The Other Side of Tomorrow

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

“That’s good.” She smiles as I take one small step.

I feel like a toddler being praised for making my first steps in the world.

She leads me around the room to the other side of the bed where she lets me climb in once more.

“That was good.” She fixes the blankets back over my legs. “I’m going to bring you some water and ice and try to get as much fluids in you as you can. It’s very important you start peeing on your own. You did still produce urine while on dialysis, correct?”

“Yeah, I did.”

I was considered one of the lucky ones because I still peed. A lot of people with kidney failure don’t produce any urine at all. While my body holds on to some fluids, their bodies holds onto all of it. They have to be even more watchful of their fluid intake and run a fine line between fluid overload and dehydration.

“That should definitely help you then. I’ll let your family back in and bring you water.”

She slips from the room, and I lean back on the pillows taking several deep breaths. I still feel overwhelmed, my emotions all over the place. It’s a lot to process. I’m sure I’ll feel a range of emotions for a while yet.

My family comes back into my room.

“How’d it go?” my mom asks, taking her seat once more at my side.

“Pretty good. It was harder to walk than I thought it’d be, but I did okay.”

Granted, it was only from one side of the bed to the other, but baby steps were probably best right now. I knew from prior information during previous hospital visits that many people weren’t out of the bed until day two, and this was only a little more than twenty-four hours after surgery. I was sure they were pushing me harder because of my younger age, as they should.

Ashley comes back into the room and places the water and ice on my tray.

“Drink,” she says in a playful warning tone.

I smile and pick up the cup taking a dramatic sip. She gives a thumbs up before leaving the room.

“Wanna play a game?” Harlow asks.

“What kind of game?” I hedge—one never knows with Harlow.

“I have LIFE on my phone—an app isn’t as fun as the actual board game, but I doubt they’d have let me sneak it out of the house to bring to the hospital.”

“And you’d be right,” my dad says, peering over the edge of his car magazine.

“That sounds fun,” I tell Harlow.

She jumps up and drags her chair around to the empty side of my bed, getting as close as she can. She rests her phone on the thick white blankets and brings up the app.

We pick our colors and she starts the game, the little stick women running to their vehicles.

We take our turns and start making up entire stories for our characters to make it even more interesting. By the end, we can’t stop laughing and play two more games—all the while I make sure to drink my water.

An hour passes before I finally, mercifully, feel like I have to pee.

I don’t think I’ve ever, in my entire seventeen years of life, felt thankful to have to go pee.

I press the button for my nurse and tell her. She clears my family out—since I’m still naked under my gown—and helps me walk to the bathroom.

“Pull that when you’re done.” She points to the string hanging from the wall with the large sign with red letters that declares PULL FOR NURSE ASSISTANCE.

“Okay,” I say as she closes the door behind her.

I sit.