Showing posts with label incontinence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label incontinence. Show all posts

Thursday, October 25, 2012

A toileting taboo: Kids and incontinence















Pee and poop. We all do it. But what if you couldn’t control when you ‘went?’

What if catheters, timed toilet trips, medication, diapers and sometimes surgery couldn’t guarantee that you wouldn’t have an accident?

How would you keep it a secret?

How would other kids treat you if they found out?

Urinary incontinence and how it impacts children socially was the focus of a qualitative Holland Bloorview study of 11 youth with spina bifida aged six to 18 and their parents.

“No one can tease the kid in the wheelchair, but it’s not ‘normal’ to be in a diaper when you’re eight-years-old,” said lead researcher Amy McPherson, recounting what children told researchers in interviews about how other students responded to their incontinence.

Researchers found that about half of the children were bullied – with a couple being completely ostracized – and most had no close friends. “One parent said she hadn’t organized a birthday party for her child because she didn’t think anyone would come.”

Two children who had learned to self-catheterize at an early age did have good friends and participated in typical childhood activities like sleepovers and camp.

But telling their friends about it was nerve-wracking, Amy said.

“Even the kids who functioned well said, ‘Well, I decided to tell my friends before they found out and ran away screaming.’ And even those kids didn’t share ‘the whole story.' They just told their friends they do things a little differently.”

Toileting in our culture is one of the last taboos, and for students, having an accident or a partially-visible diaper was “social death,” Amy said.

One of the themes that came out in interviews was that incontinence marked youth who wanted to be viewed as normal, and was a barrier to being accepted, having friends and going out.

“Because of the stigma, and the fear that others may find out, these students don’t often put themselves out there and instigate friendships,” Amy said. “It’s not something you want to talk about. You have to keep it hidden.”

“These kids feel stress to keep up a façade,” said researcher and ambulatory care nurse Julia Lyons. “Their goal is to fly under the radar, ‘for no one to notice me.’”

Ironically, parents who were interviewed separately from their children often began by insisting that their child was a normal and regular kid. "Then as the interview went on, it became obvious that their child didn't have friends and wasn't participating in activities, sleepovers, sports," Amy said.

Another theme was independence. “A lot of parents wanted their kids to take ownership of the incontinence issues and felt they needed to learn to do it themselves,” Amy said. “There were still 16- and 17-year-olds who weren’t catheterizing themselves. They used a diaper and had mom do their personal care.”

However, parents sometimes minimized just how hit and miss managing incontinence was for the youth.

“There isn’t a magic bullet for this,” Julia said. “It’s not like if you break your arm they give you a cast. These kids have to do a combination of catheterization and taking medications to allow them to hold more urine and using diapers and pads and even then it’s not 100 per cent effective.”

Drinking a can of pop, participating in gym class or simply being nervous can erase children’s vigilant efforts to stay dry. “The system is so tenuous they’re walking on egg shells on the best of days,” Julia said.

However, parents tended to expect perfection.

“One parent said: ‘She fell off the wagon’ – about an eight year old!”

The researchers noted that some students who did self-catheterize still wore a diaper as a security measure and were reluctant to let it go. They live with the fear that "tomorrow their routine won’t work," Julia said.

School accommodations – such as having students use the staff washroom where they can store their supplies – often reinforced the perception that they were different.

Typically children’s incontinence wasn’t shared with the class, but the student would have a signal to let the teacher know they needed to go to the bathroom, and would be taking longer than expected.

Unfortunately, some of these signals were stigmatizing: “In one case, the Grade 5 student had to place a giant, city-issued traffic cone on her desk to say she’d be back in 10 minutes,” Julia said.

Families reported a lack of incontinence products that were discrete and effective.

The researchers note that negative stereotypes about “having a leaky body” don’t just exist in childhood. “Adults who are incontinent are less likely to have meaningful employment and romantic relationships, so there are long-term implications for children with incontinence,” Amy said.

A larger study is needed to better identify what promotes continence and social acceptance in children with spina bifida. One tool to support children may be an online group where children who are going through the same thing can share their experiences.

This small study was launched because clinicians heard frequently that children with spina bifida and incontinence were bullied.

Dr. Paige Church and Nicole Fischer were the other researchers on the team. Their findings will be presented in a poster at the Bloorview Research Institute Symposium Nov. 13 and submitted to the journal Disability and Rehabilitation.

Monday, October 24, 2011

No more accidents!


























Many of you remember Tommy Glatzmayer (left) and the book he wrote with his mom Nathalie Wendling: Melanie and Tommy have two pet rats and one syndrome.

Nathalie just sent me this exciting update on her daughter Melanie (right), 11, who has Cornelia de Lange syndrome. For years, Nathalie has tried to toilet train Melanie. This summer it happened. Nathalie tells us how:

Over the summer, I desperately tried to toilet train Melanie -- as I do every summer.

She has not worn a pull-up since 2005, but we needed to bring her to the washroom every two hours. She would have a few void accidents weekly, but most of her bowel movements were accidents. In August, I decided to duct tape a night-time potty training buzzer mechanism to her underwear during the day. She would wear a normal pair of underwear and then the second pair would have the duct-taped mechanism, so it would not touch her skin.

At first, I was very depressed, as the device was ringing all day. I was convinced her brain was not capable of sending the signals. But I decided to leave the mechanism there anyway. It was relieving some stress from my life. I didn't have to force her to go to the washroom -- the buzzer was doing my work. After 15 days, Melanie was completely toilet-trained. Suddenly it was September and back to school.

I tried meeting with the teachers to explain about our success and the buzzer, but no one had time to listen. No one wanted to listen. I was made out to be some kind of crazy mom with a crazy agenda.

The staff continued to bring Melanie to the washroom every two hours and they wouldn't stop. It was confusing her brain and she was having many accidents.

We pulled her out of school at the end of September and set up a meeting. Our team consisted of a psychologist and a speech pathologist with some medical evidence written by a doctor that Melanie was physically capable of knowing when she needed to go to the washroom. Both professionals have known Melanie for over six years and believed she was capable of requesting to go to the washroom

What we discovered was that Melanie was terrified to let people at school know she had to use the bathroom. She didn't know how to interrupt the teacher or interrupt her friends. Melanie can barely communicate, never mind find the confidence to interrupt.

After a few meetings, some professionals from the school board got involved and the board said it would make a plan of action for all staff to follow by the end of October. 

We sent Melanie back to school last Monday on the condition that they follow our plan of action until their plan had been formulated. It was so difficult for Melanie. She was so stressed. We rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed every single scenario at home. I spoke about fear, friends, teachers. I spoke and spoke and spoke. I wondered if Melanie understood any of it.

I had not slept in two months. I knew this was my last chance of ever training her. The school board could decide that Melanie wasn't ready and order her back to the washroom every two hours. This was it. The time was now. I could smell, feel and taste Melanie's success. I knew she was ready, why would no one believe me?

This was a very important week in Melanie's life. Melanie had to find the courage: the courage she never had before, the courage she did not know she had.

October 17 - Melanie went to the washroom once.
October 18 - Melanie went to the washroom once.
October 19 - Melanie went to the washroom once.
October 20 - Melanie went to the washroom four times.
Ocotber 21 - Melanie went to washroom five times.

Melanie found the courage and she loved it. What a show off! She was so proud. We are so proud.

Is it finally my turn to walk out the front door with no diaper bag? Has that time finally arrived for me? Is it real? Is it really happening?

My advice to other parents? We have tried three different buzzers. The best one is available at Costco pharmacy. It has a rubber tip (this part is taped to underwear). You must order it at pharmacy counter and it is ready for pick-up next day. I would recommend doing this intervention during the summer as the students and staff at school found the buzzer to be very distracting and apparently even psychologically disturbing. 

Please learn from our mistakes and schedule a big meeting with all school staff before introducing the buzzer in the class environment. All staff and students need to be properly informed and prepared.

I am convinced we would not have had success without the buzzer. I desperately tried everything for so many years. The buzzer enabled Melanie to make the connection.

We took this picture this morning. The buzzer is kept in a little pouch (cell phone holder). The pouch is pinned to her pants with a large safety pin.

Melanie was very excited to take this picture today. She understands and is proud of her accomplishments.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Potty training: It's not a race


Amy Julia Becker, mom to William (left) and Penny (right) is a writer and recent graduate of Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey. At Thin Places she blogs about "theology, disability, children and parenting, education, and the intersection of grief and hope." Here she writes about a developmental stage that stresses many parents, but which can be especially sensitive for parents of children with disabilities: potty training. Thanks for sharing Amy Julia!


Potty training: It's not a race
By Amy Julia Becker


I was all set to write a victorious essay about how we had crossed the final potty-training hurdle. Seven days without an accident, even at night. No more Pull-ups, no more rubber underpants, no more carseat cushions in the washing machine, no more worries about our daughter sitting on the couch without a towel underneath her. Two years after we first started working on it, I thought we were done.

And then, Penny visited my grandmother and when she got up, there was a wet spot on the chair. And then, when we were outside this afternoon she looked at me, eyes wide: “Tinkle accident Mom!”

So we aren’t quite there after all. We’ve made some good progress, and I’m celebrating just the same.

Sometimes I’m asked, “What’s the hardest thing about having a child with Down syndrome?” And I reply, at least half serious, “Potty training.” Sure, the trips to the hospital for her heart procedure and hearing tests and the Emergency Room visits were more immediately stressful. And the question of social stigma when it comes to having a disability looms large as Penny gets older. IEP’s, routine checkups with a host of specialists, routine questions or comments that betray ignorance about who Penny is—all of those are tough. But when it comes to a daily struggle, potty training has been the hardest of all.

I was ambitious when we started. Penny was 2½, and I was convinced that with enough willpower on my part, she could learn to use the potty. I had heard plenty of moms with typically developing children say, “I just chose a week in the summer and put them in underpants, and by the end of the week we were done.” I knew it might take a little longer, but I figured Penny really wasn’t that different from all the other kids.

Then came the moment. Penny was sitting on the wooden stairs in my parent’s house, and she stood up with a puddle underneath her. I almost burst into tears. And I heard the disappointment in my voice as I said, “Oh, Penny!” It was then that I knew that this goal was for me, not for her. We put the underwear away for nearly a year.

The funny thing was, even in her Pull-up, Penny would wander into our room in the middle of the night and say, “I need to go potty.” And she would. Nearly every night. Last June, we were on a long car trip, and she said, “I need to go potty.” She held it for twenty minutes as we looked for a place to exit the highway. These moments helped me to realize that in this area, she really is different from other kids. If she’s on a playground, with her body and brain focused upon climbing a ladder or hanging from a bar, she doesn’t “hear” the signals that she needs to go. If she’s sitting still or sound asleep—if the rest of her body is quiet—then she does. And then there’s her low muscle tone, which makes it harder to hold it in even if she knows she needs to. Not to mention the impulsivity that makes her prefer to keep playing, even with wet underwear. I started to understand Penny’s hurdles, and I started to respect her more with every try.

So we bought training pants—super absorbent white underwear with strong elastic to prevent further leaking. And we did a lot, a lot, of laundry. We stopped paying attention if she had an accident, and started praising her effusively when she succeeded in going on the potty. For a time, we used M&M’s as a reward. Eventually, we got into a rhythm. Every two to two-and-a-half hours, we take a trip to the potty. She’s become more and more compliant the more successful she’s been. And once it was clear that a day without accidents was a distinct possibility—once it was clear that she could succeed—we introduced “star” days. After her first star day, we all got ice cream. Then, two in a row, and more chocolate yumminess dripped down her white shirt. Then, three in a row. Four. We don’t even talk about star days anymore. But we are working on helping Penny tell us before she needs to go, and we may use stars again once she starts to be able to do so.

Potty training has taken a long time. A really long time. It has set us apart from other families. And it has forced me to listen to Penny. In her own way, she asked me to slow down, to get to know her. She asked me to continue to learn how to love her—not for who I thought I wanted her to be, but, acknowledging her needs and her abilities, for who she is. Potty training has been one of the hardest aspects to our life with a child with Down syndrome. It’s also been one of the best.