Alternative Therapies - Chapter 3

Unfortunately, my bedwetting persisted. Despite my mother's aversion to conventional medicine, I saw my GP. The doctor diagnosed me with a bladder infection and prescribed antibiotics. But despite taking them, I continued to wake up in a wet bed every morning.

While we were preparing dinner and I took the last pill of my antibiotics, my mother made a sarcastic comment about it, saying, "Chemicals seem to be working wonders." Despite my efforts, I couldn't conceal my ongoing bedwetting from her. And since I started the conventional treatment, she stopped offering her support and understanding towards my situation.

She began to recount out a theory she had read in an article the previous night, regarding incontinence being related to traumatic experiences during the anal phase. She believed that stimuli, which don't have to be conscious, can reactivate these traumas in the brain, blocking access to brain areas where toilet training is stored. She concluded that this could be the reason for my bedwetting, as I had lost my father during this critical phase and that the stress from my high school graduation and moving could have reactivated the trauma. In my opinion this was nothing but pseudoscientific nonsense.

I held my tongue as usual when my mother spouted nonsense, knowing it would only lead to more arguments between us. I found it disrespectful that she was using my father's early death from cancer for her far-fetched theories. Although my mother was a smart woman and successful in her career, it was strange how often she spouted esoteric nonsense. What was even worse was that she was immune to criticism. Whenever her arguments were logically and consistently discredited, she would come up with ten more reasons why her theory must be correct. The discussions I had with her reminded me of a joke by the german comedian Vince Ebert, "An esoteric can spout more nonsense in five minutes than a scientist can't refute in a lifetime."

"To treat incontinence, the anal phase and potty training routines must be re-experienced and re-learned, to overwrite traumatic memories blocking their recall," she finished her speech. She looked at me, expecting me to be at least as enthusiastic about her treatment proposal as she was. However, I didn't even had a plan of how this dubious treatment would look like in practice. After all, I couldn't travel back in time and relive my childhood.

Maybe it would have been best if I hadn't commented on the matter at all, but in the end, my curiosity won out. "What do you mean by re-exprience the anal phase?" I asked with a skeptical expression. "Well, just go back to living the carefree life, like your younger sister does," she explained in detail. "Being taken care of, going to bed early, being reminded to go to the potty now and then, and wearing a pull-up at night in case something goes wrong." "You want me to wear diapers!?" I exclaimed, struggling to regain my composure. "Pull-ups! And you will wear them either way, because I'm not going to stand by and watch you ruin your expensive mattress any further," she clarified. "I've already bought a pack for you at the supermarket today. Trust me, they're hardly distinguishable from normal underwear, you won't even notice that you're wearing them. They're no different from a slightly thicker pad."

I couldn't control myself any longer. "I am certainly not going to wear pull-ups! I am not a baby! You can try your quackery on someone else from now on, I'm not going to be a part of it anymore!" I snapped at her and angrily stormed out of the kitchen. "Well, then you can also find someone else to pay for your expensive biology degree in England!" My mother countered swiftly.

I slammed my bedroom door behind me. She couldn't really mean that. Studying in England was my big dream, and it was impossible for me to finance everything without her help. This was not the first time my mother had blackmailed me like this; I was already too familiar with this game. For example, I had to treat my first menstrual cramps with homeopathic pills instead of painkillers, as she had threatened to cut off my allowance if I didn't. There was no improvement, but what did it matter if you used something natural like homeopathy? Who needed an effect or scientific proof when using something like that. My mother always knew exactly which pressure tactics she could use to make me obedient. But this time her nonsense had gone too far, this time I wouldn't be intimidated, no matter what it cost.