My germaphobia has gotten a hundred times worse since having had children. Not because they are like little carrier monkeys but because I hate seeing them sick. Besides, it’s hard to be fabulous when you have a hacking cough or have your head in the toilet. I think I may have hit a rock bottom with my phobia on a recent trip out to Pittsburgh, but more on that later.

Let’s talk about my issues. There are definitely certain items that make me feel more comfortable in this dirty, dirty world. First, there is my Purell instant hand sanitizer. It kills 99.9% of germs. This is my holy water. I probably use it 50 times on an average day, and probably 300 times on a day when I was working and a coworker was sick. If I could drink it, and gain some of it’s cleansing powers, I would. Additionally, had they a pump large enough, I’d bathe in it too. I keep some at home in every bathroom next to the soap, in my purse, in my car, and I used to have one on my desk (for public use) and in my desk (my private use only). I’m sure if they ever took Purell off the shelf, I’d either never leave my house, or I’d have to invest in a bubble.

Along the same lines, I need antibacterial soaps, not just regular hand soaps- especially in the kitchen. I prefer cleaning products with bleach and I love Lysol. I like using latex gloves for “dirty jobs.” My new washer has a sanitary cycle which makes me sleep better at night.

Going to known bacteria cafeterias (like the doctor’s office), I will use my non-dominant hand (my left) to open doors or touch surfaces. This way if I accidentally touch my face/rub my eyes I have less chance of catching a germ since my dominant (rubbing) hand is “clean.” I sign in to such places using my own pen, and on one particular occasion put on a (SARS) mask which is only for sick people with a fever and cough (even though I was not there for a sick appointment). There is a sign in the doctor’s office stating “if you have a fever and/or cough please wear a mask to prevent the spread of germs.” In my defense, on this day, there were 5-6 persons coughing, without masks, and I was 7 months pregnant and not sick but in need of a physical therapy referral.

I only used public restrooms at work in case of emergency. Some days I would go a whole work day without having to use the public facilities. I only used the bathroom on my floor with the handicap button to open the door, so I can hit it with my (left) elbow and the two doors open automatically. I used at least two paper toilet seat covers and still tried my best to never let my rear hit the seat. I then would dispense a large quantity of soap into my hand and turn the water off with a paper towel. An additional paper towel is then required to hit the auto door opener and a few squirts of Purell followed after I return to my desk.

When getting coffee at WaWa or filling up self-serve cups with soft drinks at restaurants, I take a cup from the middle of the stack. I do the same thing with the lids, straws, or any plastic ware. I kept my own paper plates, plastic-ware, salt/pepper, creamer, etc. in my desk at work. I preferred then, and even now, not to put anything the general public may have handled into my mouth.

I joke with my family, friends, and coworkers about my “quirks.” I smile when someone describes, in detail, how they puked all weekend while I’m quietly crying on the inside. I used to watch in horror nearly every single day as I saw people cough in their hands and then open door knobs. I would hear stall doors open and toilets flush but no water turned on for hands to be washed. I had caught people picking boogers while sending a fax, and even scratching their ass only to shake someone’s hand just moments later. I’ve yelled at strangers who have coughed in my hair while waiting in a line at the Post Office, and also at coworkers who have stuck their bare hands in an ice maker to scoop out ice. I’ve called people out who I know by sight when they tried to skip out on washing their hands after going to the bathroom. I never even cared what any of them thought about it. Once, in Boston Market, I yelled at the cashier for using my debit card to scratch her ass. So judge me if you will, but I am a product of my environment. I also would like to blame the media. Without their constant coverage on H1N1, SARS, MRSA and even stomach viruses that are at epidemic levels, I might not have that reinforcement that I need to keep on being crazy. So I go on washing (and rewashing) my hands, sanitizing surfaces, and purelling dozens of times a day trying not to catch what ails the rest of the world.

There comes a point in every crazy person’s life though when even they realize they are crazy. I’ve never denied that I take things a bit far with my sanitizing and germ prevention (as I prefer to call it). However, as I mentioned earlier, during a trip to Pittsburgh I had a moment where even I questioned if I had taken this “germ prevention” too far.

As you can imagine, a rest area public bathroom is a place I would prefer to avoid at all costs. In fact, I have always avoided these scariest of public places. Even as a young adult and teen I would wait to use the bathroom at our beach house in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. That’s a 7-9 hour drive depending on traffic. I’ve done this many many times, and I have never had an issue. What I have learned recently though is that after having three children your bladder is not as strong as it used to be.

On a Thanksgiving trip to Pittsburgh, which normally takes about 5.5 hours, I began to feel like the couple bottles of water I drank were a bad idea. Thank God we were almost there. Just 35-40 more minutes and sweet relief would be all mine. Wrong. Really, really, really wrong. We hit absolute gridlock in the city, and that final stretch took our trip from the normal 5.5 to 7.5 hours. Sweet Jesus, I had to pee. No, I needed to pee. Drip, drop. Drip, drop. The rain taunted me. Swoosh, swoosh. The three rivers of Pittsburgh laughed at me as their waters flowed by out my window. My husband laughed too. I was trapped in my car, in the center lanes of downtown Pittsburgh. So after about and hour when I thought I would have already made it to my destination and would have already relieved myself, I did what any crazy former NASA astronaut that was stalking another astronaut and driving cross country would have done. I peed in a diaper. No really, I took a garbage bag, opened up my two year old’s size 6 Huggies diaper and peed. In that moment, with traffic on either side of me, my husband hysterical in the front seat, and my four and two year old a row behind me trying to figure out what was so funny, I knew I was crazy. I never wished for a rest stop bathroom so badly. Being sick isn’t fabulous, but neither is peeing in a diaper.

Now, in addition to dieting, I also must now reevaluate my mental wellness. I have a list of New Year’s Resolutions going for 2010. Perhaps I can start to tie them together? So here’s to hoping that next year my fabulous, skinny ass can touch a public toilet seat.

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