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And I sit.
And I wait.
“Come on,” I beg. “Just pee already.”
Nothing.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Please.”
I reach over and turn on the faucet on the sink. The trickling of the water helps me a little.
I loosen my shoulders and close my eyes.
“Breathe, Willa. Breathe.”
I can feel my body tensing up, and I know there’s no chance I’ll pee if I don’t calm down.
It’s amazing how something so simple suddenly becomes so complicated when you know you have to do it. That people are counting on it to happen.
There’s even a collection bowl attached to the toilet so they can measure how much urine I produce.
Like I said, pressure.
Finally, a little begins to trickle out.
I squeal with excitement and it stops.
“Well, shit,” I mutter to myself.
I sit a few minutes longer and manage to pee a little bit more.
I pull the string and Ashley comes in a moment later and helps me up and over to the sink to wash my hands before guiding me back to the bed.
“I didn’t do much,” I say, a single tear falling down my cheek.
“It’s okay,” she replies in an understanding tone. “We don’t expect much from the first time you go.”
“I think I got stage fright,” I admit with a laugh.
She laughs too. “
It happens to everyone, believe me.”
She helps me into the bed and I groan as I feel pain shoot up from my incision.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I breathe out, sweat coating my brow. “Mhmm. I’m okay.”
The pain subsides and I cover my legs with the blankets.
“Do you need anything right now?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
I pick up my cup of ice and use the spoon to scoop some up.
She lets my family back in and the first thing my mom asks is how it went. I begrudgingly admit not well.
