Your apartment, thankfully, looks the same, at least at first glance. As you walk in, your foot hits on something in the entryway, and you look down, disoriented at the site of a stack of packages, all specially made adult diapers. You groan, fixing this mess was the main problem at hand. It seemed your new reality regularly involved diaper usage to the point they were absolutely everywhere in your life, there was no escaping them.
You set down your diaper bag and continue forward. Your first instinct after getting back is to head to your bedroom and try and undo this humiliation. You open the door and are hit with the powerful smell of baby powder, and you can see a changing table in your bedroom. Obviously, you guess, you need SOME place to deal with your newfound incontinence. The fact that you had just used a diaper twice was more than proof of that, though at least your place didn't seem overtly childish, and you were still wearing your normal clothes. There must be some way to fix this.
You sit on the edge of your bed, feeling it and your diaper crinkle. You look down to observe your bed now has a plastic sheet on it, because of course it does, because you were incontinent, and groan again, turning your attention back towards the device in your hands, trying to think of the best way of fixing this mess and ignoring the increasing dampness in your diaper...