Scuba Peeing

A few years ago Monica, my parents, and I took a trip to Key Largo to go scuba diving. Monica and I had just gotten certified, and it was our first oceanic underwater adventure.

I think that something about scuba-ing makes your kidneys filter faster. Because normally, after one hour of normal activity with normal hydration, I feel fine. But when diving, one hour would fill my bladder to "I definitely need to pee." Which is beyond "If I'm not concentrating on it, I don't have to" and "I kinda gotta go."

On our first day out, we went on 2 dives that were about 45 minutes each. I saw some pretty amazing fish and invertebrates. If I could be any mythical creature, I would probably pick mermaid so I could hang out down there all the time. And I would have a beautiful voice, so I would be able to sing in the shower. Except I wouldn't need a shower. Because I would be in the water.

Well, needless to say, I had to pee. And for the life of me, I could not. There was no bathroom on the boat, so that wasn't an option. My dad thought I had stage fright about peeing through the wetsuit. I didn't actually care; I just really, really wanted an empty bladder.

From the time I had last peed before breakfast to the time we got out of the water from our second dive, about 7 hours had elapsed. And then there was the hour long boat ride back to the dock. I had drunk several bottles of water. The ocean was wavy. The boat was rocking. It was extremely painful. I thought I was going to die.

Finally, we were pulling into the harbor!

And then we had to back out so another boat could get out. And then we pulled in. Monica also had to pee pretty bad.

"You girls just get to the hotel, we'll take care of the gear," my dad said.

Monica and I tried to run, stripping off our wetsuits as we went. It was basically an accelerated waddle.

Our hotel was about 2-3 blocks away. But there was a Holiday Inn right by the dock. We saw the pool area, and I spotted a sign for the restrooms. I was about 2 yards from the door when I realized that you had to have a hotel key to get into the bathroom.

"No! Turn back!" I tried to yell, but I could hardly speak. At first, Monica didn't understand.  Her face contorted in dismayed confusion. And then she spotted the problem. "Should we hop in the pool?" I whispered desperately. I thought I might burst.

"No, we can make it." We hobbled off.

About a block from the hotel, a sudden spasm overtook my body. I fell to the ground. "Aaaaaaaagggheh!" I moaned. Monica glanced back at me.  She started to slow down. But then a pained expression came over her face and she grunted, "I have to keep going. I'm sorry."

I was curled up on the ground, devastated by the realization that I was going to pee all over myself in the middle of a parking lot in the middle of the day.

Miraculously, the spasm passed and I somehow managed to get back on my feet. I staggered on, bent forward at about a 90 degree angle.

I made it into the lobby and stumbled toward the public restroom. There was one woman in line. One of the stalls was opening. I could see Monica's feet in the other. The woman in line took one look at my face and said, "GO!"

I swear to God, I peed for at least a minute and thirty-eight seconds. I was trying to count.  I don't even think I want to know the volume of fluid that was in my bladder.  I have never had to pee so badly in my entire life, and I hope I never do again.