FUN WITH A STOCK PHOTO MODEL

That's me four years ago.  I was a 54 year-old Media Buyer at a successful advertising agency.  The divorced father of three, I exercised, ate-well and effectively managed stress.  I also constantly and uncontrollably crapped my pants in public.  

That's right.  I suffer from fecal incontinence.  Back then, the second I'd stop focusing on holding it, I'd inevitably lose it.  Many things caused this to occur: coughing or sneezing, distraction or light-to-heavy pressure on the area.  You guessed it, I could soil myself with the normal pushing and bumping of a large crowd.  You didn't guess that?  Moving on.     

So, take this next picture for example.  This was my former volunteer group for at-risk youth.  We were celebrating Todd's birthday with a night-out of fun. 

While I was concentrating on putting on a great smile, I stopped concentrating on my bowels.  And sure enough, I cleared out the room by unloading into my khakis.  I still find it suspicious that everyone suddenly had to rush home to feed their cat.  You've got to be shitting me.  Not actually, I mean that as an expression.  

Or, take the day this next picture was taken.  That's my boss in the middle of the frame.  Everyone kisses his ass and mimics his every move--like when we "celebrated" his purchase of a new speed boat for his lake house.  

Notice that Pam didn't raise her arms.  This wasn't done out of some sense of non-conformist rebellion.  She's always dieting and her constantly low blood sugar slows her reaction times to a crawl.  You know, slow reaction time is a symptom of early death.  Hell, I'd still take that instead of being the guy who shits his pants all the time.  And then, if you didn't count "Cool Paul's" unwillingness to participate in anything; it just left me.  I'm the idiot who would only halfway cheer out of fear a full stretch would open up the sphincter flood gate.

I knew I had to get help.  So I did.  I joined the International Continence Society.  They offer support groups, educational classes and meetings. And boy, has it made a difference!  Did I mention we're going to Rio de Janeiro this year for a conference?  Two years later, I was the ICS poster boy.  Just look at me:

Since then, I have an "outburst" only a few times a year.  It has allowed me to remarry, volunteer again and "high five" my boss with confidence.  I also no longer fear working in close-quarters.  See?

Bill has bad breath.  Angela's deodorant frequently fails her.  I am able to notice these things now.  My life is under control and I am loving it… and living it.  And that's no shit.