Got me a new APP!

Every now and again I write a story that deviates from my norm. And then, once done, it begs to be shared. If this were a face-to-face conversation, it would contain too much information. If you prefer to continue knowing me as a well put-together, fit, and wise woman, turn away now, and don’t look back!

This week, I got a new APP. Given the millions of free Apps available, why should you care about this one? Admittedly, only a select few of you will benefit from this unadvertised, specially adapted, life-changing APP. Once installed I will be able to do sequences and runs without any leaks.

This APP has been around for years but no one talks about it. It is a socially awkward topic, but I have such faith in it, that I am willing to leak this APP to the world.

To have my APP installed, I had to make an appointment with a specialist. Once the consultant had checked out my device, and taken a few measurements, she left the room to get some equipment. It seemed that she was more interested in how my device had been working than anything else. She did a lot of probing.

She returned with several small bags. It seemed that this was going to be a delicate procedure, as she donned gloves before approaching my device. Giving it one more careful look, she tilted her head like a dog does when humans have conversations with them. She held in her hand a circular object that was baby-doll pink in color. It looked to the untrained eye, like a small umbrella canopy; one that could have been used by Bernard to shelter the glamour-mouse Miss Bianca, in “The Rescuers”.

As she approached my device for the installation, I grimaced slightly, and looked up. The drop ceiling was classic clinic white, it had evenly spaced illuminated fluorescent lights. The panels had gray pockmarks, as if just recovering from acne; and each tile was framed by a polished silver grid that eerily reflected the contents of the room.

Well, it turned out that my specialist was a nurse named Anna, and I was at the pelvic floor clinic for the installation of this APP (Anti-Pissing Pessary).

As I mentioned, this APP has been around for ages! The pessary is a simple device that is inserted down below into parts that we make our young children pronounce accurately (Can you say va-gi-na? Regina. No, VA-gi-na. RAgina) and then stop saying altogether as we get older.

After the nurse got the device in place, I got up and gathered the back of the flapping clinic gown in the fist of my hand. She asked me to jump up and down, legs in a straddle, and cough at the same time, all while standing overtop of a white towel. I giggled like a girl playing hopscotch for the first time. We were told to arrive with a comfortably full bladder. I stared at the towel, I looked at the young nurse—I wondered, Is this the only job you could get, watching older women with failing sphincters and spurting bladders, jump up and down? I grasped my gown a bit tighter and began to jump. It was just like personal training—but not! My bottom jiggled aggressively since it was not flattened by spandex, or camouflaged in loose shorts. Up. Down. Look. Sigh. Repeat.

I passed the first test. I was sent to the bathroom to see if I could pee with the APP installed. I pissed the second test.

Anna sent me back to the room, alone, and instructed me to see if I could find the pessary. Feeling good after flying through the first tests, I closed the door and gingerly began the search. It reminded me of a time a few years back when I was undergoing pelvic floor physiotherapy (I know, I had never heard of that either). Just like every other physio. regime, I had props. My props were: a brightly colored plastic Easter egg (the ones that come covered in chocolate with surprises inside), and a box of condoms.  I felt like I was in training for a “ladies of the night” Las Vegas show!

I was not able to un-install the APP. After some coaching from the nurse, she too gave up, and said, “Well, you really only need to take it out every three months, so you can simply come back and have it removed and cleaned then.” “What?!” I stammered. Do they have express service? Do I just cruise up to the “secret” door and knock three times? And then when the door slides open, do I lie down on the bed and press the button marked “Pessary Removal”? SERIOUSLY!

So I walked out with a silicone dam wedged somewhere between north and south. It reminded me of a time when one of my close friends, who had just returned from a doctor’s appointment, came skipping into the room, “I’ve got a secret, I’ve got a secret,” she chanted with impish cuteness. She had just been fitted with a diaphragm. Seems to me that her secret was a lot more fun than mine!

That night, I had a soccer game and was keen to see if this APP would improve my internal hard drive, and restore me to my former glory. The main reason that I had this dam contraption installed is that I am capable of double-dribbling all the way down the field! I have spent the entire season wearing a pad the size of a small mattress.

Success! Now I know how a toddler feels—one who goes to bed in a diaper and wakes up dry in the morning, and who gleefully pulls down her bottoms and says, “Look Mommy, I dry!” (I spared my soccer team my excitement.)

The fact that I couldn’t remove the APP caused me a great deal of consternation. It interrupted my thoughts and kept me awake ruminating over my eventual demise.

I woke up frustrated, and said to Ward, “I can’t get this damn thing out! They are probably going to have to cut me open from here to here to remove it”. (belly button to pubic bone-sometimes I can be a bit dramatic)

“Why do you have this thing anyway? Is this because of soccer?” he asked.

“YES, it is because of soccer!” I said.

“I don’t understand why they can’t just put porta-potties on the side lines.”

Staring hard at my doctor-husband, I said, “Do. You. Even. Know what STRESS INCONTINENCE is?”

“Umm…I guess not,” he admitted.

“I BASICALLY PEE MY PANTS AT EVERY SOCCER GAME! I would need a porta-potty strapped directly to my body, and for some reason they don’t allow women to play soccer with a potty strapped on to their butt!”

Now he stared hard at me, (stuck with a picture in his mind, I am sure) “Really, you pee your pants?” (he shook his head) “It sucks to be a woman.”

“ARG.” I stormed off.

However, I know that I am not alone. A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of mine was supposed to come over for dinner, but she had a horrible cold. I sent her a message on the day of dinner, to see how she was feeling, and if she was able to come. She replied, “I want to come. This cough is bad. Just peed my pants. Awesome!”

This is the kind of sharing we really need to do, because no one is ever suffering from something that someone else hasn’t been through before.

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*Look back at the picture, and see if you can see my new APP.