Adult Enuresis Consultants, LLC (Patreon)

This is currently a one-off and is on my list as an upcoming novella-length book. Enjoy the start!

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Chapter 1: The Consultation

Ding-dong.

Alexis took a deep breath as she approached her own door, the pit of her stomach filling with a hollow dread that she couldn’t reason away no matter how many times she’d given herself a pep talk, from when she made the appointment to when she replied YES on the confirmation text. She just kept telling herself it was necessary, a good thing right up until she turned the knob to greet whoever the company had sent over.

“Hello,” Alexis said, projecting a professionalism and cheerfulness she didn’t feel. She was a professional, and she hired vendors all the time, negotiated deals, managed seven-figure budgets, and mentored junior colleagues. That’s what she wanted to treat this interaction as – one professional hiring another. That made her the client and this other person the vendor, and that gave her the upper hand. My opinion is what matters, she told herself when she booked the consultation. You’re in the driver’s seat. But when she opened the door, that wasn’t how she felt.

“Hello,” said this young woman standing on her front porch. She couldn’t be over twenty-three, barely out of college. She was wearing a set of nurse’s scrubs with a stylized AEC on the left breast pocket. “I’m Makenzie. Nice to meet you,” she said as she held out her hand.

“Likewise,” Alexis replied. “Please, come on.” She led her to her living room, which shed just finished straightening. She was a busy person, and keeping her home straight was low on her list of priorities. She rarely had company anyway. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Alexis expected the woman to sit in the chair opposite the couch. In fact, she realized belatedly she’d have been more comfortable in the more formal setting of the dining room, but she’d led her to the living room, and she’d taken a seat right next to her on the couch. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you.”

The young woman didn’t waste time. She knew this was an awkward conversation, and it was easier for folks if she just kept it moving at a fast pace. She opened the bag she’d brought with her and took out a tablet, which she’d booted to the company app in the car to not give this potential client any time to reconsider. “Is it okay if we just get started, or did you have any questions first,” she asked.

“Uh, no, that’s fine. Let’s dive right in,” Alexis said.

“If we can just start by reviewing some of the information you provided online.” She tapped a few things on her screen. “And I did want to add that you have nothing to be embarrassed about, so please just be honest. You can tell me anything, and it’s confidential.”

“Are you actually a nurse,” Alexis asked.

“Good question. I’m not.” She looked down at herself. “It’s just the company uniform, but I do have a bachelor’s degree in psychology, and the company has a very thorough training program. I can tell you more about it if you like.”

“No. That’s okay. I was just curious.”

“No worries,” Makenzie said and turned toward Alexis, trying to seem casual to put her at ease. “So, you’re a bedwetter.”

“Um …” Alexis paused and then scoffed. “I … I guess.”

“It’s okay. We’re gonna be real blunt and honest. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is a medical condition, and we’re going to treat it that way. How long have you been wetting the bed?”

“I guess my whole life.”

“You were never dry?”

“For a little bit. Like, a few months when I turned twelve.”

“But it didn’t last, huh,” Makenzie said sympathetically.

“No.”

“How many night a week are you wetting? And remember, it’s okay to tell the truth. No one is judging.”

“Th-three nights … some weeks.” The younger woman didn’t say anything, a tactic to give the twenty-eight-year-old an opportunity to be honest. “Four or five other weeks.”

“Would you say the average is four or five?”

“Four. Definitely four,” the blushing woman said. Makenzie tapped her tablet.

“And how long have you been wetting with that frequency?”

“O, for so long I don’t remember.”

“Is that more or less than when you were a teen, or the same?”

“Same.”

“Same since teen,” Alexis said as she typed in her notes. “Are you currently restricting fluids?”

“Nothing after seven.”

“Okay … Have you noticed any patterns with it?”

“Like what?”

“Does it get worse when you’re stressed?”

“No.”

“How about if you’re drinking alcohol?”

“No.”

“Any drugs?”

“No.”

“What if you’re sick?”

“It’s the same.”

“Okay … In general, how do you sleep?”

“Pretty well. I get about eight hours.”

“That’s good. Plenty of sleep is good. Do you ever wake up at night?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you wet if you wake up in the middle of the night?”

“Well, not always.”

“But on nights when you do wet, are you usually wet in the middle of the night, or is it in the morning?”

“Both.”

Alexis was an expert on her bedwetting, and this conversation was oddly making her feel more self-assured. She felt a little more in control on the conversation.

Makenzie tapped some more on her tablet before looking back up to ask, “And how much are you wetting on your wet nights on average, on a scale of one to five, with five being a lot?”

That sense of control evaporated as Alexis tried not to blush. The circular logic of embarrassment told her if she could make it seem like she had nothing to be embarrassed about, then she wouldn’t be embarrassed. But she was. “A four.”

“Are you doing anything right now to contain your accidents?”

“I have a polyurethane mattress cover,” Alexis said.

“Aren’t those just great? So much more comfortable than the plastic ones. Anything else?”

“I, ahem, I wear Goodnites to bed.”

“Hmmm. Those are popular with people your size. No one would guess they’re for you, right?”

“Um, no. At least I hope not.”

“Are they working? I mean, are they keeping your sheets dry?”

Alexis blushed again and said quietly, “Sometimes.”

“How often is that? You’re wetting four nights a week, so out of those four?”

“Three.”

“Three nights with dry sheets. That’s not bad.”

“No, um, I meant three nights a week, they, um, leak.”

“O.” Alexis hit backspace on her tablet a few times. “But hey, a leaky pullup isn’t something to be embarrassed about. Really, I’ve had lots of adult clients, and some of them haven’t even been smart enough to wear protection at all.”

“O,” was all Alexis said in response, forcing a small smile.

“So if you're wetting throughout the night and your pullups are leaking, does that mean you’re sleeping in wet sheets?”

“Yes. Well, for a bit. I get up and change the sheets when I wake up wet.”

Makenzie’s face turned empathetic. “You must rarely get a good night’s sleep then.”

“I get eight hours, like I said.”

“You go to bed for eight hours, or you’re sleeping eight hours?”

Alexis saw her point. “I guess it’s more like six hours … sometimes five.”

“And that’s been going on for years. You poor thing.”

Alexis didn’t like this younger woman calling her that, but didn’t say so as Makenzie took her through the questionnaire, confirming the information she’d already given the company – the other things she’d tried throughout her life, the medications. It was a long history of disappointment.

When they’d gone through her history, Makenzie asked, “So why now? Why reach out to us now?”

Alexis sighed. “I’m lonely,” she said in a moment of vulnerability rare for her. “I’ve never been in a relationship. I just can’t … I can’t bring someone home or stay over, and the few things I had that almost became relationships just … ended.”

“They rejected you when they found out?”

“No. They never found out. I just … Anyway,” she said and sighed again, “that’s why.”

“What to you is success,” Makenzie asked.

“To be dry,” Alexis replied as though the answer was obvious.

“I don’t want to be a downer, and we won’t know what’s possible until we try, but that’s rare for someone who’s never been dry at your age. More likely is we’ll be able to reduce the frequency and the amount. Is that an outcome you’d find acceptable?”

“I guess if that’s the best I can do.”

“You might do better. We won’t know until we try.”

“What exactly will we try?”

That sounded like a sale to Makenzie, but she didn’t want to push in case she pushed too hard. “You’ve tried a medical approach. I’d recommend a behavioral approach tailored specifically to longtime adult bedwetters. It’s a little difficult to explain, but what we’d try to do is retrain your brain and body to stop your wetting.”

Alexis scoffed. “Sorry, but that sounds like new age nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, I can assure you. It’s a very no-nonsense approach.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“It’s a series of escalating techniques by which we try break the pattern you’re stuck in. In all transparency, it’s difficult. It’s not for everyone. A lot of people can’t handle it. You’d need to commit to a ninety-day contract.”

Alexis felt her competitiveness kick in. She could do it. It may not be for everyone, but she could. She’d accomplished a lot. And the prospect of being dry in just ninety days had her imagining a new life. “I can do that. I’ll do that if it means being dry in three months.”

“It could mean that,” Makenzie clarified. “But I can tell you most adult clients have either reached their goal in ninety days or they give up.”

“I’m not a quitter.”

“I can tell that about you. The behavioral approach can be done as an outpatient, which means I or one other person would be here in the morning and again at night, when you wake up and when you go to sleep. There’s an inpatient option where you’d come live at our facility; of course you’d be free to come and go as needed, but you’d sleep there. And there’s a residential approach.”

Alexis had no intention of moving into their facility. “What’s the difference between inpatient and residential?”

“With the residential, I’d move in with you for as long as you’re in the program.”

“O. That’s …”

“Invasive. I know. I’m sure you like your privacy. You’re used to your alone time.”

“Yeah.”

“On the other hand, you did say you’re lonely. I’m great company, if I say so myself, which I do, and it’s not like we’d be joined at the hip. I assume you have a spare room.”

“Yes, and a guest bath. It just seems … what would you do all day while I’m at work?”

“See my other clients, but also cook and clean. A chef, a maid, and a bedwetting coach,” Makenzie said like she was offering the deal of a lifetime. “And,” she added, “all of our data shows with longtime adult bedwetters, the residential behavioral approach is the most effective. Of the ones who stick with it, eighty percent reach a goal they find acceptable.”

Alexis didn’t have to ask the cost to know she could afford it. “I’m in. Where do I sign?”

Makenzie smiled and moved closer to her new client on the couch. “I can pull up the forms on my tablet. Fair warning – if you ever thought joining a gym was a lot of paperwork, you’d better settle in.”

“Is it easier to just print it all off?”

“I can tell you what each form says before you sign. I do have to ask, though, are you really committed?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to trust me. I can’t guarantee success, but I can guarantee if you don’t trust me and do as I say, it won’t work. Will you trust me and follow directions?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Makenzie tapped her tablet to pull up the first form.