In Reverse, Part 7

I'm a forty-six-year-old man living in the body of an eight-year-old boy with my mind catching up. I've already written about the childish behavior I've started to show, and that's unfortunately continued. I've begun to forget my manners now, and I'm more impatient than I used to be. I also have trouble sitting still for long periods of time. More and more, I spend my time at the lab playing games to distract me while the techs and doctors work with and around me. They've begun summarizing their weekly reports about my status because my attention span has gotten quite a bit shorter. Basically, they're still working on it and aren't any closer to finding a cure for me. At the end of the day, I wait in the lobby for Ethan or Sophie to pick me up, and the conversation on the ride home sounds a lot like the way my conversations with Tommy about his school day went.

"Did everything go okay today?"

"Yeah, it was an okay day."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah. I played with my phone a lot, and Tomlin showed me a new game on his computer that he let me play for a while."

"Did you learn anything?"

"I guess. A lot of it's boring, so I don't pay attention to it."

"Any progress on your case?"

"You mean my problem, and no. They've started getting me ready to get even younger. Ethan?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I'm scared. I've been having a lot of fun, but if I keep going, I won't be able to do as much for myself anymore."

"I understand. I don't know what's going to happen, and I know you want this to stop, but me and Sophie and Tommy are going to be with you every step of the way, no matter what happens. We'll take care of you."

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you guys or at least Sophie and Tommy," I said sadly.

"I know, dude, but this is what's happening now, and we have to deal with it. I'll make it as easy as I can."

"Thank you, Ethan. You don't know how much I appreciate that. I know I don't always show it, but I do. It's embarrassing to be younger than my own kids, to have you guys taking care of me. But the truth is I'd be lost without you."

"Hey, you're going through something nobody ever has before. I know it's gotta be tough losing your adulthood and independence and being a kid again."

"It's not all bad."

He smiled. "So I've noticed. But that's okay too."

I felt my heart drop when they checked my age today. Lump in my throat, whatever you want to call it. I knew what they were going to tell me, and sure enough, I'm now physically seven years old. My former co-workers all look down on me and talk down to me now, even Garnett, who I helped train. I'm not just a test subject to them now; I'm just a kid. They've all gotten more tender with me whenever they give me a shot or draw blood, preparing me, talking me through it, or trying to distract me while the needle goes in. They're right to think that way, though. My pain threshold has dropped lately, and things hurt more than they did a few weeks ago. I think most adults don't appreciate how tender and soft young bodies are, how sensitive to pain. All those nerve endings are still pretty new, and pain seems magnified compared to what I felt as an adult. There have been a few times when I wanted to cry.

I had a rude awakening last night. For the first time in about forty years, I woke up in a wet bed. My pajamas and sheets were soaked, and, as sleepy as I was, I had to get up and change. I stripped the mattress on my bed and carried everything to the laundry room, standing on a chair to reach the console on the washing machine. I suppose it's a sign of things to come, but I hope it at least doesn't happen again any time soon. Tonight, I've watched my liquid intake very carefully, and I'm going to use the bathroom right before bed in the hope that I won't have another accident. So far, nobody's found out about the first one, and I don't think they will. But if it starts happening a lot, I won't be able to hide it.

I stayed dry last night, so that's the good news. The bad news is that I've almost lost all of my adult teeth. It's truly bizarre, but in the last few weeks, my teeth have been falling out, replaced by smaller baby teeth. None of us saw this coming. We were concerned the first time it happened, but a quick examination at the lab revealed what was happening. Ethan asked me if I wanted to put the lost tooth under my pillow for the "tooth fairy," kinda joking when he said it, and I said no. I think he thought playing a little game might help me deal with what's happening, but it would just make me feel even more awkward. And now, most of my permanent teeth are gone, pushed out by my returning temporary ones. It may be the weirdest thing I've ever experienced.

My play time continues to get more important to me and more juvenile. I've fallen to playing with Legos now, sometimes spending an hour or more stacking bricks on each other. Sophie even scolded me for leaving some lying out on the floor the other day. I also like radio-controlled stuff and kids' games. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun playing Hungry Hungry Hippos. I'm lucky because Tommy usually plays with me, but I can't tell if he does it because it likes it, because he wants to humor me, or because he thinks it's funny that his dad is now into such childish toys.

After three dry nights, I had another accident last night. Maybe I got too confident and forgot to do some of the stuff I needed to do to stay dry, although I'm pretty sure I didn't drink anything before bed. I had to change my PJs and sheets again. I was so ashamed and disappointed in myself. I knew on some level that it was an accident and not my fault, but I couldn't help feeling like I could have done more to prevent it. I'd been instructed to report any developments to the lab staff, and now that it's happened twice, I bit the bullet and did that today. It was probably the most embarrassing conversation of my life. They asked me about my bathroom habits, my dreams, and how much I drank in the evening. They recommended I cut off fluids after dinner, which I'd already tried. They tried to reassure me by telling me that bedwetting is very common in young kids, but it just reminded me that I was in the wrong body and made me feel even worse. They also told me I needed to tell Ethan about my accidents. I knew if they didn't, at his next meeting with the staff.

I took care of it after we got home and I could get him alone. "I wanted to keep this to myself and take care of it on my own, but I had to tell the lab today, and they said I should tell you about it too." He looked at me, listening intently. "I've had a couple of-- I wet the bed a couple times."

"I thought I saw your sheets in the laundry room earlier. You should have told me sooner, like right when it happened. You're a little too small to use the washing machine now. How'd you reach everything, anyway, stand on a chair? Yeah, let's not do that. If you have an accident, you need to get me or Sophie and let us help you. You can still change the sheets and make your bed, but we need to operate the washer for you. And I need to get you a water-proof mattress cover too. It's too bad we don't still have the one Thomas used to use."

"Yeah, I guess so." I could feel my cheeks burning as I thought about how I was now dealing with the same thing my youngest son did a few years ago.

"Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay. This will be our secret. Tommy doesn't have to know. We'll watch your liquids before bedtime, and if that doesn't work, we'll try something else."

That "something else" is exactly what bothers me. I remember what we did when Tommy kept wetting his bed. We bought Goodnites for him to wear to bed. So, here I am, at forty-six years old, dealing with the possibility of having to wear Pull-Ups to bed.