“The first time’s always the worst.” The nurse rubs my shoulder.
I blink fast, trying to stop the tears. “Feels like my stomach’s on fire.”
She nods. “That’s normal after a C-section. We’ll try again in a bit.”
“You wanna sit back in the bed?” Cody offers, I shake my head. I wanna sit just how I am. Something about my feet being able to graze the floor makes it a little more believable that it is my body and they didn’t swap it out with someone else’s while I was unconscious.
The nurses leave, telling me to call if I need anything and that they’ll be back to try again soon.
The second the door clicks shut, Cody’s already talking. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” His voice is low and firm.
“I didn’t expect this.”
“Well, that’s kinda how your life has been going, isn’t it?” He lets out a light laugh.
I sigh out a laugh too, but even that hurts, and a fresh wave of tears slips out before I can stop it. I bite them back, swallowing the urge to sob, too scared it’ll make everything hurt worse.
I hang my head, eyes shut tight, just trying to breathe through it.
Then I feel it…a rough finger brushing beneath my eye, wiping the tears away.
I open my eyes. Cody’s kneeling in front of me. His expression is soft, the same expression I saw a time or two before. Concern, care, something deeper than his typical glance.
“Can you just help me?” I ask and he blanks.
“Up?”
“Yeah.”
“I think two people is a good idea.”
“But that nurse is as big as my thigh.”
He laughs. “She’s probably stronger than you think. She does this on a daily basis.”
“Fine,” I mutter, and he stands to call the nurse.
They come in within fifteen seconds. Cody tells them I wanna try again and everyone resumes their prior positions.
The nurse counts off again and up I go, slow and careful. It feels like barbed wire ripping into my stomach again. It’s a little better than last, because I knew what to expect, but still.
“Take your time,” Cody tells me. I step out and shift my weight forward.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, shaking.
The nurse steadies me. “You’re doing good. One more step.”
I stare at the ground. The chair’s only about three feet away, but in this current moment, it feels like miles.
Cody leans his head against mine gently, his nose just touching the top of my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”
His words give me more confidence, and somehow, crying, shaking, and with a painful pins-and-needles sensation, I take the next step.
“Great job, Karissa,” the nurse tells me.
By some miracle, I make it to the chair. Walking itself wasn’t terrible. It’s not like my feet hurt.
