easy cleanup. She could make a lot of Ian's risk go away if he would simply let her take responsibility for his well-being in general, and his diaper changes in particular. And therein lay the problem. In fact, it was crystal-clear: in Ian's mind, getting help was a mutual transaction-- help received equals independence lost. But Sarah had learned something else today. Ian Grady was a nail biter, and spectacularly so. Twice in the brief time that they had been together, she had caught him chewing on fingernails, all of them already bitten to the quick. His oral fixation was so strong that he seemed completely oblivious to what he was doing. There were things that she could and would do to put a stop to it-- the bulbous mittens that they employed post-surgery to keep patients from pulling on their catheters or attacking itchy sutures, and an orthodontic device for tube feeding patients unable to feed themselves. It looked amazingly like a baby's pacifier, and with that she began nibbling around the edges of an intriguing idea. His long-term prognosis would be much improved if he would simply admit to some degree of dependence on others, but the adult male would fiercely resist any attempt to take him down this path. Well, what about the baby that lurks inside Ian Grady the same way it does in every man? If the adult won't yield to a caregiver, will the baby fully entrust himself to his mommy? Let's face facts, Miss Sarah Haikkonen: the sexual possibilities in this scenario for both of us are well and truly off the charts! I have got to talk to Mom about this! . . . . “All things considered, Ian, I think that went very well. Of course, it was to be expected that I would have to redo your diaper. Pinning your own diaper tight enough when you're laying down is about as likely as winning the lottery. Babies don't change their own diapers, and neither should you.” Sarah glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “It's strictly mommy's work,” she added deftly, planting the thought in his mind. “And when I'm at work,” he quietly rejoined, “who's going to change me there?” Ian slowly shook his head. “Sarah, I am truly grateful for everything that you're doing for me, but what you're suggesting simply isn't practical. On the weekends? Yeah, maybe. But Monday through Friday? No. Five days a week, I'll just have to muddle along the best I can.” “Fair enough,” she conceded. “So, why don't we start with the basics? First, do you want my help? Yes, or no?” “Yes.” Ian decided to leave it at that. “Good. So, why don't we begin with what is practical, namely the weekend? From now on, I will pick you up at your office on Friday afternoon at 4:30, and return you to work Monday morning. In fact, you will no longer be taking the bus at all. It's silly for you to do so when we have nearly identical work schedules. You can do without using your baby diapers as stuffers until you get to the office, and save a little money in the process.” “Sounds good,” Ian agreed. He hated the bus. “Second. From Friday afternoon until I drop you off on Monday, I will assume total responsibility for your diaper changes … which reminds me. I want to take one of your diapers with me to the hospital on Monday. I have a feeling that, when I put them side by side, it will turn out that ours will be both bigger and more absorbent. If you use ours on the weekend, you can reduce your order with the diaper service. More money saved.” “Also good, but how are we going to launder them?” “In the basement. Ian, you know perfectly well that we have four washers and driers down there. You need to start doing your own diaper laundry, and the money you're saving on bus fare alone should cover the costs.” “But the whole point of the diaper service …” “Ian, stop it. All right? Just stop it.” There was a red light coming up, and as she braked Sarah decided to take advantage of it. “Look, I know you don't want to hear it, but the blunt truth is that, unless and until there is a revolutionary breakthrough in surgical procedures, you are going to be incontinent for the rest of your life, which means that you are going to be wearing diapers for the rest of your life. The diaper service will be a constant drain on your finances … and how are you going to manage when you're traveling? You will be, you know … lectures, conferences … a lot of people are going to want a piece of you. You are going to have to rely on your own resources, and your own resourcefulness. I can help, and I plan to, but unless you choose to throw it all away and spend the rest of your life hiding under the bed like a small child, the burden is going to fall largely on your shoulders. Mind you,” she giggled, “I think that you'd make an adorable baby. Honestly, you are beyond cute when you've got nothing on but your little diapee and your baby pants! I would give anything to see you crawling around on the floor like a wittle, wittle baby!” The light changed, and Sarah hit the accelerator, her devilish laughter still hanging in the air. She mentally congratulated herself for playing the baby card with real finesse. Ian prudently decided to say nothing. The diner was just a few minutes away, and he was starting to have visions of a patty melt, onion rings, and fries in his immediate future. A chocolate shake was definitely in the offing. Sure, he'd undoubtedly have a messy diaper by the time they got home-- greasy food was his archenemy-- but what the Hell. For now at least, he was off the hook. He stole a glance at his erstwhile chauffeur, and gave thought to what she was clearly offering. She's drop dead gorgeous, talented and smart, and at least a bit kinky, so with any luck at all she'll despise the missionary position as much as I do. And those tits? Man, those are well and truly to die for! How did Bob Seger put it … 'points of her own, sittin' way up high, way up firm and high'? And the best part of it all? It sounds like she wants to take outright control of my life. Well, my dear, you can do it with my blessing, because there's a few things about me that you haven't caught on to yet. I'm done with making decisions. I will walk around a problem and study it from a thousand different angles, and then tell everyone that I'm sure I've missed something, and need to start over from scratch. But the reality is that I'm stalling, hoping that the problem will resolve itself without any help from me, or just simply go away, vanish on the breeze. Hell, if Emily had just cut out the passive-aggressive crap and become as dominant as she was decisive, we'd still be married! But no, when things went well, she took all the credit. And when her decisions blew up in our face, like not selling the condo when we had the chance? Why the fault was mine and mine alone because I didn't stand up to her. Yeah, sure. And the irony of it all is that I straight up offered Emily what Sarah is only hinting at. I was in diapers anyway, so I'd become her baby or her baby slave, whatever … but no more blame shifting. She'd get all of the credit, but she'd also take all of the blame. That was the deal, and she refused to take it. So, adios and sayonara, babe. I am so out of here. And here's (imaginary drum roll, please) … Sarah (thank you, Ed McMahon), all but offering me the golden ring. But how are we going to jump the hurdles? The logistical problems are daunting, and it doesn't look like there are any quick fixes. I'll just leave it to her to sort it all out. Just go with the flow, my friend … just go with the flow. . . . . “Before we go, Ian, there's just one more thing.” “More coffee?,” he offered in return, ever hopeful. “No, silly, it's about your hands. Just look at them!” Ian did precisely that. He held them up in front of his face, and took a count. “Ten digits,” he nodded; “all present and accounted for.” Well, almost. Ian had learned about recoil the hard way. “No, silly. I'm talking about your fingers.” “What about them?” “You bite your fingernails, and it's disgusting. There's germs crawling all over everything you touch, and yet you persist in putting your fingers in your mouth. Just like a toddler. Honestly, it makes me wonder whether you're still sucking your thumb in your sleep.” “I haven't a clue, honestly times two. But you're right, Sarah, it's a nasty habit. And I have tried to break it … many, many times. Nothing's worked.” “Well, we have mittens at the hospital that will help. When we're at home and you're in my care, you will wear them whenever you're out of my sight, especially when you're sleeping. But if your mouth gets lonely, we have an orthodontic device that you can suck on … really, it's just a great, big pacifier. You'll love it.” “Maybe so, but there's definitely something else around here that I would rather suck on.” Bold as brass, Ian stared steadily at Sarah's breasts. “After all, as we both know, babies explore everything with their fingers and tongues.” “True. All too true. And I have big plans for your fingers and tongue.” Sarah's gaze was equally steady. “Big Plans.”

Hi. Soon, I’ll be in hospital because I’m having surgery on my right arm. How should I tell them that I need to wear diapers due to Bedwetting and how do they handle it? What is ur experience? Thanks for your replies

In January, I had heart ablation surgery. It went well with very little overall discomfort. This is about the 6 hours in recovery with urinary incontinence. The surgery itself takes about 5 hours and requires the insertion of hearth catheters in the center top of both legs. The incisions are large and are the main reason for the recovery period. For 5 hours you are basically on your back and not allows to move and open the sutures in your legs. The surgery also involves a lot of intravenous fluids and post operation urination is quite high. There is no record of any urinary catheter use during the operation. I arrived in the operating room wearing a diaper. This wasn’t a problem with the surgical team and they mentioned they will just remove it when ready. It takes a few minutes to prep before they knock you out. I woke in recovery to the news that the operation when well. I immediately noticed I was already wet. I mentioned my incontinence to the staff and the solution was to take another rolled cotton blanket and place it between my legs. Since they already have you on a waterproof mattress pad and just use blankets to soak up the urine. After an hour I was quite wet and mentioned to the staff that I had a supply of my diapers. I wasn’t allowed to move or to wear them due to the leg sutures but they had no problems helping out. I wasn’t allowed to move but they could move me to change the bedding and clean me up a bit. With business like efficiency, they quickly had the pad and blankets changed out as well as laying down one of my diapers so it could provide a dryer feeling. They did the changing and cleaning without ounce exposing my genitals or putting any strain on my legs as they rolled me around. The ladies were total professionals. I asked why they didn’t do a catheter and they said there was no need. This is the usual way they handle it when the patient isn’t allowed to move post-op. After some time they start to allow you to sit up. After 5 hours you can stand and they make sure the sutures are holding well. Then after another hour, I was able to put on a diaper as usual and check out. I was surprised at just how much urine I produced. Urination was nearly constant for the 6 hours and very high in the evening and through the night. I also had to have yet another set of emergency eye surgeries and in those cases, I was able to wear a diaper thru the procedure once I mentioned. One anesthesiologist mentioned that you don’t urinate under the general anesthesia they normally use. Which makes a lot of sense as urine output for the next 48 hours is much lower than usual. All three times as I awoke slowly post-op, the first thing I noticed was heavy urination occurring.

Hi all. I thought I'd tell you my hospital diapering story. I write to you right now while wearing a large and somewhat soggy diaper with a medical look to it, while wrapped up snugly in my warm blankets. These diapers are very spacious and thick, they have the odd effect of making me forget where my pee-pee is positioned at all--seems it could be anywhere in the mass of almost nerve-numbing padding. I think I wet while I was laying down earlier, though I'm not totally sure. Probably peed a couple of times. Feels like I won't need a change for a while though. When I poke at these undies very gently with one finger only, it seems like wave of pressure is coming from all directions. I couldn't tell you where my finger was, or where my genitals were. They're in there somewhere, and that's probably for the better considering the accidents. Let me back up a bit and tell you how I got here, and how I ended up in diapers pretty much against my will. I had a mental health episode back in early February that landed me in an institution. I would rather not go into the specifics, suffice to say I was going to be holed up for a while. I remember that the food was hard to get used to at first, but, you get used to it. As a safety precaution, I was only allowed to wear the outfit that was approved there, a plain looking hospital gown and some ruffly thin trousers. They'd begun to force an unknown cocktail of medications on me which were having some pretty strong effects. I could tell by how sedated I was that there was some kind of anti-psychotic in the chemical soup. Three times a day with meals I took pills of many different colours, none of which I knew the potential side effects of. I guess I had to simply place my trust in an authority whose methods were unknown to me. It was around my fifth day there when I noticed pee leaking down my leg under the trousers I had on. It had already came out, I had no recollection of peeing. I was a bit dazed, and couldn't make out what that strange cold feeling was for a while. I noticed when I sat down in a chair in the common room that my crotch had a few thin lines of wetness emanating downward from it. It was only then that it dawned on me, I'd wet myself. No idea when, but I was wet now. I stood up and shuffled around, looking for my nurse. Her name's Lindy, she's a pretty woman a few years older than me. If I had to describe her body type, she's fit but a little thick, with something extra on the caboose. You'd almost think she was wearing diapers too, if it wasn't for her panty lines. I spotted her as she walked briskly past me on her way to the east wing. I had to catch up with her, but she was too quick. I followed along behind, trying hard to stay focused. It seemed like I was nearly ready to forget the whole matter and lay down on the cool tile floor for a nap. "Lindy?" I called. "Lindy?" She stopped and turned. "Yes?" "I had an accident I think," I said calmly, much more calmly than I would have if I wasn't totally drugged. "I see, I see," She said in a laid back and cool way. "Let's go, follow me." I was a little bit disoriented as she led me by the hand to the room I was staying in. I had little sense that we were going there until we were actually in the room. In a lot of ways it was more like a cell than a room, with white walls and an angular metal bunk bed being its most defining features. Up above my bed there was a small sliver of window, with bright sunlight trying to poke as much of itself in as possible. "Can you sit on the floor for me, hon?" She helped me to sit on the floor. The chillness of it made me shudder. Suddenly, I was feeling really cold. I started to shiver. "I'm c-cold," I stammered. "It might be a side effect of one of your meds. I'll be right back, you just stay on the floor, okay?" "Why the floor?" I asked hazily. "Well," She began, as if trying to find the nicest words possible give the awkward circumstances, "I'm afraid you'll pee on the bed--be right back, just stay there..." She trailed off as she briskly exited the room, closing the door behind her. I distinctly remember hearing the door's lock reverb through the room as it was turned, and suddenly I felt a burst of warmth on my crotch as I erupted into feeble shivers. I don't know how long I sat there, but when Lindy returned she had a really thick looking blanket which immediately put my heart at rest in a child-like sort of way when I saw it. She was also holding under her arm what looked like a package of diapers. I watched as she laid the blanket out on the bed and placed the diapers on my little bedside table by the ruled journal they gave us. I took this fact without concern, not really making the connection of assuming that those diapers were going to be there for me. Soon Lindy had placed a mat on the floor beside my bed and motioned for me to come over. "Come on, come on sweetie. This won't be so bad." I went to her cooing call, transfixed by her disarming gaze. It almost looked sensual at the time, but I doubt she wanted anything to do with my pants-wetting butt beyond merely changing it. Before I really knew what hit me, I was fastened into a gigantic crinkly diaper. I tried to sit up at first but fell back. Luckily, Lindy was there to catch me and help me sit up against my bed. "So, we have you in a brief," she said, looking at me with a sympathetic gaze that suggested a little pity as well. "I need you to not try to take this off, okay? I really, really need you to cooperate with me." "I don't wanna wear a diaper--" "I know, I know you don't. But I really can't trust you after that big accident you just had," she cooed. "No, no!" I said, raising my voice slightly as the gravity of the situation began to weigh on me. "Please, they're not so bad to wear... Will you do it for me?" She winked at me and smiled contagiously. I couldn't help but capture a little of her smile on my own lips. "Well, fine," I said after a pause. "But I don't need diapers." "Yes you do, remember that accident you had? I can't have you trailing pee. That's not nice feeling, is it?" She shook her head for emphasis. "Oh, yeah," I replied after a pause. I shivered some more and Lindy helped me into my bed and under the covers. She tucked me in like as if she was my mommy. It felt that way at the time. "Now you're all snuggly and warm, and protected. I will bring you your dinner and your medication soon, okay?" "Thanks mommy," I said before I could stop myself. I laughed at the silliness of what I'd just said and could have swore I felt something warm swelling up on my crotch. "Sorry mo--I uh--sorry Lindy." She looked at me for a long time after I said that. Not with an unhappy gaze though. I could see some pity in her eyes for her poor diapered patient, but there was something motherly mingled in there as well. When she sat down on my bed and began to stroke my hair, the motherliness was made much more manifest. There was no doubt that she cared about me in that most vulnerable moment. I think as she stroked my hair, I continued to dribble into my diaper. I shivered here and there, which only made the fight to keep my pee inside more difficult. I have no idea how much I was peeing at the time, but after she left the room I took a peek under the covers and saw that it looked puffy and yellow, though I felt totally dry. It was weird at first, I wasn't used to the oddly comforting and convenient mechanics of my new diapered life. Here I was peeing myself in bed and it didn't even feel wet. I looked at the plastic tabs fastened firmly on the front panel of my underwear and tried to pull one of them off out of curiosity and absentmindedness. It wouldn't budge, so I gave up my effort soon after. I didn't know what to think about being diapered at the time. so I rolled over and tried to get some sleep. I passed out almost immediately. I woke up in a daze and tried to sit up, though I struggled to at first, feeling a little bit dizzy. I stared at the wall for a while as I came to. The room seemed darker somehow. I looked up at the little window and saw no light pushing through. It must have been the middle of the night. I went under the covers again and looked at my diaper with an absentminded, child like curiosity again. My diaper's different! It wasn't soggy yellow anymore. When did that happen? *** I'll cut to the chase and fast forward a little. As the weeks went on I came to really like Lindy's diaper changes. She was really gentle about it and rubbed lots of baby powder into me with intimate movements. Her changes were the highlight of my otherwise dreary days at the asylum. I liked to look at her thick thighs as she cleaned me. I wasn't sure if my bladder control was getting better or not, and I didn't really care or think about it. As the weeks went by I watched as package after package of disposables came and went, doing their time on my feeble and soggy bottom before being relegated to the diaper genie. By the time of writing this, it seems I've lost most of my bladder control. But I'm not really concerned, since I have Lindy around most days of the week to keep me changed and secure. Maybe it's not so bad here. I found a group to play with during common time. When we aren't playing video games together, we're playing with blocks. They don't seem to know that there's a diaper under my pants, but it seems like they're as hazy and inattentive as me. I swear I caught a glimpse of the waistband of a pull-up on one of the women in the group. Maybe most of the patients here were in some kind of diaper. Luckily for me Lindy always made sure I was changed into a clean brief before playtime so I wouldn't have to be interrupted. So that's my story. I hope you liked it. End note: this is a fictional account. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

Chapter 1 Billy could sense the light before he even opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember anything; the last thing he could remember was pain. He opened his eyes; he was lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed, bit by bit he started to piece together the events that led him here. Billy’s life had been hell since the death of his grandmother 6 years ago. His Mum, who had only been 17 when she had him, had been mostly absent during the first 9 years of his life, while his grandmother raised him. When her mother died, she moved into her house with Gary, her boyfriend, who eventually became her husband. When his Mum died, Billy was left at the mercy of his sadistic stepfather. Gary would get very angry and lash out, mostly on the parts of the body that didn’t show, so no one ever noticed at school. They never noticed anything at school, not the fact that Billy’s uniform was threadbare and two sizes too small, or that his shoes had holes, or that he was dangerously skinny. Gary would only let him eat more than one slice of bread if he thought he deserved it. He would often go days with only a slice of bread a day to survive on. If he dared ask for more food he would be beaten. If only someone had noticed something was wrong he might have been saved. Billy remembered coming home from school at the usual time. He headed upstairs to hide away in his bedroom as usual, only this day Gary stood at the top of the stairs, blocking his path. “Do you think I’m stupid?!” he roared, taking out his wallet, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the money missing?!” “I didn’t –" began Billy “LIAR!” Gary slapped him in the face. “You probably gave it all to your dealer,” mumbled Billy. “What was that?!” roared Gary, “Who do you think you are?! You live under my roof and you will show some respect you little shit!” “It’s not YOUR roof it’s my Gran’s roof!” Billy could hardly recall what happened next, he remembered he fell; Gary must have pushed him, or hit him too hard. He landed at the bottom of the stairs on his back, after his head came into contact with the bottom of the banister. He remembered the terrible pain he felt, before he lost consciousness. Gary, thinking he had killed him, tried to do a runner. Their next door neighbour had heard the noise and called the police. The police caught up to Gary a few days later. He ended up spending months in a hospital bed, with a broken back and brain damage. He had to have operations on his spine; the doctors said he was very lucky to not be paralysed. Billy didn’t feel very lucky, he often felt confused and disoriented, he used to be very good in school, and now his brain functioned much slower, making him feel dumb. His bladder and bowels had been damaged to the point where he no longer had control over either, he now had to wear nappies, possibly for the rest of his life. The only good thing to come out of this was that Gary was now behind bars. Slowly, Billy’s injuries started to heal. He had a visit from a woman named Claire, who called herself a social worker. She told him that he would be leaving the hospital that day and going to live with his new foster parents. A nurse came and changed his nappy, then helped him get dressed in a white and blue striped t shirt, grey sweatpants (nice and baggy, they did a good job of hiding his disposable nappy), a black zip hoodie and a pair of black plimsolls. He gathered these must have been charitable donations, they weren’t his and they looked worn. Billy sat nervously in the back seat of Claire’s car. He had been in foster care before, right after his Nan died…when Mum finally decided to turn up (months after the funeral) social services released him to her. He was in foster care again when he was a little older, this time it was just after his Mum died; Gary fought to get custody (for the child benefits) so social services released him to his stepfather, leaving the poor boy at his mercy. When Gary gets out of prison would they make him go back to him?! The car pulled up in front of a respectable looking bungalow, Billy realised they were in the middle class part of town. There was a wheelchair ramp leading to the front door. “Mr and Mrs Summers have taken care of lots of disabled children,” Claire explained as she led him up the ramp and rang the doorbell. The door opened a few moments later to reveal a mature woman, who looked to be in her fifties. “Oh, you must be Billy,” she said warmly, taking his hand and leading him indoors. “Nice to meet you Mrs Summers,” Billy responded, politely and shyly. “None of that formal nonsense,” she replied, “you can call me Auntie May.” “I’ve got to get on,” said Claire, “I’ll come back in a couple of weeks to check that Billy’s settling in OK.” “You can’t stop for a cup of tea?” asked Auntie May. “I wish I could,” replied Claire, turning to walk back towards her car “But I’ve got so much to do today. Bye bye Billy!” Auntie May waved her goodbye before shutting the door. “Right then! First things first, how’s that nappy of yours looking?” she asked, but did not wait for an answer and slid down his sweatpants anyway and felt his crotch. “Soaking wet,” she declared, “and you look like you could do with a good scrub, so we’ll pop you in the bath before we get you into a nice clean nappy, OK?” “I had a shower this morning,” mumbled Billy. “Well they’re very busy in those hospitals, I’m sure they didn’t have enough time to give you decent showers while you were there,” said Auntie May, “I’ll run you a nice bath, and you can have some bubbles too! Doesn’t that sound lovely?” Billy did have to admit, it was a nice bubble bath. He couldn’t remember that last time he’s had such a relaxing bath. Auntie May gave him a good scrub down and washed his hair. She then removed his pubic hair with some removal cream. “It’s very unhygienic to have hair down there when you wear nappies,” she said, “I can’t believe they didn’t do this at the hospital!” She also removed the hair from his legs and under his armpits, declaring him to be “all nice and clean and smooth”. She left him in the bath to have a nice soak while she went and put lunch in the oven. She returned with a pile of towels and some other supplies. The plug was pulled from the bath and she took Billy’s hand to help him get out. Billy felt horribly bare and cold now that all of his body hair was gone. Auntie May helped him dry off with a large towel, she then draped it around his shoulders to keep him warm before sitting him on the toilet. She picked up a pair of scissors and went for his blonde hair, Billy squirmed. “Stay still,” she said firmly, “you hair currently looks more like a birds nest than anything else!” When she was finished Billy was left with a neat, fluffy bowl cut that made him look about 6. “Much better,” said Auntie, “now we’d better get a nappy on you before you have an accident!” She unfolded a large plastic changing pad, which had a cutesy pattern of jungle animals, and gesture for him to lie down on it. Billy did as he was told, and found himself being liberally coated with baby lotion, followed by a generous sprinkling of baby powder, which made him smell like a baby. She picked up the three remaining towels, they were thick white and fluffy, and started to fold them. Billy quickly realised that these were nappies, the old fashioned kind that babies wore decades ago. Auntie folded two of them together, with the third one folded as a booster pad. The end result was a very thick mass of padding wrapped around his bottom and forcing his legs apart, blue capped nappy pins held it all snugly in place. Finally, a pair of blue plastic pants patterned with farm animals went over his bulky underwear, Auntie made sure every bit of terry towelling was tucked in. “Now, I don’t have any clothes to fit over your nappy yet,” she said, “I’m going to take your measurements later and make you some clothes myself. It’s a nightmare trying to find clothes in the shops that fit comfortably over your nappy. In the meantime, you can just wear a t shirt with your nappy, or…I might have something else that fits, that will cover your nappy. Would you prefer that?” Billy nodded. Auntie left the room and returned a few moments later with what appeared to be a t shirt; it was made of yellow towelling. “This was worn by one of the little boys I used to look after,” she said, pulling the garment over his head and guiding his arms through the sleeves, “he was in nappies too and was about your size.” Auntie knelt down, fumbling with the bottom of the t shirt. Billy felt the material brush against his thigh…this seemed very long to be a t shirt. Billy looked down in time to see that the “t shirt” also had legs attached to it, with fastenings in the crotch; the legs went only an inch past the crotch of his nappy. He was wearing a baby’s romper! The bottom half fitted tautly over his thick underwear, although the garment covered his nappy it did not hide the fact that he was wearing one; his whole bottom half bulged. He noticed there was an adorable looking lamb appliqued on the front. He did have to admit it was comfortable, the towelling material felt nice and soft and it kept his nappy firmly in place and stopped it slipping down. Finally, Auntie slipped a pair of fuzzy yellow socks on his feet and folded them down. “There we go then,” she said, “let’s go have some lunch!” He was served fish fingers, potato waffles and beans for his lunch, Auntie cut up his food for him. “Oops a daisy,” said Auntie, wiping away some bean sauce that missed his mouth before it dribbled onto his clothes, “you don’t want to get your nice clean clothes dirty! Perhaps you need a bib!” Billy though she was joking for a moment…until she opened a drawer and pulled out a large plastic bib, it had a pattern of little lambs matching his romper and a pocket to catch bits of food. Auntie tied the bib around his neck, Billy felt a wave of humiliation of being put into yet another babyish garment and a stream of pee escaped into his thirsty nappies. He ate the rest of his food as carefully as possible, in an effort to prove he didn’t really need the bib. Sadly his co-ordination had taken a blow since the accident and his bib was covered in bean sauce and blackcurrant squash by the time he’d finished eating. Perhaps Billy needed it after all. After lunch Auntie took his measurements so she could get started on his new clothes right away. She was a skilled seamstress, and made children’s clothes to sell online. “You must be feeling a little tired now,” said Auntie, refastening him into his romper, “I think you should take a little nap.” “I’m not tired,” mumbled Billy. “Well, you look it to me,” she replied, taking his hand, “come on then” She walked him down the hall and ushered him into a very colourfully decorated bedroom. The walls were yellow with a wallpaper border featuring the characters from The Tweenies. A large built in closet took up most of one wall and a single bed occupied the opposite wall, the bed had Tweenies bedding to match the wallpaper and a child’s safety rail attached. A long shelf ran across another wall holding various cute cuddly toys and a three large storage tubs were stacked in one corner, each one filled to the brim with toys. Auntie led him by the hand over to the bed and lifted him onto it; Billy led down while Auntie secured the safety rail into place and covered him with a Mickey Mouse patterned fleece blanket. “Sweet dreams Billy,” she said softly, pausing to draw the curtains on her way out of the room. Billy awoke about two hours later to a saturated nappy. He debated getting up and asking Auntie to change him, but wondered if she would be angry at him for getting out of bed during nap time. Auntie didn’t seem the quick to anger type like some of his previous foster parents; she was firm, yet very kind and caring. Nevertheless, Billy decided to play it safe and wait for her to come back. He shifted about trying to get comfortable, which was very difficult in such a thick and soaking nappy. Auntie came in around fifteen minutes later; in that time Billy had done a number two in his nappy. He was disgusted with himself for not being able to control his poos and hated the warm sticky sensation. He was used to being stuck in pooey nappies; the nurses couldn’t always change him right away on the busy ward, where there were half a dozen other boys in nappies. Auntie could smell it as soon as she entered the room. “Phooey,” she exclaimed opening a window, “I think we’d better get you cleaned up hadn’t we?” She had him lying on the changing pad once again while she undid his romper. “Oh dear,” she said, noticing that a little bit of his poo had leaked onto the romper. She slid the romper over his head, careful not to get any of the poo on him as she did so, followed by his socks and the poo stained plastic pants. The inside of his nappy was a mess; it took ages to clean him up, with poor Billy getting more and more mortified by the minute. He was relieved when she had finished and began applying the lotion and powder. Finally Billy was pinned into fresh, thick nappies. Auntie went over to the dresser and pulled out some fresh plastic pants and a clean romper. The plastic pants were yellow with a pattern of bunny rabbits and the romper was made of pastel blue towelling and had a white bunny rabbit appliqued on the front. After she had dressed him she replaced his fluffy yellow socks. Auntie let him do what he wanted after that, Billy decided to take a little look at what was in the toy boxes. There was a mixed selection, with everything from baby toys, to Legos, to superhero action figures to baby dolls. “It looks like Uncle Dave will be working late tonight,” said Auntie when she brought in some squash for him, “you’ll meet him in the morning if you’re up before he leaves for work.” Billy took the cup; it was a toddler’s beaker cup with a lid. Billy went to unscrew the top but was immediately stopped by Auntie. “If you want a big boy cup you have to sit at the table,” she said, “I don’t want any spillages around the house.” Billy sucked the juice out of the toddler cup obediently, he immediately started peeing as soon as he finished. Great, he was now like one of those wetting baby dolls! Billy found a Bart Simpson puzzle and busied himself with that. It was only a 100-piece puzzle, something he would have found easy pre-accident, now he struggled quite a bit with it and hadn’t completed it when Auntie came in and told him it was bed time. The clock on the wall said it was only 6:30 and the sun was still up. “You’ve had a big day and you need your sleep,” said Auntie firmly when he protested, “You can leave your puzzle out and finish it tomorrow.” She ignored any further pleadings, Billy realised his complaints were futile. Auntie took out some fresh terry towelling nappies and plastic pants and Billy once again lay down on the changing pad. His night time nappies were quite a bit thicker than the ones he’d been wearing and Auntie used four layers for the ultimate protection. Walking was a near impossible feat for him now. Auntie removed his romper and replaced it with a plain white baby vest, the kind that stretches over the crotch and has poppers. Auntie had to turn him onto his tummy to fasten him in, as they were located at the back, totally out of reach of naughty fingers. It would be impossible for Billy to remove it himself. His bedtime attire was completed with a pair of peach coloured fleecy booties. After brushing his teeth Auntie tucked him into bed and drew the curtains. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said leaving the room, “I’m going to make you some nice warm milk to help you sleep.” She returned minutes later with a clean bib and a baby’s bottle full of milk. The bib, which sported a picture of Peter Rabbit, was fastened around his neck. Auntie went to slide the teat of the bottle into his mouth, but Billy tried to refuse it. “Come on now,” she said firmly, “drink up your night-night milk like a good boy!” She kept pressing the teat against his firmly sealed lips until he finally gave in. She held the bottle in his mouth until every last drop was gone. She tucked him in and ruffled his hair before leaving the room, forgetting to remove his bib. Billy slowly drifted off, despite the daylight still shining through the crack in the curtains and the sounds of children still out playing.

Susan Freestone, was enjoying the weather it wasn't hot, it wasn't cold it was that magical area right in between. She was wearing a dress and was wearing a diaper underneath. She didn't really need them, she just loved to wear them. She had grown up with her best friend in the whole wide world, Tammy Rogers. Tammy unfortunately was a bedwetter. Always was, always will be as far as Susan knew. Tammy had turned Susan on to diapers at about 6 years old. She just wore them when she slept over at Tammy's house, or Tammy brought extra for her when she slept over at Susan's house. Her parents didn't mind she told them she was wearing them so Tammy didn't feel bad about having to wear them. Her parents thought she was a great kid, little did they know she loved wearing them as well. She usually just wore them around her apartment now days. She was being brave and naughty today and wearing them outside! Sally came to the intersection and the sign said walk she began to cross the crosswalk. Some big guy driving a huge Cadallac Deville saw the green light and started turning right, he hadn't bothered looking before turning. BAM! Sally felt something hard hit her knee and it kept coming she had a fraction of a second and her brain registered your getting ran over. She was hit and the impact shoved her she was sliding on the pavement and knew it hurt. She saw herself skidding along but it was like she was a witness, not a participant! She had heard that people sometimes have out of body experiences this was one for her. Once she stopped sliding the abrupt stop made the right side of her head bang on the ground. She was unconscious. She woke up an EMT was talking to her he was shining a flashlight in her eyes. "Have you heard of St. Mongos?" St. Mongo' s what's St. Mongols she thought. Do you want to go to St. Mongo's. She remembered she said yeah just before passing out again.

Hi Folks, TL,DR: Wear at the hospital, do not invent bullshit medical reasons, people are generally lovely and helpful if they find out about the diapers. The place where I live (europe) is pretty conservative. I was for one week in a hospital, and I wore 24/7. I said I needed them, no questions were asked they showed me the hospital diapers and told me to use them, I refused and brought my own. Before the surgery I had to fill out forms and answer questions about my general health, I write down "incontinence" and waited for the doctor to pick up on that, and I prepared a lengthy statement to explain how I had a strong emotional attachment to diapers, etc, etc... but luckily he did not ask questions about it. I asked if it was ok to wear protection during the operation, and he affirmed that. I went to the surgery with diapers and after the surgery I woke up in pain and realized I had been given a bladder catheter. I was only half awake and asked the nurse to remove it, and explained that I have had an injury in the uretha which still hurts. They removed it some time later, which was very painful. then they placed a bottle between my legs such that my penis was inside. After a while I asked them to give me a diaper, I don't rember what exactly I said (half asleep), but it was something along the lines of: "I assume, you don't understand this, but please replace the bottle with a diaper, this bottle irritates me, it just calms me down when I know I have that diaper, sorry". This was no problem the nurse gave me a diaper which I put on. I did not have clear vision at that time and everything was fuzzy to me, I don;t know how much time passed and who was there, but I did not care. Later at my room I had to get assistance when getting up for the first time after waking up. I had to call a nurse and I told her I wanted to change something and hinted at the bag beneath my bed with my diaper supply. She helped me get a diaper out (I could not bend down) and walked me to the toilet. Tthey told me where to dispose of the diapers and made it super easy for me, and not at all embarrassing. No one, not even any doctores asked any questions. Only a few days after being home I had an incident that required me to go to the hospital again (for the same medical issue) to the emergency doctor, and she had to put a finger into my butt. I had to open the diaper, she saw it, checked my behind and asked me if I had problems hodling stool, I said "no", then she aksed if I had problems holding urine, I replied: "This is closer to my problem". But she must have misunderstood me and said: "Okay, so it is something else, you wear for other reasons." And she was sweet and friendly and did not ask any more questions about the diapers. No where in the documents they send to my primary care physican(/doctor?) was something about incontinence or the diapers. Heck, why did I stress my self weeks ahead about the reactions to me wearing diapers without any medical diagnosis? I am in conflict with me, since I know that I also like to wear diapers for sexual reasons, but I don't know what they put into to the tap water in that hospital but I did not once think of sex at all in that whole week, and I still "needed" to wear. I at least try to make the impact on others psyche and budget as low as possible, so I am somewhat ok with me wearing at the hospital with only the minimal impact (resources, help and awareness) on the staff and hospital. thanks for reading till here.

Was browsing the net looking for another crib and came across these

Just about ended up in the hospital last night - and actually almost just let it happen (phych medication issue), until, even though I was calm the whole time, just explaining what's going on - that Doc obviously got the laughable idea I might try to hurt myself right in the ER!

I'm scheduled to have a circumsicion next week. I was in for my pre-op clinic today to discuss my medical history and medications etc. I'm incontinent post incomplete spinal cord injury. I am ambulatory, but get fatigued easily. I'm also insulin dependent diabetic, which can wreak havoc on my bladder at times. I'm concerned about infections post surgery, wearing diapers 24/7, especially given the sensitivity of that area. i know i will be using polysporin for healing, but i also use critic-aid clear as a barrier cream to prevent diaper rashes. Has anyone reading this had a circumsicion as an adult? how was your recovery? were there any complications? If you are incontinent, were there complications as a result of this? I will be in the hospital overnight for observation after surgery. I asked the nurses about what to do regarding diapers. They suggested that although they have them there, that the abena L4's I use will be much better. Also, do you think it would be wrong to ask for help changing during recovery?? i may very will need it with the painkillers i'll be on. any advice or comments would be wonderfully appreciated. Thanks! canadianbaby