Potty

I’m on a healthy eating kick at the moment (with the exception of my Whitstable fish’n’chips, for which I starved all day). I chose muesli for my Kent hotel breakfast, and dutifully mixed in a good spoonful of each attractively-presented addition: almonds, pumpkin seeds, goji berries, chopped dried apricots, linseeds, flaked almonds, flaked coconut, golden raisins, extra All-Bran. Forswearing the bacon, sausages, hash brown and even the scrambled eggs, I selected a low-fat organic yoghurt to go alongside, and tucked in.

After the first five minutes, I began to feel as though I was taking part in one of those Japanese television endurance events. I sipped another glass of pomegranate juice and read the paper for a while, to allow the oaty, wheaty, bran-y bits to soften up a bit. The waitress came over to refill the tea.

“Ooh”, she said. “That’ll keep you nice and regular”.

Set me thinking, as I chomped. Set me thinking about those days when the only moment you have to yourself is in the loo. When it’s the only chance to check your personal emails and texts, the only time to get away from your colleagues, or your family. Once I had a job where it was so boring, and I was so exhausted from the lack of interest and stimulation, that I would go and sit in the luxy carpeted Ladies cubicle in the executive suite and have a little snooze, soothed by the warm air from the hand-dryer.

One of my colleagues a few years ago gave me some interesting feedback. “The girls dread working on projects with you because you never go to the toilet, all day, ever. And when they ask if they can go, you say it’s not a good time and they should hang on”.

I thought about this. They’re not completely right. I don’t go between 9am and3.30pm. I don’t go from the first school bell until home time. Twenty-five years later and still worrying that Michelle and Renetta would be waiting in there to slam my head against the paper towel dispenser, and kick the lock off the door, and when they were feeling really evil to burn the back of my hands or the back of my neck with cigarettes. I realised how all that time later I was still organising my whole day to make sure I didn’t go to the loo. Half a cup of tea at breakfast, perhaps a few sips of water with lunch. I thought my dry lips and dry eyes were because I wore contact lenses, used the wrong moisturisers.

I never connected any of this with my endless kidney and bladder problems, trips to hospital, investigations. Eventually one of the consultants asked me to keep a diary for a month of everything I ate and drank. “I’ve never seen anyone drink so little”, he said in amazement. “Your body can’t function properly with such a low amount of fluid. Your kidneys and bladder are being subjected to terrible strain.” He asked whether I had a dry mouth, headaches, sore eyes. Yes I did, constantly. “Your body has signals that tell you to drink. Listen to them”.

This session coincided with the sudden interest in hydration, the situation we now have where everyone has to go about their daily life with a bottle of water clutched alongside. I make sure I drink my six to eight glasses of water a day, often a lot more. I do feel better for it, and I don’t have all the problems I had before. And of course I pee endlessly. Drinking water and peeing still happen mainly after 3.30pm though, just in case.

Funny, isn’t it? You never forget the names of the bullies.