Last night, I cut-back on my evening fluid intake, hoping that I could reduce the number of overnight bathroom trips. The frustration of the night before fueled a drastic need for change in dealing with my overactive bladder (OAB). I got out of bed at least five times, after several late night cups of tea, two vodka tonics, and multiple Diet Cokes. First, I have to learn to manage or eliminate my caffeine, chocolate, and alcohol urges. Secondly, I’ll also strive to strengthen my pelvic floor through exercise and consciously restrict liquids. Simply cutting-back resulted in a last night’s good sleep, interrupted by only two bladder interruptions, so the goal now becomes a seamless seven hours. 

I once liked getting-up multiple times in the middle of the night. There was never any trouble getting back to sleeps, and it made me feel like I was stretching time before the alarm rang. However, now I’m not working and no longer at the mercy of a wake-up call. I like the idea of a friendlier bladder and less-disruptive sleep. To get there, I’m going to have to make changes without resorting to medication. As I contemplate this matter of the bladder, I leave you with this silly poem that will have to be filed under the category of “in questionable bad taste.”

Bladder Matter 2

Disturbing news,
It’s a bladder matter.
Urinary Incontinence,
There’s nothing sadder.

Toilet Talk,
And discharge jokes.
Uncomfortable jest,
For proper folks.

It’s a touchy topic,
Some shamed to speak.
But the last thing you want,
Is a tell-tale leak.

Input equals output,
No room for doubt.
What goes in,
Must come out.

It’s bladder-related,
Anatomy one-oh-one.
But when it fails,
It’s never fun.

If it’s overactive,
Without control.
You need something,
To plug that Hole.

It might get irritable,
Cause for panic.
Restroom closed?
Don’t get frantic.

In the Overnight hours
When you seek relief.
It can frequently be,
A sleep depriving thief.

And God forbid,
When there’s no stream.
It can make,
A grown man scream.

When the doctor asks,
For you to cough.
There’s no need,
To get pissed off.

What comes before pee,
In the alphabet?
Oooo, so soothing,
No better does it get.

When the bag gets full,
Before you need a mop.
With the urge to go,
You’re forced to stop.

Or Like a race horse,
You start to prance.
My mom called it,
“The Tinkle dance.”

When nature calls,
Don’t dare diddle.
Before you make,
A puddle of piddle.

Politely you ask,
To take care of biz.
But we all know,
You’re taking a whiz.

If you can’t hold it,
Be more than glad.
That you’re wearing,
A Maxi Pad.

As we get older,
Here’s the key:
Never pass,
A place to pee.

Copyright 2010 johnstonwrites.com

For more bladder humor see Post #941. Apparently, the topic has been top-of-mind before.