The Other Side of Tomorrow

“Good, good,” she croons. “Well, right now we have a catheter in to collect your urine, and so far …” She bends to check the bag. “You’re producing the exact amount we want to see. Tomorrow morning I’ll come back and you’ll need to try to pee on your own. Are you thirsty? Can I get you some water? Ice?”

“Both, please.”

I hadn’t noticed until she mentioned water, but my mouth feels dry and sticky.

“All right, sweetie. I’ll be right back with that.”

She sweeps out of the room, the door closing lightly behind her.

“How are you really feeling?” my dad asks, leaning against the railing at the foot of the bed.

“Good,” I repeat like I told the nurse.

“You had major surgery—” he begins, but I shut him up.

“Dad,” I say in a warning tone. “Sadly, I’ve been through worse.”

He frowns. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” I goad with a laugh and he smiles.

“Only you, Willa, could have major surgery and be making light of it.”

Harlow steps up beside me and my mom moves back.

She takes my hand in hers. “I’m so, so, so happy for you.”

“Thank you for always being here for me.” It’s the only thing I can think to say, but it hardly seems to encompass exactly how I feel.

She bends and kisses my forehead. “Your life is going to change after this,” she whispers in my ear. “I can’t wait to see the amazing life you live.”

The nurse comes back in with two Styrofoam cups, a spoon stuck in one, and a bendy straw in the other.

She places the ice cup on the tray and hands me the water.

I sip it slowly, not wanting to get sick by drinking it too fast.

The water is cold on my tongue and the dryness evaporates.

“Are you in any pain?” the nurse asks. “I can get you medicine if you are.”

“Right now, I’m okay.”

She nods. “What they gave you earlier probably hasn’t worn off, but if that changes and you want something push your nurse call button or send out one of your family for me.” She smiles kindly and heads back out to tend to more patients.

I continue to sip my water—for once, with no fear of thinking about how much less I can drink later.

“Did you guys get a hotel?” I ask them.

My dad nods. “We thought it’d be best to have somewhere we can go to shower and for breaks.”

“Go back and get some sleep,” I tell them. “It’s late.”

“No, no.” My mom rushes past Harlow to my side. “We want to stay with you.”

“Mom,” I say, in the most reassuring tone I can muster. “I’m fine. I feel great, actually, for just having surgery. I’m going to drink my water, have some ice, and go to sleep. You guys should do the same and you can’t sleep here.” I indicate the three small chairs in the room, just basic chairs not even recliners. This room is much bigger than the holding one they had me in before going into surgery, but it’s still not large. There isn’t even a small love seat like some rooms have. “I have the nurses and doctors with me. Nothing is going to happen.”

She looks over at my dad, biting her lip.