The Plastic Jane

I want to talk about a sensitive subject.  Difficulty with control—the bladder kind.  My husband has been embarrassing me for years now, stopping in some of the most incredible places to relieve himself, back roads, in the corner of parking lots, or wherever was handy and presented some cover for modesty (and circumvented a trip to jail).  Finally, I just gave up and accepted it as part of life—with him.

Well, the tables have turned, and I’m desperately looking for those places, but my anatomy is different, and I can’t get away with what he does.  This week I have been working at tearing down a house on our ministry’s property.  There is no running water or functional bathroom.  That would not be a problem, except for the fact that I take Lasix for removing extra fluid due to heart surgery.  I am very familiar with the way it works.  About a hour after taking the pill, I have a slight warning to get somewhere fast.  There are times when it is impossible to drive to the local convenience store.  To do it standing up is disastrous.

The other day I did just that, and suffered the consequences for the rest of the day.  What’s worse, an hour later and Lasix was working again.  This time I actually sat down on a commode that rats had been running over and dried feces was in the bowl.  Now that was a all-time low.  I came home, showered about three times, scrubbed my skin almost raw, and went sniffling to my husband.

“Just go down to the medical supply and ask for a woman’s urinal,” he advised.  A woman’s urinal…I had no idea there was such a thing.  Instead, I looked in Leonard’s Catalogue, and there it was.  It looked like a man’s but it had a little cup on top.  Hmmm…, should work.  The ordering information called them “Jane,” as opposed to “John.”  How funny, I thought.  So I ordered two of them, one for me and one for my friend who helps me out at the job sometimes, and she takes Lasix.  As I explained to her, we wouldn’t want to share one.  Practical, aren’t I?  She just smiled a grateful smile, and told me how she plans road trips around her pill.

My brain started going off in tangents, I guess to cover the awkwardness of the subject.  (I also find weird thing amusing.)  I wondered if women could petition the state for urinal booths along the roadside like the transsexuals want special use of bathrooms?  Or how about giving a Jane as a stocking stuffer?  They only cost $4.00 on sale.  Or even use them as a Christmas stocking?  They are about the right size.

In conclusion, life has its seasons, and we would do well to deal with them as gracefully as we can. And perhaps with a little humor.  And thankfulness that thoughtful people come up with gadgets called Jane and John.