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I winced as the moving truck hit a pothole. There had been a lot of potholes since we had turned down this road that seemed to have been forgotten by time, and it seemed the state of Texas Maintenance Division. I could see my dad periodically glancing up in the rear view mirror to check on me every time we hit a bump. I groaned in pain as my metal leg braces rattled up against the seat. My legs, still healing from the last break thanks to an old bat of a lady who found the potato chip aisle more interesting than watching where she was pushing her cart, were beginning to ache. “It barely touched her, she’s fine!” The old lady had insisted. My incessant wails of pain and the shards of bones nearly protruding from the skin said otherwise. Four more surgeries, and five months of physical therapy later and I was somewhat back on my feet. Kind of. I looked down at my legs and grimaced, now painfully swollen in the confines of the braces. Without the braces supporting my weight and keeping them straight, my legs were almost useless. They had been broken so many times they bent this way and that. There was next to no muscle mass, despite everyone telling me there was still a chance of gaining some use out of them if I just kept working on strengthening the muscles. To this, I always responded with, “What muscles?” My legs stopped where normal people my age's knees should be. Between that and my curved spine, I was a whopping 3 ft and 4 in, or a little over 102 centimeters tall. At school, I was by far, the shortest kid in my junior high. I usually hid my midget legs under a long skirt, or had a light blanket on my lap, mostly relying on my powered wheelchair to get from class to class as an aid from the disability department trailed behind me. To be fair though, it wasn’t really that old lady’s fault for breaking my legs. She really had only tapped me with her cart as she said. It would have been so much worse if I hadn’t been in my wheelchair; the fall could have killed me. When I was around one and half, my mom lifted me by the legs while changing my diaper and heard, what she thought at the time, was the cat batting something around on the floor nearby. I began screaming bloody murder for the rest of the day. After changing me and realizing no amount of bottles, food, cuddling, or sleep would console me, she reluctantly took me to the emergency room. After all, all she had done was change me, there was no way I was hurt. Turns out, the sound she heard wasn’t the cat. It was my hip breaking. It opened up a whole CPS investigation after reading the results of my x-rays. Not only was my hip broken with no possible explanation other than a diaper change, but after another set of x-rays just to see if I had sustained other injuries in their care, they saw improperly healed breaks in my right leg, right arm, three broken toes, two fingers, and a rib. My parents almost lost custody of me right then and there. Hospital staff were in the middle of filling out a child abuse report when a doctor noticed a strange phenomena in my eyes. Where the white should have been, there were instead streaks of blue. After running more tests, I was diagnosed with osteogenesis imperfecta, more commonly known as brittle bones syndrome. “You doing okay back there, Forest?” my dad asked. “Are you trying to hit every bump in the road?” I replied. “You’re gonna break my neck before we even get there!” The last thing I wanted was to be in a neck brace again. I’ve learned to live with being confined to a chair, all I ask in return is free range of my neck. It was awful only seeing what was directly in front of me. I could hear my mom playfully chastise him about the nickname, but he just laughed. We had a bit of a twisted sense of humor in our family. My real name was Jasmine, but my dad either called me Wade or Forest, depending on if my braces were on or off. Both of them horrified the general public, and I got just as much of a kick out of it as my parents did. My parents, my dad especially, were not very politically correct about my condition, and I liked it that way. Dealing with people was awkward, I didn’t need that kind of tension at home. I’ve been told I hide my insecurities behind a self-deprecating sense of humor. During my physical therapy sessions, as I held onto the staff’s hands and inched my way up and down the hallways my father could often be heard shouting, “Run, Forest, Run!” Seeing the horrified looks on the staff and fellow patients faces was priceless. It wasn’t until he explained why he sometimes called me “Wade” that almost got him kicked off the visitor list. Some jokes were meant to stay amongst family. Two years ago, for my 13th birthday, my dad had taken me to the movies to see DeadPool 2. When the scene came on where Wade sat on the couch with a normal top half and baby legs, my dad leaned over and whispered, “See, you could be a movie star if you wanted to.” “Oh, Forest, listen!” My dad said suddenly before turning up the radio. Oh no. I let out a groan. “Our song is on!” A soft guitar melody played before Ed Sheeran, accompanied by my dad, began to belt, “When your legs don’t work they used to before!” “Stop it!” I groaned and shook my head. “And I can’t sweep you off of your feet!” “I’m taking my hearing aids out!” I said yanking out the small brown devices from my ears. I could still hear him, but he was muffled and sounded further away, almost as if underwater. I hadn’t realized how much I had begun to rely on reading lips until the pandemic hit. The hearing aids helped, but only so much. With everyone wearing masks, understanding people had almost become impossible without saying, “Can you repeat that?” at least ten times. I had at some point broken a handful of small bones in both my ears and now sound didn’t travel as well into the inner canals. In other words, my ears were deformed because I kept sticking my fingers in them as a kid digging for wax. Thank god I wasn’t a nose picker or I’d have suffocated during this pandemic. When I was sure the singing was over, I put my hearing aids back in. No need damaging my ears any more than they already were by listening to my dad try to hit the high notes. “Honey, is the other van still following us? I haven’t seen it in quite a while.” “They probably just took the main road further down. It’s fine, I’ll call them when we stop.” “Are we stopping soon?” I ask hopefully. I had never been in a car this long and my joints were beginning to ache. I fought against the 5 point harness that had me buckled in straight and tried my best to get comfortable. I stared at my little brother, Evan, enviously. He was sacked out in his car seat completely dead to the world. “There’s a gas station about 40 miles.” My dad said. “40 miles.” My mom grimaced. “Is there anywhere closer to stop? I really have to go to the bathroom.” “There’s plenty of cactus to choose from.” my dad said. “Very funny.” My mom said. “No, seriously.” My dad chuckled. “How about a Gatorade bottle?” My mom let out a snort. “What about you, Forest?” I rolled my eyes. “Jeez, you women are so picky. Why did I think a road trip with girls would be a good idea? If we have to stop at every gas station so you can pee we’ll never get there.” “Just because you have no problem going on the side of the road doesn’t mean we all have to. Right, Jaz? Jaz?” “My life would be so much less painful if I was a guy. I would so pee on the side of the road if I was a dude.” I admitted. “Forest, no, you can’t be a boy.” My dad said suddenly, before breaking out in a grin. “That would have been the first thing you’d break.” “That would be an awkward trip to the emergency room.” My mom admitted. “Hi, 911? Yes, my son, James, broke his penis touching himself again, should we just glue it back on or- oh ok, I guess it’s Jasmine from now on.” I laughed. “There’s no bones in a penis… I already googled that before.” “Why are you googling penises, Jaz?” my mom asked, turning around to look at me. “To know if I would have broken it by now.” I admitted. “But you can’t so…” “What would you do if you had a penis for a day?” My dad asked. I laughed as my mom smacked him. “What kind of question is that to ask of our 15 year old daughter?” “I would have definitely taken you up on that Gatorade bottle, and then I would helicopter dick myself to Austin already.” “Enough about penises, both of you.” My mom said, shaking her head. We rode in silence for a few seconds until my mom added, “I’d take you up on the Gatorade bottle too.” ………………………………………………………. When we finally pulled up into the gas station, I watched as my mother nearly bowled over a group of children on her way to get inside. “Uh, I can wait, thanks.” I said, still strapped into the seat. My dad chuckled. “I’ll get your chair, sit tight. She’ll be back to help you.” I could hear my dad rummaging in the back. There was lots of crashing, and swearing, before finally the back door shut again. My mom still hadn’t come back yet, and I was starting to fidget. It wasn’t good for me to wait this long. My bladder wasn’t very strong, and getting in and out of the car, into the chair, then into a bathroom and on the toilet was a whole production that took time. I craned my neck and looked for either sign of them. Finally, my dad came back, but without my wheelchair. “Small problem.” He said. “It’s in the other truck.” I looked at him horror struck. I could walk five, maybe ten steps max with assistance. Someone, most likely my dad, was going to have to carry me. As much as we tried to avoid it for both our sakes, sometimes it was the unavoidable cost of needing constant care that he occasionally had to help me with personal needs. My mom couldn’t be everywhere, and sometimes I had to be picked up. Since I couldn’t afford to be dropped even a single time, my dad had to do it. Even grabbing me wrong could break bones. I sighed in defeat. He’d have to be the one to take me to the toilet. “Let’s get this over with.” I unbuckled myself and scooted to the far edge as I could and slowly inched myself down the makeshift ramp on my butt until my legs were dangling outside the van. “Sorry, Forest. We can’t leave Evan in the car. We’ll have to wait for your mom to come back and we’ll all go together.” “Yay,” I said sarcastically. We waited a few more minutes. I was getting more desperate. We tried to make small talk, but I interrupted his speech on how great the children's hospital here was. “Dad, I can’t wait much longer.” I admitted. “Can you watch, Evan? Will you be okay by yourself for a minute? I’ll see what's going on.” I shrugged and hung out on my perch for a few minutes. My dad came back with a large grin on his face. He ignored my many questions before digging in the back and coming out with a pair of my mom’s pants. He chuckled and shook his head. He said something, but I couldn’t read his lips behind the mask. He gave me a thumbs up, but I gave him a thumbs down. “Stupid legs.” I mumbled. I looked left and right. The place was deserted. I was more and more tempted to just hike up my skirt, pull down my underwear and go on the ledge and be done with it, but the problem was my braces. They would have to be taken off. The plastic floor could be rinsed off with a water bottle, but the leg braces cost at least $5,000 each. They were in the way and they kept my legs from going sideways. They ran all the way up from my feet to my hips. “C’mon guys, hurry up.” I sighed in relief when I saw both my parents rushing forward. My mom was holding a bag in her hand and looking uncomfortable. Without a word she threw the bag in the back with the boxes and closed the door before coming to join us. “I’m so sorry, Jaz,” she said. “I thought the chair was in the back and your dad would have you loaded and waiting. Mike, help me get the braces off her.” They worked as fast as they could, but I was running out of time. My mom’s hand kept fumbling with the straps. I was biting my lip and clenching my fist and beginning to rock back and forth. “Hurry up!” I moaned at them. My dad got the left brace off first and set it aside. The air felt so good on my bare, sweaty leg. He looked up and around. Only one other car was in the parking lot and there was no one by it. “I’m going to pull off your clothes, okay?” I nodded and readied my hands to cover myself. I winced in pain as the fabric, as gentle as he was, slid down my legs. It didn’t take much to irritate the nerve endings. “Got it.” My mom said, freeing my other leg. I was finally naked from the waist down. Going inside wasn’t an option. My dad had already turned around and was standing at the other end of the van to give me privacy with however this ended. “I guess you can just go there.” my mom said. I frowned. I had already leaked several times, and it was clear it would go down a leg if not both. The thought of my legs getting wiped down right now made me hesitate, despite wanting nothing more than to just get this over with. “Clean up will hurt.” I said. “Do you see any way she can go without getting it on her legs?” “Uhh, maybe.” My dad said. “I don’t think she’ll like it though.” “Will it hurt?” I asked. “I’ll have to pick you up, but I don’t think it will get down your legs.” “Do it.” I said reaching out my arms to be picked up. I didn’t care who saw what at this point. “Please don’t pee on me though.” He said. I winced as he slowly picked me up. “But I love you.” I said through clenched teeth. My eyes were shut tight. I didn’t want to know his plan, I only wanted relief. “I’d only be marking my territory.” “Don’t you dare.” He said. I felt myself get lowered onto something hard and plastic. “There you go. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His arms were wrapped around my chest keeping me steady. “Go on.” “Mike! Seriously!” I heard my mom call out. It was too late to change plans though. It was sweet relief. I didn’t care where I was. What mattered was my braces, and it wasn’t going down my legs at all. I didn’t give my dad enough credit. He saved me. He was my hero, my savior. He was- I opened my eyes- He was SO DEAD! “So anyway, yeah.” I emailed my friend on the phone. “That’s how I got my butt stuck in a trash can lid in front of a 7/11 for twenty minutes today. My dad had to pour vegetable oil on me in order to get me out. The clerk even came out and offered to call the fire department for us. Luckily, I kind of look like a little kid with a mask on. Oh yeah, so my dad told me my mom got traveler’s diarrhea, only she forgot her phone in the cab and couldn’t text for help. So I guess I wasn’t the only one in an awkward position.” ……………………………………………………………………………………….. I was exhausted when we finally arrived at the motel. My hips, legs and back hurt. My three year old brother, Evan was screaming his head off and no one could get a hold of the driver in our other U-haul. It wasn’t just my wheelchair, it was all of my medical gear, my records, my clothes. It was a good thing I didn’t pee myself earlier because until we find the truck, all I have is the clothes on my back. I crawled on the floor, dragging my near limp legs behind me into the bedding my mom made me on the floor. I wasn’t happy about not getting to sleep in a bed, but there was nothing to prevent me from rolling off. I was even less happy about the other arrangement. “But I’m not even a bed wetter!” I protested. “I know you’re not, sweetie, but we don’t want you crawling around and getting hurt in the night. I know this isn’t ideal, but we weren't planning on not having any of your things with us.” I had a special mat I could put on the floor that absorbed my weight and put less stress on my wrists, but that was in the other truck. When I wasn’t in my chair, I was dragging myself along the floor. “I’m not wearing Evan’s bedwetting shorts. I’m 15!” “Jazz, you had to pee in a trashcan today.” “At least I made it to one.” I mumbled under my breath. “Look, it’s just in case for whatever reason. Maybe you wake up in the night and you’re just in too much pain, or you can’t wake us. No one’s making you use them, but if you do it’s no big deal, here’s some wipes, and a spare. There’s a trashcan by your head. Just slip it off and throw it away and no one will know.” “Mom! That’s-” “Just wear it, Jasmine.” My dad said into his pillow. “We want to go to sleep.” “Fine.” I grumbled. “What?” I asked when my mom knelt down next to me. “I want to see what it looks like.” She slid my skirt and underwear down and winced. “Oh, Jaz. That looks so painful. It’s all swollen.” “Yeah.” I mumbled into the pillow. “It hurts.” I winced when she started rubbing ointment into my skin. “I’ll get you something for the pain in a minute, this is just for the swelling.” I nodded, before pulling out my hearing aids, and laying my head down on the pillow. I let out a yelp when she got to my hip as I let her guide the shorts up my waist. “I changed my mind. You’re staying put tonight.” She handed me a pill and a sip of water. I wish I would have listened. A few hours later I woke up with a nagging bladder. I didn’t want to use the shorts, but I couldn’t fall back asleep no matter how much I tried. In my half conscious mind, still heavy with sleep and oxy, I began to crawl to the bathroom. I made it two feet away from my blanket pile. I heard the snap before I felt it. In the blink of an eye, I was on the ground. My mind was filled with hot searing pain that radiated from my left wrist to my elbow. I was vaguely aware of dull muted voices around me as I rolled on the ground clutching my arm and screaming in pain. Hands picked me up and carried me out into the night. We had no way of knowing this trip to the emergency room wouldn’t be like all the rest.

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.

I am disabled, I have Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified with traits of Aspergers Syndrome, Epilepsy and multiple learning Difficulties. What does that mean ? I have autism, while I am generally High functioning, I also have traits of low functioning autism as well, sensory issues, communication difficulties and stimming One problem I have with sensory processing disorder, is that I am hypo-tactile, meaning I don't get the same stimulation from something touching me as you would. Because of this I have always enjoyed the sensation of a poopy diaper, as it is kind of a sensory input for me. Being epileptic when I have a seizure (between 1 and 3 times a month) I am usually incontinent. Aside from that I have full control over my bladder and bowel The problem I have is because I am mostly High Functioning, I am overly smart, I can talk about all kinds of things, from Integral and Differential Calculus to Philosophy, from Material Science to Sociology, and I am a Computer Geek and a science nerd. I hate being so intelligent, and such a know it all, because it makes it hard to find friends with similar interests. I honestly wish I was Severely Disabled, and functioned on the cognitive level of a 2 year old, so I wouldn't know any better, and could be looked after 24/7 Knowledge is scary, and it can be used as a weapon as well as a tool.

Hello people of the incontinence board.