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I Can’t Hold Pee Like I Used To

I hate it when my pipe dribbles

Vuyo Ngcakani
Crow’s Feet: Life As We Age

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Photo by Luis Tosta on Unsplash

I long for former days, when my biceps bulged, my glutes were rock-hard, and you could raise a flag on my erection. Those days are long gone. I’ve let myself go. Now, I’m soft.

It could be worse. I was athletic in my youth and this has carried me into my late fifties. I’m healthier than many. I’m just a shell of my former self.

It’s my fault. Pride has been my undoing. Arrogance is what led to my weakened bladder muscles.

Holding pee for hours was a source of pride for me. Long trips were not interrupted by pit stops; there was continual watching of movies, and community toilets were never used. I wouldn’t use the bathroom when I visited friends. I didn’t need to.

That’s all changed.

I drive to work four days a week. It’s a one-hour drive so I have to be careful how much liquid I drink before embarking on my journey. The days that I overdrink or mistime when I imbibe are hairy. My wife can tell when I’ve screwed up because my entry into the house is frantic and my dash to the bathroom is Usain Bolt-esque.

It’s the drips that annoy me. The pee stain on my undie is what makes me groan. While the release of pressure on my bladder is somewhat pleasurable, I don’t like the thundering sound…

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