Fear of Bathrooms and Other Ordinary Places

I gave Noah precise instructions: "Do not get up from this table until I come back. I am going to the bathroom across the hall. What are you going to do when I go to the bathroom?" "I am going to stay" came the reply. "Are you going to get up and leave?" "No." Ok, off I scurried to the ladies room.

But first I did what I always do when I am alone with Noah and need to use a bathroom. I checked my watch, to mark the time I left him, and I inventoried him in my head for security personnel: "He's about 5 feet 10 inches tall with dark red hair. He's wearing a dark green t-shirt with trolley cars across the front. He's wearing dark gray sports pants with a double black stripe down the side, and black adidas sneakers with white stripes on the side. He knows his name and mine, but he also uses silly talk from Barney and Sesame Street to communicate, so you have to push past that to get the real information you need from him."

In a busy place like the Museum of Natural History, my heart lodged fully in my throat and as I left Noah, I prayed for no lines in the women's bathroom. Mercifully, there were no lines, and no one can do her business as fast as a mom who just left her disabled child alone in the very crowded cafeteria of a very crowded museum. And my husband wonders why I drink and eat so little!!

Truth be told though, these moments are not as terrifying as they once were, because Noah understands more, is not inclined to wander as he once often did, and can communicate about his needs. But this doesn't mean I'm relaxed and confident when I leave him alone; it just means I'm slightly less terrified.

I can recall moments when I honestly thought I would die, because I had lost Noah, and though the elapsed time was in minutes, it felt like years. There was the first time, in a mall in Massachusetts. My husband thought I had Noah and I thought he had Noah. Of course neither of us had him. I beat into myself early on that if he leaves, I head for the exits; I don't waste time asking around if anyone has seen him. This store had no door; it just opened out onto the main corridor of the mall, and there was my tiny, gorgeous, lost boy, about to take a step over the threshold and away from me. Death number one.

Death number two came in Florida, when we managed to lose Noah in the Miami acquarium. We were so distressed about the prospect that he could be anywhere that we immediately flagged security to initiate whatever lockdown code it is they initiate when a child like Noah goes missing. We found him a while later in one of the buildings. Was it the cafe? An exhibit hall? I don't remember at this point. But we found him, and my heart started beating again.

Death number three came at Nassau Coliseum, a place I can't stand on a good day. But I was there for some kiddie thing with a friend and Noah had to go to the bathroom. I thought to take him to the women's bathroom, but he was old enough that I wanted to give him the chance to practice his independence. And what could go wrong? After all, I was stationed right outside the exit door, so he would have to walk past me on this way out.

I checked my watch, per my ingrained practice. Five minutes went by. Okay, I can live with that. Maybe he had to do more than urinate. But between five and ten minutes, I started asking men coming out if they'd seen a redheaded boy. No sightings, but one guy mentioned that there was another exit on the other side. Another exit??!?!?!?!? Brain explosion. Heart racing. Heart stopping and head racing. I ran to the other side (the bathroom, I discovered was on a curve). What to do?!?!?!? Once I started breathing again, I did the only thing I could think to do, after offering up to any god who would listen anything it would want if only my son returned to me ok. I opened to the door to the men's room, announced "Incoming woman" and putting my hand to the side of my face to block the view of the urinals, raced to the stalls. And there I found Noah, finishing his business.

Aging ten years doesn't begin to describe the effect of that incident. I truly think I died, and that finding Noah was the only thing that revived me. The Natural History Museum bathroom run was a piece of cake compared with these earlier incidents, but each time I leave him alone, surrounded by strangers--or he leaves me--my heart skips beats, my head races, I pray to whoever might be listening, and if need be, I apologize in advance to my poor, put upon bladder.