Aging Bladders and night-time naggers

The morning started abruptly when I was rudely awaken at stupid o’clock by my nagging bladder. With another few hours to go until my alarm was due to disturb my weird dream world, even in my semi-comatose state I realised that my bladder, ravaged by the effects of 4 pregnancies and the aging process, would most likely explode magnificently should I dare to ignore the danger signs.  So, with little other option, I gingerly traversed the blackness of the bedroom, with my ancient mobile shedding just enough light not to stub my toes on the heavy furniture randomly dotted around the room.

If I could just coax my unwilling frame to the bathroom, without putting on the lights, I may just persuade the rest of my body and mind, that there was no need to wake entirely, just barely enough to carry out the necessary deflation of the over-extended bladder. The process was straightforward enough, no dramas, no drips (too much information??), no phone dropped down the loo. Brilliant.  The reverse traverse across the landing, through the bedroom was worthy of an Olympic Medal. Squeezing my ample bottom between the bed and chimney breast, avoiding the threat of my bum and the very cold wall making contact, avoiding the distinct possibility of the chunky wooden bed-frame ruthlessly invading my lady garden on the way through.  Felt like a proper Ninja!

Laying down gently into the bed, snuggling into the still warm crater left moments before, brain barely registering, but smugly knowing that there was another hour plus of sleep to come.  Then it started. I swear that my brain actually houses an entire tower block of apartments, as no sooner had I laid my head on the pillow, when part of my brain sparked sending messages hurtling backwards and forwards, stomping around like a herd of fairy elephants with hobnail boots. “Shut up!” I hear another section shout, then it’s like that drunken neighbour, staggering around at 3am trying (without success) not to wake the whole neighbourhood.  I swear, that cell by cell, the noisy neighbour from hell woke them all!

Whizz, bang, wallop, noisy head neighbour falls over waking all the sleeping dogs in headspace towers. This in turn wakes the babies, who are now screaming at full pelt, and shouts of “Ssssshhhh”, “Shut up”, “Go to sleep you twonk!” are bouncing mercilessly off the interior walls of the noggin. So much noise!! A pillow on the head doesn’t work as the noises are on the inside – stupid, stupid synapses, curse you all!  Should I go and have a cup of tea then try to sleep again — just stop thinking damn you!!

Eventually the swirling noise drowns out all rational thought, and I hear the brain gremlins laughing saying “Get up, you may as well get up, you can forget getting back to sleep, you must be dreaming if you think that is ever going to happen lady”.  Bugger it, still an hour to go before I HAVE to get up, but the whispering thoughts are unrelenting.  What a shit start to the day – I am seriously considering a home-made catheter to see me through tonight without incident (I have a few long party straws and plenty of plastic bottles).

So that’s me sorted, half a bottle of wine and a mug of horlicks before bed, restraining order filed on the trouble-makers in headspace towers, make-shift catheter inserted, 5 gallon drum attached,  snuggle down with some hypnotic music in the background, and relax (not you bladder, not you damn you!).

Sweet Dreams All

Pedwar xx



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