There was one specific exasperating failure that comes to mind. Matt was already sitting in the front seat of the car parked in the garage, waiting to leave for church. I saw “The Tell.” I was wearing a dress. We were crammed between a partially open car door and the proverbial pile of stuff down the center aisle. Megan ran interference and grabbed supplies, but it didn’t end well.  There was nowhere to fit the commode seat. It was exasperating and comical. The ability to see the humor in these situations helped us keep frustration at bay.

At night, we added more layers of protection to prevent Matt and, more importantly, his bed from getting soaked. Over the pull-ups, he wore a diaper and slept with an absorbent pad underneath him.  It was an undertaking, more like a wrestling match, to get him all dolled up and tucked into bed. Mike or I would check on him during the night to see if he was wet. On numerous occasions, one of us would have to change his pajamas and, at the very least, the pad. With a baby, a parent grasps the child's ankles together, lifts, and wipes with the free hand. Not so with an adult. Matt, who wasn’t awake enough to offer much help, had to be rolled first to one side, and then the next, while we removed and changed his attire. It was a job. And if the bedding got wet, well, you get the idea.

Progress seemed to go at a snail’s pace. When we left the house, we traveled with a diaper bag, clean clothes, and a protective pad for him to sit on. He had a few accidents walking downtown, far from our parked car and supplies. There was no way to predict when these episodes might happen, but gratefully, no one else seemed to notice. We made a concerted effort not to show distress or belittle Matt in any way. We adapted, and life went on.

Finally, six months after his accident, Matt was dry for two consecutive days. A whopping 36 hours! This included three bathroom visits to pee and a bowel movement on both days! Even better news occurred in December when he went four days, including two back-to-back nights. Previously, one night was rare. Finally, a month later, we were confident enough in his ability to perceive and respond.  Matt switched from wearing daytime Depends to regular underpants, but he continued to need nighttime protection.

To my surprise, in the early hours of the night, I woke up to find the toilet had been used but not flushed, and Matt’s extra layer of protection on the floor at the side of his bed! This was the first time his bladder had awoken him to get out of bed. To our disappointment, he didn’t replicate this feat the next night or the next. Although we knew he needed more time to be consistent, we couldn’t help but get our hopes up that soon he would master these bodily functions. Then there would be a huge celebration.

After ten long months, bowel and bladder function came online 100%! Matt still had to learn how to go to the bathroom standing up, to urinate with force, and void on demand when his bladder wasn’t full—like you do before you leave home and don’t know if you’ll be near a bathroom.  It was a long-awaited milestone, but to our surprise, the journey wasn’t yet over.

That summer, Matt experienced nighttime bladder control issues. On several occasions, much to our chagrin, on our way to make a 2:00 A.M. bathroom trip, one of us would unexpectedly skid on a puddle in the hallway or bathroom. We also found soggy clothes in a heap in Matt’s room, and Matt was already dressed in new PJs. At first, when asked, he had no recollection of having had an accident. Later, he had a vague idea of the incident but was uncertain why. Perhaps he couldn’t get to the bathroom in time or was half asleep and forgot just why he was up. We considered taking him to a urologist, but the problem was resolved after seven weeks, so it wasn’t necessary. Phew! We can finally check this off our wish list.

Looking back, it's hard not to wonder: Would knowing more have helped or just discouraged me? I think an honest conversation right from the start – explaining the unpredictable nature of recovery and the fact that everyone's journey is different – would have gone a long way in easing my anxiety. The knowledge that, in Matt’s case, it was not unreasonable to anticipate a full recovery of function would have assuaged my angst. I also wonder why hospitals don’t provide discharge planning for this problem as they do for other medical conditions. Even with our background, Mike and I did not comprehend precisely how physically and emotionally demanding and extensive this responsibility would be at home without outside help. It took commitment, hard work, and perseverance. Our tenacity ultimately paid off, and for that, I am grateful.

© 2025, Sarah Watkins