Name: Mike P.
Ages: 10-17

About Me

My name is Mike and I was born with a birth defect known as spina 
bifida, or "open spine."

Before birth my spinal cord didn't close properly, and so messages do 
not travel correctly to and from my brain and lower body. I am 
paralyzed from my waist down (paraplegic) and I am bowel and bladder 
incontinent as I have no sensory awareness of when I need to go to the 
bathroom to use the toilet.

At age three my parents learned the full extent of my disability and 
that I couldn't be toilet trained in the usual way. I learned how to 
walk with full length leg braces and crutches; and I would have to wear 
diapers (with rubber pants) far beyond the toilet training age of most 
kids.

I started public school at age 5; it was a "special school" for 
crippled kids. There were others with spina bifida, but as a group we 
were in a minority, and we were the only ones in diapers. Until age 
nine, I had no interest in taking care of my bathroom needs, so my 
mother changed me at home, and women called attendants (or matrons) 
changed me at school. I was completely oblivious of my need to be 
changed. My mother and the matrons just took me to the bathroom 
whenever they thought I needed to go, although at school I was probably 
taken like every two hours over a six hour period. Kids like me were 
changed in the same bathrooms that everyone else used, so anyone going 
to the bathroom at the same time, saw me (or others like me) being 
changed. So, between my odors, the visibility of my diapers and stuff 
in my school bag, and being seen while getting changed, it was no 
secret that I wore diapers.

After an incident at age nine, I began to change myself. The school was 
tolerant of kids like me wetting themselves, but BM accidents were 
different. Dirty diapers were a "no-no," and my mother had to induce my 
bowel movements using a suppository, so I wouldn't have an accident in 
my diaper at school. Every night before bed I had to take a suppository 
and sit on the toilet afterwards until I pooped. However, this 
technique wasn't completely "foolproof," and from time to time I still 
messed myself. Although my mother was never a big fan of dirty diapers, 
nevertheless she understood my disability, and took care of me. The 
matrons at school were none too thrilled when I had a BM, but they 
never made an issue of it. Or at least until the following occurred.

I was nine and in the second half of third grade. I should have been in 
fourth grade but I got held back part of a semester. I wasn't a good 
student and didn't care much for school. It was midmorning, approaching 
our lunch time, and my matron, Mrs. Shotz, came into my classroom to 
take me to the bathroom. At this age I was usually changed in a 
standing position, leaning forward on my crutches with my matron 
standing directly behind me. Upon entering the boys' room, she began 
changing me by unfastening and lowering my pants, and pulling my rubber 
pants down over my leg braces, thereby exposing my diaper. As she slid 
my rubber pants down, I could smell my BM and obviously I now knew that 
I had made a mess of myself. Carefully unpinning my diaper, she looked 
in the back, lower area of it and saw that I had a bowel movement.

Typically other matrons didn't make a big deal of these episodes. Most 
of the time the matron would simply point out that I had an accident, 
and needed to be cleaned-up; obviously it took a little longer to 
complete my diaper change. The worst part was that the bathroom would 
often be consumed by the odor of my poop, and nobody could stand being 
in the bathroom while I was being changed. But on this occasion my 
matron went "bonkers."

She began scolding me for messing myself and threatened to take me to 
the principal to have me suspended from school. But being scolded for 
having an accident wasn't the worst of it. Most of the time when I had 
a messy diaper, the matron would either place my diaper on the floor 
and fold it over to cover my accident and begin cleaning me up (after 
all, more than my diaper was dirty); or they would rinse the diaper in 
the commode first and flush my doo-doo right away just to be rid of it. 
Upon removing my diaper from between my legs, Mrs. Shotz rinsed it in 
the toilet, but didn't flush, thereby leaving my BM in the toilet for 
anyone coming into the boys' room to see. She set my diaper back on 
floor and began unrolling several wads of toilet paper so she could 
begin cleaning me up.

At first only the two of us were in the bathroom, and of course I was 
hoping no one would come in until after I was finished getting changed. 
And I didn't understand why she didn't flush the toilet right away. As 
she proceeded to get me cleaned-up, and finish changing me, the 
bathroom door opened and in came a kid in a wheelchair who was in my 
classroom. By this time the bathroom reeked of my bowel movement, and 
without seeing my accident in the toilet, this kid surely knew that I 
had pooped myself. Because of the odor, the boy was hesitant to enter 
and was on the verge of making a retreat, when Mrs. Shotz motioned him 
to come in. As I stood there waiting for her to finish changing me, she 
directed his attention to the toilet and began, "Michael's a bad boy. 
He had a BM and didn't tell me. The next time he does this I'm taking 
him to Mrs. Evans (the school principal)."

The other boy, not knowing what to do or say, sort of let out a nervous 
laugh, turned around, and wheeled himself out of the bathroom. At this 
point I was very angry for being humiliated this way by Mrs. Shotz. 
Fortunately, by this time I was almost "finished" and the quickly
advancing lunch period virtually guaranteed that no one else would see 
me and know that I had an accident.. After fixing my clothes and 
putting my soiled diaper into the plastic bag for my used diapers, Mrs. 
Shotz finally flushed the toilet, and I left the bathroom for lunch as 
she stayed behind to wash her hands. Fortunately, when she changed me 
that afternoon, before dismissal, she didn't bring up my morning 
accident.

When I got home, after my usual pre-dinner snack, my mother took me to 
the bathroom. She brought my school bag upstairs that contained my 
plastic bag and its contents of used diapers. As she got ready to 
change me, she saw my soiled diaper rolled-up in the bag and remarked 
that I had a bowel movement. She was surprised as I had "gone to the 
bathroom" in the toilet the night before with a suppository. At first I 
wasn't going to mention the episode in the boys' room, but I guess I 
was looking for some sympathy for what had happened and so I told her 
about it. At first my mother wanted to call the principal and complain 
about the way Mrs. Shotz handled my accident and diaper change. But she 
knew that the principal wouldn't be sympathetic since I wasn't supposed 
to mess in my diapers in the first place. But being the practical 
person that she was, my mother now thought it was time for me to begin 
changing myself.

 I'm sure my mother thought this would keep me out of "harm's way" as 
far as the matrons were concerned, especially Mrs. Shotz. After all, I 
could control the timing of my bathroom visits and take control of my 
diaper changes, and try to be more discrete, especially if I had a BM. 
But this came at a price. First, up until that time I didn't like 
dealing with my bathroom business and was perfectly content to let 
others take care of me. Second, in spite of the scolding and 
humiliation, the matrons who changed me acted as a buffer between me 
and other kids, so I wouldn't be teased by others while being changed. 
I knew that once I began changing myself I might be subject to teasing 
by other kids in the bathroom if there was no attendant present. 
Nevertheless, I think I instinctively knew that I had to start going to 
the bathroom on my own and I couldn't rely on others to take care of 
this most personal need forever. So, Easter break was only a few weeks 
away, and that was my "boot camp" for learning to change my diapers 
without assistance. Learning how to change myself when I was just wet 
was pretty easy, although I'm sure I stabbed myself more than a few 
times with my pins. But, BM's were problematic for a very long time. I 
learned take care of them on my own, but it was always difficult.