Being awakened from your migraine induced slumber by your bladder threatening anarchy on your bedsheets.

While your aide thankfully allowed you to sleep in, this gift has now turned into a four-alarm, straight panic situation.

As Management, you invoke your zen and tell everything in you and every system to Calm The Fuck Down, while you methodically and calmly search for your phone and call your aide to alert her of the impending doom. By the urgency in your voice, she informs you that she is on her way.

You breathe a sigh of relief as you pray to the Traffic Gods that she makes it the 20 minutes to your house unharrassed and safely before the Second Flood arrives.

Upon her arrival, you advise her that Emergency Getting Out Of Bed Right The Fuck Now Protocol is in order because you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the bedsheets safe. But to you she seems to be going in slow motion as the beads of sweat congregate on your forehead and upper lip.

At this point you begin assuring your bladder that you believe in her and that she can hold on just a few more minutes.

Once your aide moves you in position to relieve your bladder you let loose the longest uninterrupted stream of your 40 year old life and immediately feel like collapsing from the range of emotions you’ve just been through.

But you rejoice in this small victory because you made it. Your body heeded. You live to fight another morning.

#BladderOfSteel 
#PrayersForMyBladder 
#ThankGoodnessTheSheetsWereSpared #ThisBladderIsLoyal #BladderComingThroughInTheClutch #TheStruggle 
#DisabledChronicles #TrueStoriesOf2016