The most dangerous thing about teaching

When I was training to be a homoeopath (in another life) we were told, by a very glamorous grey haired woman that, “Whenever you are travelling with elderly relatives you should have the remedy Causticum in the car.” It was advice that I ignored at the time because I was young and couldn’t ever imagine having elderly relatives. Causticum treats acute paralysis of the bladder, or “motorway bladder,” as she called it. It’s not a serious condition but just happens if people with older, slacker muscles have to hold their wee for a long period of time. When they get out of the car, despite needing to go they can’t.

Going back to school after a holiday I always struggle with not being able to go for a wee whenever I like. I drink a lot of water and it always takes my bladder time to readjust to break times only. In lessons after the holidays, you explain what you want the children to do, ask if there are any questions and half a dozen hands go up to say, "Can I go for the toilet?" This always happens but there are more after a holiday and not just the kids who are hoping to get out of the lesson.  After holidays I only want to say to them, "Only if I can go to the wee."

Also, when you are a teacher you can't always guarantee getting to the toilet in break time.  At the beginning of break there are a couple of kids who wait at the end of the lesson to show you a song they've made up, another who has learnt a piece on their recorder that they just have to show you, one who wants to know when choir starts and before you know it the bell has rung and you've missed your chance.

I was alive in the Seventies and remember them as the whole of my brutal childhood, with terrible wallpaper, long hot summers and water rationing, games that included clackers and horse of the year show on spacehoppers. That must make me old and now I am the elderly relative that my homeopathic tutor warned us about.  Motorway bladder is a thing for teachers who were alive in the Seventies.

Clackers - the Seventies were brutal

By the end of the day I was standing in the corridor with my class, waiting for them to go back to their own classroom, doing the wee dance.  A colleague came out and noticed.
"Just go now, I'll wait with the class," she said.
I ran. Past parents waiting to pick up their darlings. Past the office.  Into the bathroom and sat. Nothing happened.  I tried whistling. Whistling usually works. Still nothing.  I went back to my class. Solved a Rubik's cube and sent them home.
Later, in the staffroom, my colleague said, "Did you make it?"
I explained that I had a case of motorway bladder.
"What! You still haven't been?"
I had to confess that I hadn't.
My other colleague said, "I've got to go. Come with me and you can listen to me.  That will make you go." 
I must point out that our toilets have two cubicles in them.
Although it's nice to have friends who are willing to let you listen to them pee to help you out I thought that might be a bit over friendly. 
"I saw a programme once where that happened to someone and they just blew up like a balloon and when they got to hospital they stuck a straw thing in them and it just spurted out everywhere.  I could do that for you," suggested the friend from the corridor.
"I'll hold your hand," said the other.

Luckily, no straw was required.