I shuffled my feet. Couldn’t she just let me get away with saying I needed to go to the restroom? Why do I need to specify that I need to do it to change my diaper?
“To change myself,” I added.
“Can you wait until we’re done?” Amanda asked, clearly feeling like she didn’t want to interrupt the momentum she had gained from our gaming session.
Why does everyone always assume that having a diaper on means that I can wait forever to go to the bathroom? Like, do they not get that it can be uncomfortable sitting in a wet or messy diaper, or that it will leak or smell if I wait too long?
“Well, it might leak.”
That threat of having to deal with urine all over her couch was more than enough to get Amanda to give me permission to go to the restroom.
I grabbed my backpack and slipped out into the hallow to a restroom that was a few doors down. It was a one-person family restroom, always nice for times when I need to change a diaper. I took a seat on the toilet without bothering to raise the lid. I slid my shorts down to my ankles and pulled my ankle-length dress up to my waist. The wetness indicator on the diaper had barely changed.
I still hadn’t gotten quite used to the new brand of diapers I switched to when I arrived at the hospital. They were more absorbent than I was accustomed to to, so sometimes it was hard for me to determine if I needed to change myself without actually taking a look at the diaper.
I decided that I didn’t need to change myself quite yet. The diaper was slightly wet, but it will more than make it through the rest of the therapy session without any leaks. But the trip to the restroom served a second purpose. It gave me a mental break that I desperately needed. I figured I could at least take my time. It’s not like Amanda knows how long it takes to change a diaper.
This past month hadn’t gone like I had imaged it would. Sure, I had escaped from her, but in my imagination, that had always been the moment where everything in the universe finally fell back in order for me. While I couldn’t deny that my situation had improved slightly, this still wasn’t the life that I dreamed of.
I paced back and forth across the restroom. It only took me four steps to go from one wall to the other. I already knew the question Amanda was going to ask when I returned. It wasn’t so much that the truth was a problematic answer, but that there was so much to say that I didn’t know where to begin.