The processing of the need to pee while in a state of slumber becomes a dance between avoidance and acceptance. I know well, within the first moments of awakening, that it is inevitable. Yet I don’t want to even think about it. Thinking at all reduces the depth of the sleep I’m lost in the bliss of. I’m completely “out” and want to resist the unavoidable fact that the combination of my seemingly decreasing bladder stamina and my increasing age will again force my hand, and other extremities, to carry out it’s callous will. At the cost of a good night’s sleep.
I realize immediately that the battle is already lost. This is not a choice I get to make. I’m going to have to pee. “Where” is the one option I’m being afforded in this instance, not “when”. Not having reached the point of having transitioned to plastic sheets or Depends, I have little choice. Gradually, with resigned and measured acceptance, I remain in motionless repose, mentally conceding to the nature of the moment while devising the optimal game plan. Get through the process with as little disruption to the fading bliss of this interrupted moment of true rest, and get back to sleep before that elusive state is completely un-retrievable.
With seemingly atrophied muscles, I move slowly and wearily in a continuous motion into position to exit the bed, using as few movements as possible. I rest at the edge with my feet suspended less than an inch above the carpet as my legs acclimated to the impending act of sudden weight being placed upon them in order to support the forthcoming slow meandering shuffle to the toilet.
Once there, having navigated with squinting eyes towards the illumination of a nightlight installed specifically for such occasions, I take the throne. I don’t stand. I sit. This is a conscious practice on my part, intended to ensure the still diminishing sleep is the least disrupted by having to focus on both aim and stability. I sigh. My eyes close. I lean slightly forward out of habit and occasionally out of necessity due to the nature of a full bladder on the early morning male anatomy. And I relive myself while returning to a temporary state of relative incoherence.
The return trip looms as the final hurdle. And at this point, I’m 50% awake and well in jeopardy of losing the chance I might return to that deep sleep state. The act of returning to the still warm mattress from my seated position requires a ballet of body weight, balance, muscles and an uncomfortable-to-watch cantilever move. The slightest miscalculation can cost me another 10% of retained stupor.
As I very slowly move towards the doorway, the nightlight illumination casts just enough light to reflect the fatigued state of my appearance in the bathroom mirror. And that’s my point of no return. I see myself. And my mind races off at a breakneck speed, abandoning what little chance I had to cocoon again for the remainder of the morning. I return instead to lie awake, processing, aggressively, both that reflection and the journey to this shock inducing moment.
I. Am. Old. My aging body is overtaking my self-esteem and identity too. I am losing relevance while increasing in stature as a ‘legacy fixture’. Agility of both mind and body seem on a parallel declining course, too. At least that’s how it feels. And it is working against my confidence as I strive to fine new career opportunities, to remain inspired to improve my condition, and to stay positively motivated as the path ahead appears to be increasingly angling uphill.
“…But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize when he catches his reflection on accident.” - Death Cab for Cutie