When I was a junior in high school, I broke both my legs in a skiing accident. I spent about two weeks in the hospital, completely stationary. Even after I got home I could only use a wheelchair. On about the first full night in the hospital, I suddenly realized I hadn’t peed since I got there, and the hydration fluid IV wasn’t helping. My nurse, who I think was named Ashley, told me she probably should insert a catheter if I’m going to be staying as long as my doc said I would. I immediately told her NO F-ING WAY. I get that she was a professional, but my limit for grossness is things being stuck up my “you-know-where” like that. I told her I’d go myself, but even I realized I couldn’t get up and go to the bathroom. She replied that if I’d be going so much over the course of the night I might want to consider an adult diaper. I was only slightly less resistant to this than the catheter, but the ward was so busy that a nurse with a bedpan might arrive just a minute too late. That night, I ended up in a ridiculous looking diaper to sleep in. But wait, it gets worse. After a few days, unfortunately, this was the norm, because some meds I was taking made me pee more than usual, and I couldn’t exactly get out of bed for the staff to change the sheets. In what has become a true moment of shame for me, my friends brought the grade-school cheerleading girls I mentored in to visit, right as a nurse was changing my adult diaper! My best friends and these gossipy middle schoolers all accidentally walked in on me while it was going on and have been making bedwetter jokes about me ever since.